All I Think About Now [Nirvana]

Chapter 1

"You're here," Dave looked at him from his place on the couch, wrapped in the sleeping bag, a dopey grin on his face.

"Yeah, I am," Kurt mumbled, closing the bathroom door behind him. Where else was he supposed to be on a morning in the middle of the week?

"You know, I was thinking about finally calling Krist one of these days - we should get together, maybe I'd get Paul McCartney to jam with us."

"McCartney? Seriously?" Kurt cackled.

"It's not the eighties anymore." Dave rolled his eyes. "And you know he wrote your favorite song?"

"He did? Wait, I was sure Norwegian Wood is Lennon's."

"Ha, poser," Dave gave him a giant, silly smile. "Man, your haircut was so silly."

Kurt instinctively brushed away his half grown out bangs. "I'm not taking hair advice from a guy who doesn't know you need to tone after bleaching."

Dave looked at his own hair, as if he expected the two inches left of chicken-yellow ends to disappear since yesterday, and burst out laughing. "Yeah, alright! What the hell was I thinking?" Then he took a moment and snorted hard.

"What?"

"My voice!" he laughed again, as if Kurt was supposed to be in on the joke. "I deserve a second puberty, don't you think?"

Kurt made a grunt of protest in the back of his throat. "If you hit a second growth spurt, Nirvana is gonna be two giants, and me, a midget."

"Then you can wear a floral dress and be an extra cute pixie."

Huh. Kurt has been pondering that, though he didn't expect Dave to be the first to give the idea a thumbs up. No, wait, this whole conversation was kinda off - first thing in the morning Dave always did was glare at the turtle over his cigarette, then curse the weather. He never got so fucked up to still be tripping in the morning (it was quite admirable that he just knew his limits and didn't push them for stupid curiosity). "How much did you have last night?"

"Hmm, maybe one Jag too many... Or one hit too many - but that was stuff from California, supposed to get you a good night's sleep."

"Jagermeister? Jesus, did you get into some rich kids party?" On the one night Kurt had to sleep off the sickness! Fuck, maybe he could have scored!

"Sure, richer than both you and me." Dave waggled his eyebrow, as if he was supposed to be in on the joke - again.

"Why don't you get some more sleep, Dave? It's still early."

"Wait, but - we gotta play!" He flailed his arms, trying to get out of the sleeping bag. Damn, did Kurt forget again? He looked near the phone but the only note in Dave's handwriting was the one from last week and the show was scheduled for the end of the month. Eh, whatever - Krist or Silva would call in the afternoon if they were to play a gig. With the daily practice they kept up, they could record the god-damn album live and it would sound fucking awesome.

"Sure, in the evening. It's Thursday, rehearsal as usual."

"Oh-kay. But promise you'll wake me up?" He perked up.

"Yeah, can't exactly play without a drummer, you know?" Kurt cocked his head to the side, giving Dave a gentle look.

"Aw, thanks. I'll see you later then?"

"Yeah, later." Kurt nodded, with his hand on the bedroom door's handle. He chuckled when he closed them behind himself. Man, he sure wasn't going to let this conversation slide. Once he'd get to wear a dress, he was gonna make Dave call him a cute pixie. And ask when McCartney was coming to jam with them.