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. )
Kris 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.
"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?"
"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."
Last Edit: Sept 3, 2009 2:21:21 GMT -5 by cathalin
Oh no, Cathalin filled this request while I was off writing! I'm going to post mine anyway, because I don't know what else to do with it, and I think they're different enough for it to be okay.
This is an unbetad excerpt of a longer fic that doesn't actually exist, and sadly still doesn't meet the maybe part of your prompt, OP. It's a mashup of Glee and AI because I just watched the Glee premier and it was yay.
Look, he's already freakishly short and compulsively nice -- he does not need to add "glee club" to the collection of Reasons Why Kris Allen is a Weirdo. You obviously can't just tell this to a teacher, though, so when Mr. Cook corners him in the locker room after baseball practice and says he overheard Kris singing in the shower and glee club is desperate for talent like that, he has no idea what to say. It's just, you know, awkward; Kris is in a towel, for pete's sake. Plus, Mr. Cook has this way of looking at you that makes you want to Be a Better Person and Give Back to the Community and stuff, and Kris has never been good at saying no to things, anyway.
"I, um. I'm really not that good at singing," he says. "I think there are just really nice acoustics? In the shower?"
Mr. Cook stops in the middle of drawing a breath to go on with his pitch and snaps his mouth closed. He gives Kris a reproachful look, shakes his head sadly from side to side, his eyes on Kris's face the whole time. And just like that, Kristopher Allen is the newest member of the Westlake Glee Club.
They meet in the French room after school. Because the French room is also where the Mathletes hold their lunch hour meetings, it smells like cheesies and feet. The walls are decorated with cartoon characters from the 1970s who are busy demonstrating the proper way to conjugate French verbs through the art of disco dancing. (The one above the door has this knowing leer that really creeps Kris out -- it is secretly the whole reason he dropped the second language elective in sophomore year. Kris freaking hates the French room.)
The only other person in the room when Kris gets there is this brace-faced little kid who doesn't even look old enough to be a freshman. She's sitting on one of the desks with her hands tucked under her thighs, swinging her feet and looking everywhere but at Kris. She's wearing a plaid dress and knee socks and high top sneakers, and her hair is in two pink-elasticed braids. She seems completely invested in pretending she's alone in the room, which seems a little nuts to Kris, but there you go.
Pretty soon after Kris drops his backpack on one of the desks at the front, the rest of the club starts wandering in. He spots Anoop from his Ethics class, which might be okay because Anoop is only really scary when people are discussing controversial topics and there can't be too many of those in Glee Club. The girl with the crazy hair might be called Melanie, he thinks, or maybe Megan; they don’t have any classes together, but she seems okay. He doesn't recognize any of the others.
Mr. Cook comes in last. He sets a big stack of books and DVDs down on the teacher's desk at the front and looks up to smile at the room. "Hey," he says. "Welcome to, uh. Glee Club." He does this weird jazz-hands thing and makes the kind of applause sound effect you do when you ace "Through The Fire and Flames" in guitar hero. People blink at him.
"This is the first year for Glee Club since Ms. Abdul retired," Mr. Cook goes on. "So we're starting from scratch, pretty much. I found some really cool songs I thought we could try, though, and I think--"
He stops because the door opens. The guy who opened it blinks at the rest of them and then purses his lips and lifts his chin, turning to Mr. Cook. "They told me this was the musical theatre department?" he says, like he doubts it. His fair hair is combed away from his round face in a neat part and he seems to be wearing some kind of scarf thing around his neck.
Mr. Cook lifts both of his eyebrows. "This is the Glee Club," he says, sweeping a hand at the room. "That's as close as you're going to come around here, I'm afraid. Budget cuts."
The new guy looks at him. Mr. Cook smiles back. "Okay," the new guy says, like it isn't, and then he grabs the desk next to Kris. And okay, Kris was raised up right; he knows how to mind his manners. But he's never really seen a guy wearing a neck scarf to, like, high school before. Or to anywhere else outside of an episode of the original batman, really. And he thinks that jacket might be made of velvet or something, which is crazy, especially in this kind of heat, and--
"What?" the new guy says, glaring at Kris.
Kris blinks and shakes himself, smiling at the guy apologetically. "Sorry," he says. "I just. I like your scarf. Thing." He waves a hand at it. "You look like a bad guy from batman."
The guy glares at him for a few seconds longer, eyes narrowed, waiting for Kris to crack up and make the joke he'd obviously been expecting. Kris just smiles at him again, though, kind of hopefully, and eventually the guy relaxes a little. "It's an ascot," he says.
Kris blinks again. "What?"
"An ascot. My scarf thing. It's an ascot. That's the name of the garment?" He shakes his head like he's disgusted with Kris, but he's smiling a little, too.
"Oh," Kris says, nodding. He nods a few more times. "I have no idea what you just said."
The new guy grins at him. Kris grins, too, even though he'd been being serious, and then they're both laughing, bent over at their desks.
"Guys, hello, baring my heart and soul up here," says Mr. Cook. "Least you could do is pay attention."
Kris puts a hand over his mouth and pulls it down out of the laugh it wants to be stuck in. "Sorry Mr. Cook," he says. The new guy makes a contrite face that's really, really convincing. Mr. Cook goes back to his speech.
"I'm Adam," says the new guy, leaning across the aisle toward Kris.
Kris smiles at him again. "Kris," he says, out of the side of his mouth. And then they really have to shut up because Mr. Cook is giving them the Look of Disappointment, and Kris would pretty much do anything to avoid that.
Post by sparkysparky on Sept 3, 2009 7:45:25 GMT -5
Cathalin yours is SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO cute!! I love seeing this glimpse of Adam from before he was all self-confident and stuff! High school was prolly rough for him poor baby. (And also, the idea of Kris being 'big' for his age at 15 makes me LOL so much. Sry baby, you don't grow much more <3)
Eeeee, Sprat!!! I LOVE your fic, are you serious?!?! Oh my god, it's perfect. Glee au! Actually multiple prompt responses are wanted in here if they happen, I think. The more to entice bidders with! And yours rocks beyond the telling of it!
In addition to all the awesome of Adam in an ascot (hee), and the two of them meeting in Glee Club, squeeeee, I am IN LOVE with your Mr. Cook oh my god, with his hands and all. Ahaha, the Face of Disappointment!!