Foo Fighters/Nirvana One-Shots

Pennyroyal Tea

Not all the events are true (as it is still just FanFiction)

The unplugged played in the background as I lay still on my bed. I liked to do this sometimes, to listen to Kurt sing. And the Unplugged was the perfect album to do that. Maybe in real life it had been a bit stressing, mainly for Kurt, but the recorded version was really delicate yet rough, calming but not enough to fall asleep. The bits of dialogue in between the songs were the part that more memories dragged along. I remembered them as if it had been yesterday. Mainly Pennyroyal Tea.

On rehearsals we played the song all together, with Pat doing the background vocals apart from playing the second guitar. But as the songs slipped from our instruments on the live performance it seemed that Kurt had changed his mind.

"Am I gonna do this by myself." He had said. It was a question, but he said it like the truest statement he had ever come up with.

The statement seemed to piss Pat off. It wasn't hard to understand. He wasn't part of the band, didn't have any bonds with Kurt, and no intention of justifying the sudden change of mind. "Yeah, just do it by yourself, then..." He turned to his guitar, annoyed.

"Okay," I had answered, not really convinced. Why the change? Did he not like Pat's vocals? Was he annoyed by my drumming while they tuned in the right key for the next song? Or did I do something wrong before the live? Either way, I repeated Pat's words "Do it by yourself." I nodded. This time it sounded sure, but my voice came out higher than normal. No one noticed.

"Well, I think I'll try it in a different key... I'll try it in a normal key." Kurt seemed to ignore us and continued with the show, not even tuning to the key the song was originally in. As if he were in a hurry.

Pat couldn't stand it anymore and left the stage, drink in hand. Kurt didn't even flinch and continued talking to the audience "If it sounds bad, this people have to sit through it."

Laughter.

In that moment it offended me, I guess, because I also copied Pat in this and followed backstage. Leaving Kurt alone with Krist—who didn't even think of getting off the chair—and the audience, both on the grades and at home.

Maybe I just left because I didn't have anything to do there and it would have been awkward to just sit on the stool. And my head was still trying to get around the fact that he had decided to have the entire spotlight for himself. He wasn't a huge attention-seeker, and he liked to be organised. On his own way. 

Either way I was glad he had performed the track alone. Looking back I realised we would have fucked it up and it wouldn't have been as pretty as his version.

That song was the one that made me think of him the most. I remembered watching him from behind, his dirty blonde hair long enough to caress his shoulders, his baggy green sweater folding itself down his back. His feet slightly making the desk chair turn and his effortless voice singing the words and dragging them slightly.

Every time I heard the song I associated the sound with the picture of him playing, and now with my eyes closed it was even easier.

I saw him again. I remembered Kurt as the man he was, how he talked to me. The late afternoons with movies and weed on our couch when we lived together. His scratchy voice ranting about whatever that came to his mind while lying on the couch, and his silence and listening when it was my turn.

How kind he had been when I first showed him the song Marigold which he decided to put as a B-side to Heart Shaped Box. How he was even kinder when I showed him the first recording I did of Alone+Easy Target, a song written by both of us. I had that kiss burned into my memory. Even if it had been silly and not at all serious, more because of the excitement than anything. I could still feel his hands pull my head down to him sitting in the bath tub. My cheeks burned, after.

I remembered how he and Krist reassured me that my first performance with them had been good. I even thought of the hours Kurt spent on his room, writing or drawing. The silence in the apartment was deadly, scary even, when none of us made too much noise. Those days had ended, though, and I moved out to somewhere in Seattle.

My mind swam on those memories, and eventually tripped over the worst one. It was very vivid, in mid 1993. Picking up the phone that wouldn't stop ringing and almost dropping it to the floor a minute later. The worst news that could have been given to me at that moment.

After that, every day had been dull and plain. I couldn't tell if we were on Monday or Wednesday, March or June. My mind wouldn't work, and my gaze was always down.

I remembered the funeral. That day I memorized every little pebble on the pavement, I couldn't bring myself to look higher than Krist's waist. He had been the same, if not worse than me, but he handled it better at the beginning.

"It sounded good." My past faint voice through the speakers brought me back to reality, after the last chords of the song fainted. I had attempted to make things better by a tiny compliment, but Kurt didn't respond with the same will.

"Shut up."

A very far small voice replied, later "Sorry," Almost inaudible. I doubt I even heard it now, lying on the bed, but I had the exchange of words memorised, and I remembered it perfectly, too.

I pictured Kurt with a little silly smile on his lips when he made contact with me for a split second. It wasn't much effort from him, but it had sent a shiver down my body, seeming to stop at a certain area.

The last thing from the track was the laughter of people and then silence reigned the room. As if it were the last thing I had to remember about Kurt for now: a silly smile on his lips as a promise of taking things further later on. Like we had done once as an "accident" and had ended in a habit.