You rock for giving to this! Fic for you, Debaser: "Mt. Carmel" by Cathalin. 
(Obviously, not betad, and barely edited, so forgive flubs 
) (Oops, ahaha, just realized I didn't pay close enough attention, and this doesn't really quite meet the specifics of your prompt. Oh, well -- I think it's in the right spirit hopefully? And hmm, well, maybe it does kind of meet it. )Mt. CarmelKris ducks into the greenhouse behind the school without thinking about it. He just needs--he needs a minute to breathe. Everything's so strange, so different from how it was in Arkansas. He expected the kids to be different, and they are: tanner, more fashionable, blonder. He kind of knew the freeways would be insane, and they are; he's seen more cars in a week than he probably saw in a year back home.
What he wasn't prepared for was the little things, like how everything's kind of brown and dried-out, and the houses climb the hillsides in regulation order, boxy and uniform, all fake adobe and perfect lawns.
Even the air smells different, full of the weird scent of the sagebrushy stuff that grows everywhere, overlain with eucalyptus and the occasional bougainvillea. Once in a while, there's a hint of salt, but it turns out the ocean is pretty far away actually, and he doesn't know when or if he's ever going to see it.
The air in the greenhouse is stifling, close. Unlike most everything at this school, it isn't polished and perfect. There are half-dead plants and dirt littering the floor, and the glass doesn't look like it's ever been cleaned.
He sighs in relief and slumps against the wall, only to straighten up when he hears something, a weird sound from the far corner like a gasp, quickly bitten-off. Maybe it's just a rat or something, but it didn't sound that way. Maybe a puppy that wandered away from its perfect little tract home?
Kris walks cautiously toward where the noise came from. Was that a little snuffling sound? He's not sure, but he quickens his steps.
He's not prepared for what he sees: a guy, a big guy, sitting behind some fertilizer bags. Kris gets a quick impression of red hair and brows, freckled skin and startlingly blue eyes, then there's a flurry of movement and the guy's got his hand over his face.
"Oh, Jesus Christ. Can't you guys leave me alone for one fucking second?" The guy's aiming for angry, but Kris thinks he hears the remnants of tears clogging the his voice a little.
"I--"
"Just go away!" The guy takes his hand away and stares at Kris, defiant, and Kris almost takes a step back to leave. Whoa. The guy seemed really harmless, but the look he's shooting at Kris is <i>intense</i>. If it weren't for the reddish blotches on his face and the little sound he heard before, Kris would leave, but he's pretty sure the guy's in here because he's unhappy about something. "Tell your asshole buddies they've used up their Adam quota for the week. Find some other idiot to call fag for a while. You, too."
Kris flushes. "But I'm not--I wouldn't--"
The guy -- Adam, he said -- rolls his eyes. "Right. As if your whole team hasn't been making my life a living hell." He gestures at Kris, who remembers he still has his baseball team jersey on.
"But you know what?" Adam stands up and Kris stares; Adam unwinds his body surprisingly gracefully for his height. His considerable height. "I'm not scared. I've been working on not being scared of anything, and I think it's working, because I'm not!" He crosses his arms over his chest and his t-shirt pulls taut on broad shoulders.
Kris shakes his head. "Well, you shouldn't be scared of me, man. And people shouldn't say that, use that word. Who did that?"
Apparently it's Adam's turn to stare. "What?"
"That's just wrong."
Adam's eyes narrow. "Where are you from?"
There, the inevitable question brought on by Kris's accent. Soon to be followed by the jokes. Kris doesn't sigh, but it's a close thing. "Arkansas. And no, my parents aren't first cousins."
"Arkansas!" Adam's laugh is surprising: deep, from the belly, infectious, except Kris isn't going to laugh, because he hasn't been in the mood to laugh for any of the eleven days since he and Mom have been here, or for quite a long time before that. "Do they even know what a fag <i>is</i> down there?"
It's Kris's turn to roll his eyes. "Yeah, well, nice meeting you, too. I need to get home."
Adam cocks his head, raises an eyebrow. "Mama's boy?"
Kris bunches his hands into fists, keeps them at his side with effort. "Shut up about my mama. She hasn't had it easy."
Whoa, Kris hadn't meant that to come out so angry. He presses his lips together tightly against the rest of what he wants to say. Adam's clearly an asshole. Kris turns to leave.
"No, hey, wait." Adam's voice is urgent, softer. "I'm sorry. You. You were being nice, and I was a total asshole. It's just--I'm not used to guys in uniforms being nice to me."
Kris turns back to him, nods once.
Adam breathes out. "I don't even know if I <i>am</i> a fag, you know? Well, I mean, probably. Pretty much for sure. Actually, really pretty positively, if the gay porn at thirteen is any indication. Since I'm fat and have sucky skin and freckles and everything, I'll probably die of old age before I ever get to find out for sure, but it wouldn't even matter, they'd be assholes anyway, since I hate sports and love dressing up and singing."
Kris can feel the flush creep up his neck to his ears. Who talks like this?
"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to embarrass you." Adam doesn't look sorry, though. He's smiling a little, actually, the corner of his mouth twitching up. "So. What's your name, small person from Arkansas where they actually do know what fags are but never say that word because it's not nice?"
Kris can't help it; he snorts a little trying to stop it, but no, it's impossible: he laughs. First, a little, but Adam flips a limp wrist at him, all exaggerated, and says, "And since we're friends and all now, can I just say, someone needs to take in that uniform or something; it's just not working for you," and Kris loses his shit, like, seriously laughs from deep in his chest somewhere, a laugh like he hasn't laughed since way before Dad died.
Adam smiles, and suddenly, wow, he's <i>beautiful</i>, all strong facial bones and solid build and radiating some kind of charisma-energy. He wants to tell Adam he's not fat and that he'll find someone, somebody who sees that beautiful-Adam, but figures that'd be a little over the top.
"So, you sing?" Kris asks lamely, a little at a loss.
"Yeah." Adam shrugs. "I'm the one, you know, the Star Spangled Banner? The crapped out static morning announcements?" He looks at the far wall, obviously embarrassed.
At first Kris doesn't get it, and then he does. "Are you kidding me? I thought that was, you know, a recording of an opera guy or something. Whoa. Wait, what's your range? I thought I heard chest voice way up into--"
Adam grabs Kris's wrist. "Hold on, hold on. How do you know about chest voice and range? Are you real?" All the affectation is gone from his voice; he's suddenly deadly serious.
"I. Play a little? Instruments?"
"Instruments."
"You know. Um. Guitar. Piano. Viola?"
"Viola! Okay, now I <i>know</i> you're not real. In what universe does a guy who plays baseball and has arms like yours play the fucking <i>viola</i>?"
Kris wrests his wrist back from Adam, crosses his arms. "I don't know? One where I told myself a long time ago to not be scared of anything stupid any more? And am trying not to be? I guess?"
Adam gives him a level look, then bites his lip. "Yeah. So, hmm, you're probably good, too. Like, let me guess. Went to state?"
"Would've, 'cept for my Dad getting sick." Kris looks down. He wasn't going to talk about that with anyone, ever.
"Oh. I. I'm sorry. He...?"
"He died. Cancer." Kris presses his lips together. He doesn't want sympathy, never has. "Mom needed a clean break."
Adam reaches out, touches him softly on the arm. "You a senior like me? Junior? Last thing you wanted, to move, probably."
"Sophomore." Kris smiles a little. "Big for my age."
The surprised laugh that pulls out of Adam is worth it. Adam wrinkles his forehead. "Look, you're really cool. I'd love to hang out, try some music? You don't have to be seen talking to me or anything. I get you've got to preserve your jock cred." He looks at Kris speculatively. "You'd probably need a girlfriend first, too. That'd help. And I mean, mess around, do some music. Not, you know." He flips his hand around in a gesture probably meant to be a suave indicator of sex.
Kris's heart contracts a little at the thought that Adam believes the best he can hope for is a friendship on the down-low, but it also pisses him off. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not running for the hills even though your fricking hand's been on my arm for about a century. And I told you, I don't give a crap what anyone thinks. And also, I don't want a girlfriend yet. I just broke up with mine from home."
"Oh." Adam smiles, a little at first, then the blindingly bright one again. "In that case, do you like rock?"
Kris smiles back. "Just a little. And hi. My name's Kris. Kris Allen."
"Well, then hello there, Kristopher Allen." Adam sticks out his hand and they shake. "And welcome to Mt. Carmel."
I hope the picture enlarges for you when you click it, cause it isn't working for me. It's proof of my donation! 
I hope the picture enlarges for you when you click it, cause it isn't working for me. It's proof of my donation! 
(Obviously, not betad, and barely edited, so forgive flubs 
) (Oops, ahaha, just realized I didn't pay close enough attention, and this doesn't really quite meet the specifics of your prompt. Oh, well -- I think it's in the right spirit hopefully? And hmm, well, maybe it does kind of meet it. 
It's a mashup of Glee and AI because I just watched the Glee premier and it was yay.