Work Text:
Michael Stevens had learned to keep his head down. That was the trick, really. At school. On the bus. In hallways where laughter snapped like rubber bands and teachers pretended not to notice. You stayed quiet, stayed small, waited for the day to end. After today, with blood on his face, keeping his head down was even more important. He hated ride share apps, random strangers trying to talk to you when you just wanted to get somewhere. Right now though? He didn’t have a choice. Couldn’t run, couldn't drive his own car, couldn’t ask someone to pick him up. When bodies lined the University hallways you weren’t safe in your usual environment anymore.
REQUESTING A DRIVER…
A car was nearby. Good. He couldn’t wait long
Your driver: Kurt K.
Rating: 4.5
Vehicle: Silver Sedan
ETA: Arriving now
The car idled beside him with a soft hum. The passenger window rolled down. "Michael?” the driver asked. He was young twenty-something with a mop of greasy brown hair, a wired jittery energy, and a smile that was too wide, too eager. “Yeah” Michael mumbled his British accent barely there with how quiet he was being, keeping his head down. “Cool! Hop in, man,” the driver said. “Tonight’s gonna be great.”
Why does that sound like a threat? Michael wondered. Still, he opened the door.
Inside smelled like cheap energy drinks and desperation. "You're Kurt?” Michael asked, buckling in. “Kurt Kunkle,” he said proudly. “Online handle KurtsWorld96. Maybe you’ve heard of me?” Michael shook his head. Kurt’s face twitched, a tiny flinch but then he plastered the smile back on. “No worries. You will.” The car pulled away from the curb. “So, what brings you out today?” Kurt asked in a tone that was unmistakably performative, like he was hosting a show only he could see. Michael stayed silent. He couldn’t when he was too busy planning his next move.
“Rough day?” Kurt asked lightly, pulling into traffic. Michael didn’t answer. Kurt glanced at the mirror again. “You're shaking, dude.” Michael curled his fingers into his bloodied sleeves. “Just drive.” “Totally,” Kurt said. “Totally cool. Just ” He tapped the camera. “People like authenticity.” Michael looked up sharply. “What?” Kurt waved a hand. “Oh, nothing. Just my thing. Documenting the human experience.” Michael’s heart thudded painfully. “Turn it off.” Michael snapped. “What? No! I got like 50k viewers right now!” Chat messages were rapidly flooding his screen. Kurt’s smile thinned. “C’mon, man. Don’t ruin the vibe. You’re gonna help make this my best stream yet.” Michael’s heart pounded in his ears. He forced himself to breathe, to think. Kurt wanted attention. Drama. Engagement. Unfortunately, for Michael, his presence was exactly what Kurt needed.
—-
SlaughterHouse123: Is that the shooter from the news???
Oddballing: Two killers in the same car KEKW
xxDarkLordxx: Kurt is gonna die OMEGALUL
ya0i._.luvr.928: They need to kiss or im unfollowing
C0C0nut: Chat it’s so joever for our boy
—-
“Shooter?” Kurt says “SHOOTER!” He yells, over excited with manic eyes. “Oh this is absolutely perfect for views!” Michael gritted his teeth. “I’m not here for your entertainment. "Well you are now,” Kurt shot back, eyes shining, manic, darting between Michael and the blinking red light. “People are eating this up. Raw. Do you know how rare this is? Timing like this?” He shook his head, giddy. “You don’t even know what you’re filming,” Michael said. “Oh, I know exactly what I’m filming,” Kurt replied, practically vibrating. “A face. A story. Mystery. Everyone wants answers, man. And you’re sitting right here in my back seat like a gift.” Michael finally turned and looked at him fully. “I’m not a story. I’m a mistake.” For just a second Kurt faltered. The grin twitched. The energy stuttered. “…Wow,” Kurt breathed. “That’s good. Say that again.” “Pull over,” Michael said. Louder now. Firmer. “Now.” Kurt laughed again, but it was thinner this time. “Easy, easy. Don’t get all dramatic. I’m not trying to hurt you.” Michael’s eyes flicked to the locked doors. “Yes. You are.”
The city lights washed over Kurt’s face, exposing the cracks beneath the performance. He didn’t like this part. The part where the subject pushed back. Where the moment stopped being clean. “People love remorse,” Kurt muttered, half to himself. “It tests great.” “I don’t owe them anything,” Michael said. “Not my face. Not my pain. Not this.” “Fine! FUCK! Just shut up with your emo poetry. No one joins a stream to be depressed.” He eased the car toward the curb. The doors unlocked with a soft click. Michael didn’t hesitate. He shoved the door open and stepped out, cold air slamming into his lungs. Behind him, Kurt leaned out the window one last time.
“Hey!” he called.
“Smile! You’re famous!”