A/N:I know, I know, I should be writing the next chapter of ANH. It's coming, I promise. But this is a drabble I wrote for Kadam AU Saturday over on tumblr, and I thought I'd share it with you guys while you wait for a new chapter. I'm writing it, it's just... Not cooperating with me right now. Anyway, please review!
It's weird, Adam thinks, as he looks up at the house in front of him, how he never knew he had an aunt until she died and left him this house.
It's a nice house. He's grateful and all, but he doesn't really need a huge, crumbling building with ivy creeping up the walls that looks like it's out of a horror film. But he's the only relative she could have left it to, with his parents dead for almost ten years. He wanted to sell it straight off the bat, but apparently no one would buy it because of some stupid local myth. Adam rolls his eyes, remembering the estate agent's words.
"It's very simple, Mr. Crawford. No one wants to buy this house. The folk around here all think that-"
"It's haunted, yes," Adam replied with a sigh. "Really? People believe that stuff?"
The middle-aged woman looks slightly uncomfortable. "Well, there are stories. And it's a small town, sir. Stories spread."
"What kind of stories?"
Glancing around, she lowers her voice as if the sound itself could bring out the ghosts. "There are stories that date back to the late nineteenth century of a boy who died in the house," she pauses, now speaking in a whisper. "They call him 'Porcelain'. He killed himself after he was sentenced to life imprisonment for homosexuality, and now he haunts the house for-"
"Let me guess, revenge," he said dryly. "It's always revenge in these stories."
There's a moment of awkward silence, then the woman looks up. "Well, Mr. Crawford, if you ever need anything, call me. But I just can't sell this house."
They shake hands, and she looks up worriedly at the house, walking briskly away. He shakes his head. Some people were just ridiculous.
"That's everythin', sir."
A voice snaps him out of the memory, and he turns to see the removal man he hired step out of the house. The man pulls on his cap, striding towards him. "I left the stuff for the master bedroom in the hallway. You'd have to pay me a thousand quid to go in there."
"Why?" God, this was going to be about the bloody ghost again, he could tell.
The man shivered. "Well, that's the room that boy killed himself in, innit? And you hear stuff, don't you, workin' on the road an' all-"
"Yes, thank you," said Adam rather impatiently, handing the man a tip. "I guess I'll have to move it by myself, then, won't I?" His voice is cross and he always tries to not be cross, but if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was people who believed in all that 'supernatural' rubbish. Vampires, werewolves, ghosts... It was just ridiculous.
Two hours later, Adam's hauled only hauled his bed into the bedroom and he's exhausted. And hungry. But, of course, he has absolutely nothing to eat, so his only option is to turn in for the night.
He lies on the bed he's only just re-assembled - it didn't fit through the door - and shuts his eyes. It's stupid. He knows it's stupid, but all he can hear is the floorboards creaking in the bedroom opposite, and the branches sweeping against the window outside, and the footsteps in the hall, and the-
Sitting up suddenly, he listens. Those are footsteps. In the hall. Oh God, there was someone in his house, walking up to his bedroom, probably about to murder him.
He jumped out of bed, trying to be as quiet as possible and grabs his phone. No signal. Of course. There's never any signal, is there? Should he hide? There's nowhere to hide, because the only furniture he has is a bed that he won't fit under. He's going to die. He's actually going to die, and wow, he'd always thought being in a life-threatening situation in a creepy house would be fun, but he's terrified.
The door opens, to reveal-
The boy, who can't be older than eighteen, stands very still. And he's beautiful. What? No. You couldn't call your murderer beautiful. But he is, lithe and with eyes that were blue or green and pale, extraordinarily pale. Inhumanly pale, in fact, was how he'd describe it.
Oh, for God's sake.
Adam almost wants to laugh. This wasn't happening. He was dreaming, right? There was absolutely no way he was about to be killed by a ghost.
The boy's still standing at the door, an unreadable expression on his face. He clears his throat. "Good evening," he said, in an almost musical voice. "I'm sorry to disturb you like this. My name is Kurt, but you probably know me as Porcelain."
He starts to laugh. A loud, hysterical laugh that has him almost doubled over. "Really? Are you one of the kids from the town? Because if you think that's going to scare me away, you're wrong. Ghosts don't have footsteps."
Quirking an eyebrow, the boy almost smiles, before shooting upwards, floating towards Adam and coming to stand in front of him. And he's dreaming, because ghosts aren't real and this was not happening.
"Don't worry, most people need some time to take it in." Kurt smiles at him, and Adam just gawks.
"And you can-"
"Uh, disturbed spirit, I think. Something like that."
Adam lowers himself onto his bed very slowly. "Am I dreaming?"
The boy shakes his head.
Walking towards him, he stretches out a hand to touch Adam's cheek. It's cold, but solid, and he was almost expecting the hand to go right through him.
Flinching away, Adam turns back to the boy. "Ghost. Okay. Well, what do you want?"
He smiles again. "Nothing. I just wanted to tell you that I'm here and I'll stay out of your way. Good night, Adam Crawford."
He blinks, and the boy - ghost - is gone.
Well, there goes the thoughts he's had for the last twenty-two years of his life.
Adam was sure he'd dreamt meeting Kurt, so walking into the library the next morning to see the boy sitting in chair reading was even more of a shock. Once he'd calmed down, Kurt explained that no, he didn't want to hurt him, and that this house was his home and he'd stay away from the man. It had taken a while to get his head around, and he still didn't really trust Kurt, but it was a start.
And he really was starting to get used to him.
"Why did you come here?" Kurt asks him one day. It's strange. Adam had been living in the house for almost three weeks, and they didn't talk. Normally they sat in silence, neither acknowledging the other. And okay, maybe he spent more time admiring the way the light hit Kurt's face as he sat in the window seat than he'd like to admit, but still.
Adam looks up from his laptop. "Oh, well, my aunt died. I'm guessing you know her?"
He shook his head, confused. "No... Nobody's lived here for years, actually."
It's weird, certainly, but she probably just owned the house and didn't want to live in it. "Oh, well, she left me the house, so I moved on."
Kurt nods slightly, looking back down at his book before looking up again. "What's your favourite colour?"
Pausing in his typing, he looks at Kurt. "I'm sorry, what?"
"What's your favourite colour? If we're going to do this without it being awkward, I want to at least know you a bit. So, what is it?"
"Blue. Or green." Depending on the colour of your eyes, he thinks, but doesn't say.
Kurt smiles, as if he's passed a test. "Good."
Living with Kurt was... Weird. There'd be several days in a row when the boy just disappeared, and Adam thought he'd gone, only to walk into the library to see him sitting inside. And sometimes he thought he was crazy. But Kurt did leave him alone, and seemed sincere about not wanting to hurt him, so he eventually began to trust him.
They didn't talk much, and if they did, it was about Adam or a book or something trivial. Adam wanted to ask Kurt about his life, he really did, but it wasn't really any of his business, after all. And he wanted to ask why he was a ghost, and what it was like, and tell him his eyes were breathtaking, but he couldn't. But if Kurt was alive...
Adam could see him as someone he could have fallen in love with. But he wasn't alive. He was dead, and two hundred years old, and also dead. And so he kept his distance from Kurt.
Until one day.
He'd walked into the library to find Kurt curled up in his normal chair, tears pouring down his face. "Kurt?" He strode across the room to the boy, kneeling next to him and taking his hand. "Hey, shh, what's wrong?"
"I'm so sorry," he gasped in between breaths. "I'm just - I'm a mess, and I'm dead, and you must hate living with me, and I-"
"No, no," he said soothingly, rubbing Kurt's hand and ignoring how cold and soft his skin was. "I don't, okay? I promise. I swear, Kurt, if I didn't like living with you, I'd move out."
He nods, wiping his eyes. "I know it's not the most... Conventional way to live, and I know living with a dead, gay man, who's been eighteen for two hundred years since he killed himself isn't great."
"Well, it's different. Plus you're a great roommate, you don't eat or make any mess." He's trying to make Kurt smile, and it works. "Want to tell me what brought this on?"
Kurt sighs, sniffling slightly. "Two hundred years ago today... I slit my wrists in my bedroom," he admits. "There was a man, my... Lover? It sounds just sexual to put it like that, but we were in love. His name was Blaine, and he was the son of a Lord. An Anderson. And I was just a Hummel, and yet, for some reason, he loved me."
Adam feels an irrational spike of jealousy. What was wrong with him? This guy must have been dead for two hundred years, and he's jealous of him?
"We knew the risk we were taking. It wasn't punishable by death any more, but we could face life imprisonment. But we didn't care. And we were always so careful. But then one day... His father, Lord Anderson, walked in on us. And somehow, that man managed to swing it so I got life imprisonment and his son got nothing." He's almost crying again now. "But they moved away, to Europe, and I had no one, nothing to live for but a lifetime of being caged. So I found a knife and I just kept cutting until it stopped. I woke up in that bed, fifty years later. Gave the poor lady living there at the time quite a shock," he chuckled dryly.
Adam swallowed. "Kurt... I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know."
He hugs Kurt, then, and it's very hard to make himself let go.
And so life went on. Now, he'd call Kurt a friend. It was weird, yes. But it was nice. And if he had... Feelings, well he sure as hell wasn't going to mention them.
One day, about two months after he moved in, he'd got up, showered, went downstairs to make breakfast and headed to the library to work. And maybe he was looking forward to seeing Kurt. Maybe. As he walked up to the open door, he heard a sound. It sounded like... Singing?
Kurt was singing.
Somebody, need me too much
Somebody, know me too well
Somebody pull me up short
And give me support
For being alive
Adam recognises the song instantly, and it seems a bit ironic. He's about to walk away, not wanting to disturb him, but something makes him stop.
Make me alive
Make me alive
And oh. Because his voice is kind of beautiful, and his eyes are kind of beautiful, and the way the sun catches the tears falling down his cheeks is kind of beautiful, and everything is beautiful and everything is Kurt.
And it's breathtaking.
Somebody crowd me with love
Somebody force me to care
Somebody let me come through
I'll always be there
As frightened as you
To help us survive
Before Adam can stop himself he's striding into the room, barely noticing that Kurt has stopped singing and wrapping his arms around him.
"Adam? What are you - oof!" Kurt makes a surprise noise as the man wraps his arms around him, and quickly dries his face. "What did you... How long were you standing there?"
"Long enough," he says quickly, pulling back and framing Kurt's face with his hands. "Your voice, Kurt. I... You...You're... You're..."
Kurt frowns slightly, cheeks still wet with tears. "What? You're making no sense, Adam. I-"
He's cut off, then, by a pair of lips against his own. And it's warm, and wonderful, and it makes him feel.
"You're everything," Adam whispers the second they break apart, only to kiss him again, harder and more urgently than before.
Kurt feels alive.