Fanfic: The Memory Keeper (3/14)
Title: The Memory Keeper (A Kradam Fanfic)
Author: Radiogaga33
Pairing: Kris/Adam
Setting: AU
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Kris, Adam, etc are their own people. They belong to themselves, not to me. No claims to any copyrights, trademarks, or any other intellectual property. This is purely a work of fiction from my very idle mind. It never happened.
Notes: Let's go meet Kris, shall we?
Many thanks to sweet_poeia for being my second set of eyes on this. Hugs. =)
Comments welcome as always.
( Chapter 1: One Last Moment )
( Chapter 2: A Betting Man )
The Memory Keeper
Chapter 3: Four Simple Words
Kris Allen set down his half-empty glass and wondered for the umpteenth time that evening what he was doing here. It was Saturday night and the party at Katherine Harlowe’s mansion in the Hollywood Hills was in full swing. All around him, playboys and posers preened in the latest fashions, conspicuously displaying the accoutrements of the idle rich and their hangers-on. Kris was standing by the bar in the main living room, his ears ringing with the echoes of idle conversation and blaring music. He didn’t recognize a single person at the party-and quite frankly, he was glad he didn’t. So what the hell am I doing here, he thought again. It was a question that warranted some consideration.
Kris had been born some twenty four years ago during the hottest summer on record in Charleston, North Carolina. He didn’t remember much about the bustling southern city-mostly because the year he’d turned six, his parents had packed up and moved back to Arkansas to be closer to his ailing grandparents. Transplant though he was, Kris had become an Arkansas native through and through. In his past nine months in California, he had been known to regale anyone who sat still long enough with tales about Arkansas, about the people and towns, about the river and the way of life.
His had been a happy childhood, secured by loving parents and a younger brother he loved beyond comprehension. Other than a handful of altercations with bullies, he’d enjoyed a peaceful existence in Conway, one filled with sunshine and laughter and the unshakeable knowledge that he was loved. Following high school, Kris had stuck around and completed four years of music and education at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville. After two years teaching music at his old high school, Kris had finally caught the wandering spirit. That was why in September of the previous year, he had arrived at USC to begin a doctorate program in music. Kris’s dream was to become a music professor at a top conservatory. It wasn’t the most exciting of aspirations, Kris acknowledged, but it was his dream nonetheless, and Los Angeles had seemed a good enough place to pursue it.
Kris lived in a small studio apartment on 32nd street, a couple of blocks from the main USC campus. On weekday evenings, he gave piano and guitar lessons at the music school to USC undergraduates and a handful of neighborhood children in an after-school program. Besides that and his own classes, Kris didn’t do much with his time other than read and compose music. He was the antithesis of the Los Angeles poser. He didn’t go to nightclubs and he’d never touched champagne.
But that had all changed for a while when he’d met Katherine about a month ago. Kris picked up his glass and took a small sip of the vodka cranberry concoction he’d been nursing for the past hour. He scanned the crown quickly, cringing a little when Katherine’s eyes caught his own from across the room. He answered her flirtatious wave with a brief dispirited motion of his own. In theory they made the perfect couple, Kris and Katherine. With her honey blonde hair and delicate, petite beauty, she was the perfect physical complement to Kris. He had never been the biggest kid in class and adulthood had done precious little to augment his size. Nevertheless, there was an undeniable beauty to his unruly brown hair and laughing brown eyes and an undeniable strength in the hard, compact body that moved with a special brand of fluidity and grace.
In actuality however, Kris and Katherine were polar opposites. She’d turned up four weeks ago to take piano lessons with Kris. When the pretty, flirtatious college senior had asked him out, Kris had figured sure, why not. But after three weeks of dating, Kris found that he’d had more than his fill of nightclubs and aimless conversations about cars, shopping, and celebrities. He liked her but not quite enough to continue sitting through hours of vapid conversation. So, five days ago, he’d tried to let her down easy, mumbling the usual set of excuses and vague explanations. The break-up hadn’t taken. It was the only way Kris could explain the odd way she continued to hang on to him, calling at all hours of the day and night and making plans as if they were still together. It was partly his fault, Kris recognized. If he stopped taking her calls and stopped showing up where she asked-like this party-she would get the idea and leave him alone. But Kris hated to hurt anyone, and when Katherine had sounded like she was on the verge of tears, he’d given in and promised to attend her party. So, here he was, swilling vodka and cranberry, stuck at some party he’d hated since he walked in the front door. This is the last time, he told himself. After tonight, he was going to make a clean break once and for all.
The resolution made Kris feel better. He picked up his drink once again and drained the contents of the glass in one long swallow. After he set down the empty glass he looked around the room once more. As he did, he noticed a blonde starring at him from where he stood with a small group a few feet away from Kris. The man appeared to be listening to what one of the girls surrounding him was saying, but his eyes, Kris noted with a small degree of pride, kept straying towards Kris. The man’s gaze grazed over Kris’s face and across the width of his shoulders and chest before sliding down the length of his torso to the apex of his thighs. Kris returned the bold appraisal with a long searching head-to-toe glance of his own. He liked what he saw.
In the last four years, Kris had finally come to terms with the dual nature of his sexuality. He was glad to have finally moved beyond the years of confusion he’d suffered after discovering that he was equally attracted to men and women. Today, a few weeks from his twenty fourth birthday, Kris had managed to carve out an equilibrium for himself. Nevertheless it was still a somewhat delicate one. Kris couldn’t claim to be the most experienced person in the room when it came to sex, but he’d had his fair share of lovers. But while he’d gone all the way, as it were, with women, he had yet to do the same with a man. Even though he had finally begun to indulge his desires with men over the past four years, he still hadn’t crossed the ultimate line. As Kris stared at the blonde man, he wondered again why it was that he still hesitated at that final step, that final act. Because you’re still waiting for Adam Lambert, his traitorous mind replied.
Kris’s pulse suddenly acquired considerable speed at the thought of the high school senior who’d stepped in and defended him when he’d gotten in over his head that summer morning ten years ago. For perhaps the thousandth time since Adam had disappeared from Conway, Kris tried to picture what he looked like today. But as usual he failed and all he could see in his mind’s eye was the tall, slightly awkward young man with mesmerizing blue eyes and golden hair. Kris looked at the blonde man again and laughed quietly at himself. He definitely had a type all right. Tall, blue-eyed, and blonde. Like Adam Lambert had been all those years ago. Every once in a while, Kris wondered if he’d been the cause or merely a symptom. Kris would never know because ten years ago, Adam had walked out of Kris’s house, never to be seen again in Conway. A decade later, Kris still remembered every detail of that morning.
* * *
It had been the middle of June, a few days after Kris’s fourteenth birthday. The heat from the summer sun had been all encompassing as he’d walked his bicycle down James Street on his way to a friend’s house. Kris had only made if a few feet down the street when Patrick and three of his friends had walked up behind him and accosted him, kicking his bike to the ground and tossing him around.
“Leave me alone!” Kris yelled, sweat beading across his brow.
“Yeah? You want us to leave you alone? What are you going to give us for free passage, little freshman?” Patrick asked.
“What do you want?”
The three stooges let him go while Patrick considered the question. “Your bike. Give us your bike and we’ll let you go.”
The brand new bicycle was his fourteenth birthday present from his parents. Wild horses couldn’t drag it away from him.
“No way.”
“What did you say to me?” Patrick’s face grew dark with surprised anger. In years of bullying little schoolboys, no one had ever refused him anything. Who did the little freshman think he was?
“I said, no way. What are you deaf or something?” If it had been anything else, Kris would’ve handed it over and continued along his way. But not this. Not the present his parents had given him just a few days ago, the excitement and love in their eyes matching that in Kris’s.
“What did you just say?” Patrick shoved Kris hard. He fell to the ground and hit his head on the pavement, the contact cutting the skin above his left eyebrow. Patrick turned around to his buddies and laughed. While they were distracted, Kris jumped back to his feet and rushed towards Patrick, landing a sharp blow to his gut.
“What the fuck,” Patrick whispered, doubling over with pain for a moment before grabbing Kris again and pulling back his arm to punch him. Out of the corner of his eye, Kris saw a figure moving quickly up the street. It was Adam Lambert. At first, it looked like Adam was simply going to walk past them but surprisingly he stopped and stepped into the little tableau on the street.
“Patrick, leave the kid alone.”
“This has nothing to do with you Lambert. Move on.”
Adam moved closer to them as Patrick’s friends stepped back, their gazes shifting nervously between their ringleader and the tall newcomer.
“Patrick, I mean it. Leave the kid alone.”
“No!”
“Fine, you want a fight; I’ll give you a fight. Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”
Patrick ignored Adam and began to move his fist towards Kris. Adam launched himself at him.
“I said leave him alone!” He grabbed Patrick’s arm and twisted it until he yelped with pain and let go of Kris. Patrick swung his other arm, catching Adam on the lip with a sharp jab. Kris stepped back, wide-eyed as he watched his surprise defender and the notorious bully wrestle each other because of him. The fight didn’t last long. Adam ended it rather definitively when he blocked a punch from Patrick with his left hand and smashed his right fist into the other boy’s face, breaking his nose.
Patrick yelped again, clutching his hands to his bleeding face.
“You broke my fucking nose, you asshole!”
“Oops,” Adam replied, his eyes cold, his tone unapologetic.
“You’re gonna pay for this, you hear me? I swear to God you’re gonna pay.” With that declaration, Patrick turned around and hurried off. His three stooges ran after him. Kris turned around and watched them go.
“Are you okay kid?” Kris turned to see Adam staring at him with a concerned look on his face.
“I think so.”
Adam moved towards him and gestured towards his forehead. “You’re bleeding.”
“Christ!” Kris exclaimed, touching his finger to his forehead and coming away with bloody fingertips.
Adam looked up the street. “You live a couple blocks over, right? On Thompson Street?”
“Yes,” Kris replied, surprised that the enigmatic boy he’d admired from afar for years knew anything at all about him. Adam had never spoken a word to him despite the fact that they’d live within a few blocks of each other for years.
“Do your parents keep a first aid box?”
“Yeah, we’ve got one.”
Adam picked up the small bag he’d dropped on the ground before jumping into the fray. Then he picked up Kris’s bicycle from the ground and handed it to him.
“Alright, come on then. You shouldn’t leave that cut open like that.”
They walked quickly to Kris’s house. Adam stood back silently while Kris fiddled with the blue door. A few moments later, he walked into their house and dropped his bag by the front door. Kris watched him, memorizing every movement. He couldn’t believe that Adam Lambert was in his home. Kris remembered the first day he’d seen him. It was on the day his family had arrived in Conway. Kris recalled looking down the street and seeing a boy sitting on the sidewalk, his arms resting on his knees, golden hair gleaming bright in the summer sunshine.
Kris had tugged on his mother’s skirt and asked, “Mommy, is that an angel?”
Kris’s mother had looked down the street and laughed. “No Kris. It’s just a boy.”
Kris had stared for a few more seconds, taking in the otherworldly sight down the street. It was the only time in his life that he’d doubted his mother.
“So where’s the box?”
Kris shook himself free of the memory. “Upstairs.”
“So let’s go.”
Kris led Adam up the stairs and into his bedroom while he went to the bathroom and retrieved the first aid kit and a bottle of peroxide. He walked back into his bedroom and handed the items to Adam. A few moments later, he struggled to sit still while Adam carefully tended to his wound. His self-possession was slowly eroding beneath the intense scrutiny of Adam’s blue eyes as the older boy leaned over him. In the eight years since Kris had been watching Adam around their neighborhood and in school, he’d never dreamed that he would someday be alone with the enigmatic older boy. Adam rarely spoke to anyone, and as far as Kris knew, he had no friends and no other family besides his father. But now, Adam was here, in Kris’s bedroom.
Adam made quick work of cleaning and dressing Kris’s wound. He straightened up and cupped Kris’s jaw in his hand, turning his head sideways as he examined his handiwork. Kris felt his heartbeat pick up under Adam’s examination and the warm touch of his hand against his skin. The feeling that welled up inside him at the fleeting contact was a novel one. What was that old expression he’d heard? Butterflies in his stomach. That’s what it felt like. Kris frowned. But why did he feel butterflies because a boy touched him? Kris didn’t understand. What he did know was that he was incredibly disappointed when Adam let go and stepped back.
Adam gave him a pale imitation of a smile. “Next time, don’t go swinging at Goliaths, kid. Might sound nice in those stories you learned in Sunday School but this is the real world. There are no miracles here. And you’re no David.”
Kris hung his head. “I know,” he murmured softly. “I wish I wasn’t so small.” He looked up. “I wish I was big like you.”
“Don’t be so sure. Smaller targets are harder to hit. Didn’t anyone ever tell you? The nail that sticks out the most gets hammered the hardest. Sometimes it’s better to be low to the ground.”
Kris didn’t completely understand what Adam meant or why he looked so incredibly sad as he spoke. He could barely think beyond the confusing desire to feel Adam’s hand on his skin again.
“I’ll try to remember that,” he finally replied.
They were silent for a long, hushed moment, staring at each other. Then Adam broke the stare and looked around his bedroom, stopping when he saw the guitar leaning against the wall in the corner.
“I didn’t know you play the guitar.”
Kris turned to look at it. “I mostly just practice in my room.”
“Do you know a lot of songs?”
“Yeah.” Kris’s face brightened. “Let me play something for you.”
Adam shifted on his feet. “I don’t know. I kinda have to go.”
“It’ll only take a minute. Please?”
“Alright, knock yourself out.” Adam sat on the bed while Kris went to get the guitar. Kris came back, sat next to Adam, and began to play “Tears in Heaven.” Eric Clapton was one of his favorite musicians. When he finished, Adam clapped and gave him a genuine smile.
“You’re really good. I mean it. You’re really good. I wish I knew how to play.”
“It’s really not that hard to learn the basics. Here let me show you.” Before Adam could speak, Kris thrust the guitar into his arms and the guitar pick into his right hand and moved Adam’s hands into place on the instrument. For a few minutes, with his body pressed close and his arms wrapped around him, Kris taught Adam how to play a little bit of the song he’d just finished. When they were done, Adam smiled again. Kris stared at him, at the beautiful blue eyes and freckles decorating his handsome face. He had to forcibly suppress the desire to run his fingers through Adam’s golden hair and along his skin. What was wrong with him?
Finally, Adam stood up, placed the guitar on the bed, and handed the pick back to Kris. “I have to go,” he declared.
“I saw your bag. Where are you going?”
Adam’s eyes grew distant. “I don’t know.”
“Are you coming back?”
“I don’t think so.”
Kris did his best to mask his intense disappointment.
“Why are you leaving?”
“Sometimes, you just gotta make a break. You’ll understand some day.”
Kris wasn’t sure that he would. He thought of Adam out there by himself. He pictured the golden-haired boy he’d mistaken for an angel eight years ago wandering around lost and alone. The thought threatened to break his heart.
“Here, take this.” Kris held out his upturned palm, offering Adam his blue guitar pick.
“Why?”
“It’s my good luck charm. Take it with you. Maybe it will be lucky for you too.”
“Yeah?” Adam said with a sad little smile on his face. He took the small object from Kris’s hand and slipped it into his pocket.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
Five minutes later, Kris stood at his front door, still looking down the street long after Adam had disappeared. Kris had never seen him again.
* * *
Years later, as he stood by the bar at Katherine’s party, Kris recalled again how magical that afternoon had seemed. Like a moment out of time. From the vantage point gained after a decade of experience, he understood the feeling that had come over him when Adam had leaned close and touched him. Desire. Kris smiled again, sparing the blonde man standing a few feet away from him another glance. Once again, he wondered if Adam had been the cause of his preference or merely a symptom. Just as he made up his mind to approach the handsome stranger, a small commotion by the door caught his attention.
Patrick Baylor. Great. He should have guessed that Katherine would invite him to her party. The woman seemed to be completely oblivious to Patrick’s ill-disguised hatred for him. Kris still recalled his shock a month ago when he discovered that the old neighborhood bully had taken up residence in Los Angles, and that he’d dated Katherine before she’d set her sights on Kris. And now he was at her party. Kris let out a pained sigh. Surely the universe didn’t hate him that much.
Kris paused in mid-thought a few moments later, his jaw hanging open at the sight of the man who had just walked into the room behind Patrick. Adam Lambert. A loud buzzing noise started up in Kris’s head as he stared in shock. The golden hair had been dyed black and the casual t-shirts and jeans had been traded for skin tight pants and black leather, but Kris still recognized him in an instant. He swore softly. What the hell was Adam Lambert doing here?
Kris abandoned all thoughts of the blonde-haired man he’d been eyeing and pivoted sharply on his heel, hurrying blindly towards the bathroom. Once there, he barricaded himself inside and splashed his face with cold water. He tugged at the collar of his blue plaid shirt. Kris felt like he couldn’t breathe. What was Adam Lambert doing here? Kris stared at his face in the mirror. He looked wild, his eyes unnaturally bright, his shoulders tight with tension. He forced himself to relax. What was he doing, hiding in Katherine Harlowe’s bathroom like a scared child just because Adam Lambert had walked through the door? He took a deep breath and let it out loudly. Then he took another.
After a few minutes hunched over the porcelain sink, he finally felt calm again. Adam hadn’t seen him. Hell, he probably didn’t even remember who Kris was. He was being ridiculous. Kris decided he could use some fresh air. With that thought, he left the bathroom and slipped out the terrace doors and onto the perfectly landscaped grounds of the Marlowe mansion. He walked around aimlessly for a while, finally stopping by the entrance to the gazebo.
“Air in there a little too rarified for you?”
Kris jumped in surprise at the question. He stepped into the gazebo. There, on one of the benches, strong arms resting on impossibly long legs, looking for all the world like some wicked prince holding court, sat Adam Lambert. Brilliant, Kris thought. This just keeps getting better and better. He struggled to make his vocal cords work.
“You could say that.”
Adam sat up straighter. “Hi, I’m Adam.”
“I know,” Kris replied. “I remember you.”
Adam flashed him a grin. “Do you? Wasn’t sure if you would, what with all the…changes.” Adam gestured at his hair.
“It didn’t stump me. I’d recognize you anywhere.” Shit. Why did I say that?
Adam laughed. “I remember you too. Thompson Street. The house with the bright blue door. That was you, right?”
Kris groaned. “Yeah. Bane of my existence, that door.”
“It wasn’t all that bad. It had style. I liked it.”
“Well don’t tell my dad. Otherwise, next thing I know, the entire house will be painted blue.”
Adam made no reply. He just sat there for a long minute, his blue eyes raking over Kris’s body. Finally, he spoke.
“So, you staying or going?”
Kris shifted on his feet. “I don’t want to intrude….”
“Please, intrude away. Haven’t you heard? Boredom loves company.”
“I think you mean misery.”
Adam smiled. “Do you feel happy right now?” Kris shook his head. “Okay then. Misery, boredom, same difference.” He paused. “If you’re staying, you might want to consider sitting down.”
Kris stopped hovering and sat down beside Adam on the bench. Here in the gazebo, sitting alone with Adam while the faint sounds of music drifted through the evening air, Kris felt like he’d stumbled into another moment out of time. And once again, Adam was at the center of it all.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how is it that you’re here?”
“Same old routine. I know someone who knows someone and somehow we all end up at a party on Saturday night. Nothing interesting.”
“No,” Kris replied. “I meant here in Los Angeles. Is this where you’ve been all this time?”
“Yeah. Got off the bus ten years ago and never left.” He turned towards Kris. “What are you doing here, Kris?”
“I’m studying music over at USC. Got here in September.”
“That long, huh? You’re practically a native now.”
Kris laughed. “I wish.” He turned as well. “What do you do?”
“Same thing everyone’s doing in LA-except you maybe. Trying to make it.”
“Acting?” Kris asked.
Adam let out a laugh at Kris’s question. “I couldn’t act my way out a shoebox. No, I’m a singer. You ever heard of The Citizen Vein?”
Kris had. Two weeks ago, a fellow grad student had given him a CD of their music. He’d listened to it everyday since, amazed by the musical quality of the lead singer’s voice.
“That’s you? I didn’t even know you sang.”
“I did. Just never did it for anyone, that’s all.”
“I’m seriously blown away right now. You guys sound amazing. And the guitar? Insane.”
“Yeah? Monte would love to hear that. You should come see our show.”
“Where do you guys perform?”
“At the Sunset Room. We’re there four nights a week. Why don’t you come see our show sometime?”
“Really?”
“Yes. I insist.”
“Okay then, I will.”
“So, what about you?” Adam asked. “You still play your guitar?”
“Every day.”
Adam smiled. “Maybe I can get you to play some Eric Clapton again.”
“Maybe.”
“What are you up to tomorrow?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“I was just thinking, why wait until the Sunset Room. Let’s meet up tomorrow. We can do lunch or something. Catch up and stuff.”
Kris’s heartbeat picked up at the thought that Adam Lambert wanted to see him again. “Sure, what did you have in mind?”
“Do you know your way around Studio City?”
“I can figure it out.”
“Okay. How about Spark Woodfire Grill? Say 1pm?”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
Adam looked towards the house. “Did you see Patrick?”
Kris groaned. “Yes I saw him. And his broken nose too. The man’s father owns half the south; you’d think he would have fixed it by now.”
“Maybe he thinks it makes him look good.”
“Please,” Kris scoffed. “I think it makes him look uglier than he was to start with. Maybe it’s fitting though. A broken nose to match a broken soul.”
Adam eyes widened with mock surprise. “Wow. Kitty’s got claws. Who knew?”
Kris smiled. “Don’t be fooled just because I keep ‘em sheathed.”
“I see you haven’t lost that old fighting spirit. I still remember that scrawny little kid trying to take on four bullies at once.”
“Not so scrawny.” Adam stared at him pointedly. Kris laughed. “Okay, maybe a little scrawny.”
Adam reached out and traced the faint scar above Kris’s left eyebrow. “Your wound healed up pretty good. Can’t even see the scar unless you know it’s there.”
“I had a good nurse.”
Adam’s fingers lingered on Kris’s skin, his blue eyes staring into Kris’s. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Kris’s voice when it came was almost breathless.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Adam dropped his hand and moved back. Kris could barely contain his sudden disappointment. It was like déjà vu all over again. A loud peal of laughter came from the house.
“Your girlfriend throws a good party.”
Kris turned sharply. “She’s not my girlfriend. Who told you that?”
“That’s what some guys inside said.”
“Jesus Christ. It’s like a bad joke. She’s not my girlfriend. We only dated for three weeks.”
Adam’s eyes searched his face. “You sure she knows that?”
“Apparently not if she’s telling people she’s my girlfriend and the information’s getting passed along.”
“Maybe you should do something about that.”
“Yeah.” As if on cue, they heard Katherine’s voice calling for Kris.
“Oh great. Listen, I’m sorry, I have to go.”
“No worries.”
“Are you serious about tomorrow?”
“Sure. Spark Grill. 1 pm.”
“Okay. I’ll see you there.” Kris stopped at the entrance, a smile setting his face aglow. “I’m really happy to see you again, Adam.”
“Me too.” Katherine called again. “You better hurry back before she sends a cavalry after you.”
“Goodbye!” Kris turned around and hurried back to the house.
* * *
A few minutes later, Adam looked up as Patrick walked into the gazebo.
“Well?” Patrick asked.
Adam stood up. “This is a ridiculous idea.”
“And why’s that?”
“I’m pretty sure Kris isn’t all that crazy about Katherine. You can get her back if you want her.”
“Well, I don’t feel like taking chances. Are you going to do it or what?”
Adam walked past Patrick, exiting the gazebo and stopping on the lawn. He looked back at his old classmate.
“What is this really about Patrick? Is your ego still bruised because some kid dared to fight back a decade ago?”
“I’m over it. All I care about it getting Katherine back. Why are you ducking the bet Adam? You always take a bet. What’s the matter? Afraid you’re gonna lose?”
Adam stared at Patrick’s face, at the over-confident smile that rested there. He wanted to wipe it away forever. He looked back at the house to where Kris was standing with Katherine by the terrace doors. Kris looked back at him with barely concealed feeling.
An innocent bystander. The thought gave him pause. Then he turned around to see a familiar self-assured smirk on Patrick’s face. In that moment, pride overtook considerations of decency. Recklessness outpaced logic. Adam wasn’t Kris Allen’s keeper. He owed the man nothing.
A moment later, Adam opened his mouth and uttered the four simple words he would regret until his dying day.
“I’ll take the bet.”
[To be continued]