AU. Sam meets Kurt at a college party.
They meet at a party, the first time around. Sam’s with all the right people for parties. They’re still a little fake from highschool and from what he knows, none of them actually go to classes, but they’re the people he’s spent his life trying to fit in with: he isn’t willing to throw good chances like these away, especially after waiting eighteen years just to finally get one.
It’s Finn who introduces them.
“This is my brother,” he slurs, barely audible over thumping music. He tugs Sam forward by the shoulder. One of his arms is draped over Kurt, who smiles at his vodka-breath and incoherence with amusement. “This is Sam,” he adds, saluting him with a limp hand. He pulls Sam closer, and Sam’s tipsy enough for it to startle him and spill some of his beer over his good shoes without realizing. “Kurt doesn’t go here,” Finn continues. He tips his head up, proudly, smirks, finishes with, “He goes to Jullian.”
“Julliard,” Kurt corrects, and when he looks at Sam his eyes are a hundred times more sober than the rest of the room’s, including Sam’s own. He doubts that he seems all that impressive, swaying back and forth and stumbling over his feet in intermittent periods of time, but Kurt smiles at him like he just thinks it’s funny, and if Sam were a smart kid attending a smart school and making the same smart choices, he probably would, too. Kurt delicately pats Finn’s back and tells him, loud enough for him to properly hear and shaking his head, “You are a trainwreck, have I ever told you that?”
Finn’s eyes screw up like he’s thinking about it. “Oh, plenty.”
His grin lopsided and his skin off-white enough for Sam to know he should take a step back from him right about now. Finn just smiles, dopey and easy and takes another hearty swig from his beer, then straight after, he shoves Kurt into Sam and bolts into the bathroom across from them with his flailed, drunken limbs trying to cover his mouth.
Kurt steps back, brushing down his waistcoat and staring at the door Finn just slammed shut. “Charming,” he mutters, frowning slightly. He looks up at Sam through his dark lashes and it deepens. “You know, you don’t look so good yourself.”
Sam can’t find it in himself to worry about that right now. His winning smile is diluted by the three shots he reluctantly agreed to earlier, but he wears it as best he can - crooked and admittedly a bit goofy but still worth a shot. “Hi,” he drawls in Kurt’s direction.
Over the rim of his cup, Kurt smiles. It’s playful and small and - mostly it looks like it’s covering up a laugh. “Hi,” he echoes, and his voice is light and breathy, warm where it brushes Sam’s skin. Sam tries to do something alluring with his eyebrows and that just makes Kurt snort, say, “I guess ‘hot-mess’ is like the theme of this party, then.”
“If it wasn’t at the start, it probably is now,” Sam mumbles. Kurt squints at him like he can’t make him out over the music, obnoxiously loud and heavy in the background. One of Sam’s hands comes up to Kurt’s shoulder, the one that isn’t curled so tightly around his bottle of beer his hand’s started aching, and he feigns unbalance to keep it there. Kurt’s eyes flick to it and back to Sam in an instant, unfazed. It makes Sam feel a little braver - he leans forward so his mouth brushes Kurt’s ear and says as clearly as he can, “This party kind of blows,” just like he’s heard other, bigger boys whispering to their girlfriends before: a solid enough impression of them he almost fools himself.
He’s too drunk to know what he’s doing and too scared this is his only opportunity to act on it to take a step back and think for just a second. Kurt’s so pretty in the dim dorm-room lighting, prettier than he is in the photographs dotting Finn’s wall, and Sam’s been denying himself of all the things he really wants for a lifetime too long. And maybe his new friends won’t see. Maybe they’ll all be like Finn and they wouldn’t give a fuck, anyway; or maybe it’s the same mob of kids from Tennessee, a little scrubbed up and straightened out but still full of the same hate.
Sam blinks at Kurt, one eye after the other and he’s still so, so pretty.
Kurt just laughs, softly, looking up at Sam like he’s trying to figure him out, like he’s weighing his options. Sam can see it in his face that he doesn’t care about the anyone else in the room but himself - and maybe his brother when he stumbles out of the bathroom, promptly forgets about them being there and wanders out into the corridor - and he wonders what Ohio was like to gay kids who couldn’t cut the right standards of normality, wonders about Kurt’s parents and his friends and his boyfriends all in one strange, weighted moment. He takes a breath. Sways a little on his feet. Kurt’s mouth quirks at the corners and the rest of the room drains away after that: it’s just he and Kurt’s sweetheart smile left.
A hand spreads over his chest, lightly. Kurt leans closer and his eyelashes tickle Sam’s cheek when he hums beneath his breath, “If you know anywhere better, feel free to make suggestions.” Sam’s hand catches his waist, on instinct - it feels little and delicate in his hands and he wants to feel its tapered curve against his mouth, paint it slick and shiny with his tongue. Kurt lets out a low, breathy laugh, and it leaves burns on the skin of Sam’s neck that it touches. “I’m feeling pretty agreeable tonight.”
His fingertips trail higher, dragging over his jawline, and Sam wants to kiss him. Sam wants to kiss a boy, and he feels awfully certain that maybe just this one will do. He squeezes Kurt’s hip, tracing his thumb over the bone. His face splits into the eager, beaming grin he’s been holding in all night and he says, stepping in a little closer, “I know a place nearby.”
Kurt’s hand drops from his chest to reach for his hand, instead, and it feels warm and easy curling into Sam’s, just a bit perfect. Kurt grins back at him, cheeks a little flushed when says with a shrug, “Well, what are we waiting for?”