ONESHOTS, kurt cobain & dave grohl

✧ over ✧

over, by grunge_obsessions

3361 words

published 12/19/20

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Kurt nearly jumped out of his skin when the phone started ringing, swinging his legs over the side of his bed quickly and dashing to the lounge room. If someone was calling him at this time it was probably urgent.

"Hello?" He wedged the phone between his cheek and shoulder and reached around on a side table for a pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and sticking it between his lips.

"Kurt?" It was Dave, slurring on the other end of the line.

"Dave? Are you ok, man?" Kurt's voice was muffled as he spoke around the cigarette in his mouth, grabbing his lighter and flicking it to life. He brought it to the end of the cigarette as Dave began speaking. Or rather, slurring.

"I'm so fuckin' drunk, Kurt. The hotel won't let me in."

"Fuck's sake, Dave." Kurt raised two fingers to his mouth and removed the cigarette, sighing out the words and rubbing his eyes with his free hand.

"Can I stay at your place?" Dave was tentative, scared even, as he asked the question. Kurt thought for a moment before shrugging resignedly and nodding, then realising Dave couldn't see him.

"Yeah. Yeah you can come over."

"Thank you so much man- I'll... I'll make it up to you," Dave sounded absolutely exhausted and Kurt grunted. "I'll be there soon. Thanks again."

"See you," Kurt said quietly and hung the phone back up, bringing the cigarette to his mouth and inhaling deeply, blowing the smoke-filled breath back out slowly. He stood like that for several minutes and flicked the ashes into the ashtray on the table, then deciding to stub the cigarette out and go back to bed for half an hour.

—

When Dave arrived, Kurt hadn't managed to fall back to sleep, and had migrated to the couch to await Dave's inevitable knock. He stood when he heard he taxi pull over out the front of his house and opened the front door to see Dave walking up his front path, empty handed.

"They wouldn't even let me get my stuff," Dave said sadly, sounding marginally more sober than he was on the phone.

"How do you get yourself into this shit?" Kurt asked, not expecting an answer, and stepped aside so Dave could come in. Dave shrugged and stood awkwardly in the centre of the living room as Kurt shut and locked the front door once more. "You can sleep in my room. Or out here if you want. I don't mind."

"I don't really mind either," Dave said tentatively and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Up to you then."

"I dunno."

God he was difficult sometimes, Kurt thought. But he also saw an opportunity in Dave's submissiveness and flicked his gaze up to Dave's face.

"You'll be more comfortable in my room," he said slowly and Dave nodded readily.

"Sure."

"Ok. You want a shower or...?" He left the question open and Dave shook his head slightly, the action making his head throb slightly, and he winced.

"I might just crash, I'm exhausted."

"Okay," Kurt said softly and cleared his throat, leading the way to his bedroom and flicking the light off as he exited the room. Dave followed closely and quietly, looking around at the pictures and drawings on Kurt's walls, a mixture of posters, artworks and random words or sentences written in spray paint or sharpie. Kurt looked back over his shoulder and saw Dave craning his neck to look up at the ceiling, which was covered in random splatters of paint. He pushed open his bedroom door and stood to the side, letting Dave enter first. He padded in after him and Dave stood, again, awkwardly in the middle of the room, awaiting instruction. "You can take the left side," Kurt prompted and Dave bobbed his head.