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Kurt didn’t think he was going to ever speak to Sam again.
Not because he didn’t want to, of course, it’s just that--it was just that ever since Blaine showed up, Sam’s belonged to him. Not that a person can belong to anyone except themselves, but, Blaine-and-Sam went together like all those stupid superheroes they wouldn’t shut up about. Sam understood Blaine on a level Kurt couldn’t, and Blaine--well, Blaine was friends with everyone, but especially Sam.
It felt like the friendship he and Sam had developed way back when, before Sam moved away and moved back, was something Kurt had dreamed up, like an exaggerated coping method for how lonely and miserable he’d been then. He knew he hadn’t, of course; he knew it had been real. He knew he’d let out a jacket for Sam he otherwise would’ve taken to the Goodwill, he knew he then taught Sam how to thrift and make it not seem like you were thrifting. He knew Sam was honorable. He remembered how they’d been, before--but it felt like those memories belonged to someone else.
So much of Kurt’s pre-Blaine life felt that way, though, not just Sam; falling in love with Blaine had woken him up, brought color to the world he hadn’t even realized was so gray, and made Kurt interested in living his life, instead of just surviving it. He didn’t like to think about how it felt before that, because it felt terrible, especially in comparison.
And Kurt wasn’t the only one Blaine had that effect on. Kurt was sure Sam hadn’t known he needed a best friend like Blaine before Blaine arrived in his bowtie, overflowing with optimism and nerdy interests. Kurt barely remembered a time before they were nearly as inseparable as he and Blaine were. As he and Blaine had been. And Sam--he needed that. Kurt had been too socially radioactive to be the sort of friend Sam needed, and even after everything, he’d been so wrapped up in Blaine that he’d hardly had the time or desire to stay close with anyone--even Rachel was only as close as she was because she was Rachel, and one doesn’t just drift from Rachel Berry. Even when one would really like to.
And then there was New York.
When Kurt was in New York, he’d tried to bury Lima. He’d tried to become someone who had stepped into the world fully-formed at eighteen, in New York; the old Kurt was dead, he’d tried to convince himself, and if he looked back too long, that would stop being true, and any progress he’d made toward becoming who he was meant to be would be lost.
Blaine suffered for that, clearly.
He hadn’t realized Sam had, too. Not until Kurt was back in Lima, at any rate. He was re-organizing the sheet music (again, when was Rachel going to give it up) when there was a little knock at the choir room door and a soft clearing of the throat.
Kurt turned, half-expecting a shy student wanting to join the club--but, no. Sam. Somehow that was even more surprising, which was saying something, given how none of the students had any idea what Glee Club was or what it could be.
“Sam,” Kurt said, setting his papers down with a gentle whump. “Is everything alright?”
Sam nodded and tucked his hands in his pockets. He shuffled into the room. “Is it?” Sam asked, giving Kurt a surprisingly pensive look. “With you?”
Kurt blinked. “Y...es?” It came out like a question, and Kurt averted his eyes. No, he was not okay, but he was doing a half-decent job of pretending otherwise. “Why?”
Sam shrugged, wandering in a wide circle through the choir room. Kurt’s eyebrows knitted slightly; was this a prank, or a lead-up to an attempt at reconciliation, with Blaine using Sam as a messenger?
“Because,” Sam said with a sigh, looking back to him, “it’s not.”
“Yes, it is--”
“Kurt,” Sam interrupted, gently still somehow. “I know you, man. I know you’re not okay.”
Kurt blinked, rapidly, a sudden lump in his throat he couldn’t explain. He was supposed to be over the random crying jags at this point--
“Sam,” Kurt said, swallowing around it. His voice still came out a little hoarse. “I’m fine. You should be worrying about--” Kurt caught himself, paused, tried again. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he took a few steps closer to Kurt, who tensed, because good lord, were they really doing this? Was Sam Evans really going to make him spill his guts in the middle of the choir room?
“Kurt,” Sam said again, when there was less than two feet of distance between them. “You can say you’re fine all you want. I just want you to know I’m here for you, okay? ”
Kurt’s confusion only mounted. “Why?” Kurt asked, the question escaping before he could stop it. “You should--you’re supposed to be there for--for him. I have Rachel.”
Sam shrugged. “So does Blaine,” he said, and Kurt pretended like the name didn’t still make him twist up inside. “And he’s doing better.” It came out happy, sure, but Kurt could see the apology in Sam’s eyes for having to say it. “You’re not. So I’m here, ‘cause we’re still friends. If you’ll let me be, this time.”
“I’m--”
“Fine, right,” Sam finished, shaking his head just slightly. “Well. If you ever want to...I dunno, be ‘fine’ and hang out and have a beer or something, you know where to find me.”
“I--I don’t actually? Know where to find you?” Kurt realized; Sam’s family was still back in Kentucky, last he’d heard, and Kurt found it unlikely he was crashing at any fellow Glee Clubber’s house at this point. “Where are you staying?”
Sam shook his head. “Got my own apartment,” he explained, a note of pride coloring his voice. “Come over sometime. We can watch one of Stacey’s romcoms and eat all the junk food you want, ‘kay?”
“I--okay,” Kurt agreed, because it was easier than fighting it.
“Cool,” Sam said, giving a definitive nod. “Now that we’re coworkers, we should hang out. We got a lotta time to make up for, now that you’re back.”
Coworkers. How weird. “Okay,” Kurt said again. His heart felt strange in his chest, like it was too full and twisted at once.
“Okay,” Sam said, giving him a little smile. “I’ll text you.” Sam headed for the door again, and Kurt was speaking before he could stop himself.
“Sam?” Kurt said, and Sam paused in the doorway. “He’s doing better?”
Sam hesitated, then nodded slowly. “The Warblers are good for him.” Sam glanced around the empty choir room, then gave Kurt that half-smile that made him look years younger. “I hope this place is good for you, too, Kurt.”
“Thank you,” Kurt said, because he realized the feeling in his chest was gratitude, married with surprise and disbelief; he’d thought his and Sam’s friendship had become ancillary. He’d thought that he and Sam were only friends at this point because Sam was best friends with Kurt’s boyfriend.
Maybe he’d been wrong.
Sam grinned at him and headed out, and Kurt was alone again.
Or, maybe, not so alone after all.