Kurt immediately regretted it the moment he opened his eyes.
His head throbbed like someone had used it for drum practice, a dull, persistent ache that radiated from his temples down to the base of his skull.
He groaned, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead, and blinked against the dim light filtering through unfamiliar curtains.
The room was small but clean. Soft sheets, burgundy wallpaper, a nightstand with a lamp. It wasn't his room at the guild. Not anywhere he recognized.
"Right," he muttered, sounding tired. "A bloody heads-up would've been nice," he said to the system, but, predictably, it gave no response.
Kurt sat up slowly, his body protesting every movement. His muscles ached, and his joints felt stiff. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his face, trying to piece together how he'd ended up here.
His mind ran through scenes: The Foxhole. Sam. Mary. Burning mansion. And finally the sudden flash of memories.
Before he could process further, the door burst open with enough force to rattle the hinges.
Sam stood in the doorway, her eyes wide and glassy, tears threatening to spill over.
She wore a loose white blouse tucked into a high-waisted skirt along with Kurt's brown trenchcoat, and her dark blue hair was tied back with a ribbon that sat just slightly off-center.
"Kurt!" she gasped, her voice breaking as she crossed the room and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Her body collided with his, and Kurt caught her, feeling the soft weight of her against his chest.
"You're okay!" Sam sobbed with her face buried in the crook of his neck. "I thought—I thought something happened to you!"
Kurt's hands hovered awkwardly for a moment before settling on her back, patting her gently. "Easy, love. I'm fine. Just had a bit of a kip, that's all."
Sam pulled back suddenly, her cheeks flushed bright red. She realized how tightly she'd been pressed against him, practically smothered him, and she stammered, "S-sorry! I didn't mean to—I was just—"
Kurt grinned, his headache momentarily forgotten. "No harm done. Though I've got to say, that's one hell of a wake-up call."
Sam's blush deepened, and she tugged on the ribbon in her hair, a nervous habit that made her look even younger.
"It suits you," Kurt said, nodding toward the ribbon. "The bow, I mean. Very fetching."
She blinked, then smiled shyly. "You think so?"
"Absolutely," Kurt said. "Makes you look like a proper lady."
Sam's smile widened, and she straightened up, her confidence returning slightly. "It's been seven hours since you passed out. Mama Imelda said you needed rest, but I kept checking on you every hour to make sure you were still breathing."
Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Seven hours? Feels like I've been out for days."
"What happened?" Sam asked, leaning closer. Her large teal eyes searched his face with genuine concern. "One second you were fine, and then you just... collapsed."
Kurt rubbed the back of his neck, choosing his words carefully. "Got smacked with a couple of memories I wasn't expecting. Add that to the charming combination of dying against a bastard with a light fetish, and running on fumes, and my body decided it'd had enough. Threw in the towel, so to speak."
Sam tilted her head. "Flash of memories?"
Kurt nodded. "Didn't I mention? I don't remember the last bloody twenty-four years of my life. Amnesia, that."
Sam's eyes went wide. "You... you don't remember anything?"
"Just instincts and bad habits," Kurt said with a light tone but his expression serious.
Sam stared at him for a long moment, processing. Then her lips pressed together, and she looked down at her hands. "That must be... really hard."
"It's an adjustment," Kurt admitted. "But I'm managing."
She looked back up at him, and there was something different in her expression now. Determination, maybe. Or something softer.
Sam took a step back, clasped her hands behind her back, and crossed one leg in front of the other. The pose made her look almost painfully adorable, shy and uncertain, her head tilted slightly as she avoided his gaze.
"Mama Imelda said," Sam began, her voice quieter now, "that when you woke up, you may need... company. To help you relax. To make you feel better."
Kurt blinked. Then he blinked again. "Come again?"
Sam's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, but she held her ground. "She said you'd need someone to... you know. Help."
Kurt stood slowly, his bare feet hitting the cool floor, and ran a hand through his messy hair. "And you volunteered?"
Sam nodded, still not meeting his eyes.
Kurt let out a low whistle. "Aren't I the lucky bastard."
He crossed the room to where his boots sat near the door and bent down to pull them on. "Tell you what, love. I appreciate the offer, really, but I think I'd prefer the lady with three tits. She seemed... experienced."
Sam's cheeks puffed out immediately, her expression shifting from shy to indignant in half a second. "You're an asshole!"
Kurt grinned, straightening up. "Tell me something I don't already know."
Sam looked down at her hands, her fingers twisting together in that nervous, fidgety way, then her voice dropped to a mumble. "...And I want to."
Kurt paused, tilting his head. "What's that? Didn't quite catch it."
Sam's head snapped up, her eyes blazing with defiance even as her face burned. "I want to!" she shouted as her voice cracked slightly.
The room fell silent, and Kurt studied her for a long moment, his grin fading into something more serious. "Sam—"
She exhaled sharply, cutting him off. "Mama Imelda kept me away from the... the sex part of The Foxhole." The word came out like she was forcing it through clenched teeth. "The other girls treat me like a kid. But I volunteered. And Mama didn't say no."
Kurt walked toward her slowly, his boots thudding softly against the floor. The height difference between them felt stark now, her small frame dwarfed by his as he stopped in front of her and looked down.
He reached out, gently lifting her chin with two fingers so she had to meet his gaze. "You may be confused about your feelings, love," he said quietly. "Trust me. You don't want an arsehole like me to be your first."
Sam slapped his hand away, her teal eyes flashing. "It's my choice."
Her voice was firm now. "Kurt, I want you to be my first. I was so scared that I was going to lose it to that creep." Her voice cracked, and tears welled in her eyes. "I don't want my first time to be something I'm forced into. I want it to be with someone I choose. Someone who... who saved me."
Kurt's emotions caught him off guard and he stepped forward, pulling her into a tight hug as his arms wrapped around her small frame.
She stiffened at first, her eyes wide with surprise, but then she melted into him, her cheek pressed against his chest as her face turned a brilliant shade of red.
"You're braver than you think," Kurt murmured into her hair.
Sam sniffled, her hands clutching the front of his shirt. "Does that mean you'll—"
Kurt pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at her in a studying gaze. "How old are you, Sam?"
She blinked, letting go of his shirt. "Twenty-one. Why?"
"Just checking," Kurt said.
Sam's cheeks flushed, hitting his chest softly. "You're an—"
"Arsehole?" Kurt completed, brushing his thumbs across her soft, pink and slightly trembling lips. "You sure about this?"
She nodded without speaking, her gaze locked on his.
Kurt reached for the trench coat she was still wearing, the one he'd wrapped around her hours ago, and slid it off her shoulders. It fell to the floor in a heap, and he leaned down slowly, his lips hovering just a breath away from hers.
Sam stretched up on her tiptoes, her eyes fluttering closed, and Kurt cupped her face in his hands before closing the distance.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but then Sam's lips parted, and she let out a quiet, breathy moan. "Mmn~"
Kurt deepened the kiss, his hands sliding down to her waist, and Sam's fingers tangled in his hair as she pressed herself against him.
Her moans grew louder, desperate little sounds that sent heat rushing through him.
"Ahh~ Kurt..." she gasped between kisses, her voice trembling.
Kurt pulled back just enough to look at her, his breathing heavy. "Last chance, love. You back out now, no hard feelings."
Sam shook her head, her lips swollen and her eyes hazy. "I'm not backing out."
Kurt grinned. "Good."
***
Downstairs, in the main lounge of The Foxhole, Imelda sat at the bar with a glass of wine in hand, her expression smug, and Lagatha leaned against the counter beside her, arms crossed.
"You should've seen the look on her face when she said it," Imelda said, swirling her wine. "Our little Crowley, all grown up and ready to make a choice."
Lagatha snorted. "I'm surprised the other girls let her. Most of them were practically salivating when that man walked through the door."
"They were," Imelda admitted with a grin. "But when Sam stepped forward and said she wanted to be the one? They backed off. Even they know what it means to her."
Lagatha tilted her head. "Think he'll be gentle?"
"He'd better be," Imelda said, her tone sharp but amused. "Or I'll have his head."
She took a sip of her wine, then licked her lips slowly, her grin widening. "Our little Crowley is about to become a woman tonight."
Lagatha chuckled, shaking her head. "You're terrible."
"I know," Imelda said, raising her glass in a mock toast. "It's one of my finer qualities."