there’s something about being in the middle of MIDDLE OF NOWHERE that reminds kurt of spring days spent walking through grass as tall as his knees, sparking a joint while butterflieshug his shoulder and sam KISSES his lips. reminds him of camping out on the bed of his dad’s truck, hip to hip, keeping warm beneath a wool blanket just as the sunset goes down. talking about everything and sometimes NOTHING at all near dewy meadows, the smell of rain. being so high that small ponds become large lakes and the miles of land between BLONDE HAIR and reality are e n d l e s s.
but the season’s changed. summer casting a dry spell as far as the ohio state line — car parked somewhere desolate, the breeze choreographing a dance for the wilting dandelions and bare trees around them. grass only as tall as his ankles, swaying just the same. almost like a painted picture in an art gallery; a blend of colors that bring a sense of CALM.
his state is relaxed, content in a way (despite his high making its descent), with his legs tucked to his chest and the cool metal of truck and rough SKIN keeping him awake for the last time; sam’s fingers intertwined with his. thumb creating soft brush strokes across the back of sam’s hand as they sit in silence. taking the open SPACE and thoughts of the future — and what that brings — to the surface. holding onto RIGHT NOW before summer ends. before this bob ross paradise closes its chapter, and the bustling city of NEW YORK sweeps kurt off his feet. steals him away from comfort. from HOME.
he squeezes their hands, peering out into the vastness of it all. b r e a t h e s. blinks his eyes closed for a second too long, that by the time he squints them open, sam’s head is nestled on his shoulder and the blanket’s shifted to cover one of his legs. smiles, gaining warmth from the boy’s body heat alone and leans into it. absorbs it, doesn’t LET GO of it. instead, he drags a calloused palm and manicured fingers onto his lap, finding the humor in the size difference, but all the same, they seem to FIT. they always have, kurt realizes. and from the tap, tap, tap of his heart against his chest to the blond tousles of hair teasing his neck, kurt wonders if he’s able to leave this behind without the desire to LOOK BACK.
it uneases him, momentarily casts shadows of regret and fear of the unknown. but as he turns his head, buries his nose within the tangle of sunkissed blond and citrus shampoo, he’s reminded of eskimo kisses and the fire in their mouths and the silent promise to not FORGET. lets the dark clouds fade behind the sunset and holds on a little tighter.
❛ i love you … ❜ he whispers, tone heavy and somewhat l o s t. but at the very least, with sam, their maps interweave to the point where he’ll always be FOUND. ❛ remember that. ❜
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