Author's Note: This goes in the same universe as "Number 27," and is set during the spring semester of Kurt and Dave's sophomore year of college, just after Easter.

A Better Ending

"Karofsky!"

Dave winced and slammed his locker, taking a deep breath to brace himself before turning to face the snapping blue-green eyes, the flushed cheeks, the jutting chin and clenched teeth of an irate Kurt Hummel. It didn't help; the sight of him still took Dave's breath away.

"What do you want, Hummel?" he said gruffly, trying to walk around him. He'd known from the second he laid eyes on Kurt, sitting tight-lipped and buttoned-up in the stands during practice, that he was going to get the bitching out of his life. He was sure he deserved it, too, but he had been hoping to at least delay it a little longer, and he'd never dreamed Kurt would actually brave the locker room to yell at him. He needed to get out of the locker room. He needed air, and other people around, even if that would make this twice as embarrassing. Being alone with Kurt was dangerous anyway, and being alone with him in a locker room? Well, that had never led anywhere good. However, Kurt blocked him as he tried to head for the door.

"What do I want? You seriously have to ask that? God, you're as dumb as you look, aren't you?"

The insult just rolled off Dave's back, and he quirked an eyebrow at Kurt.

"Really, Hummel? I have a 3.8 GPA, how stupid can I be?"

"Apparently, too stupid to use a telephone. Or a computer. Why have you been ignoring me?"

"Maybe I didn't want to talk to you," Dave said gruffly, not meeting Kurt's eyes. For a moment it was silent, and Dave worried that Kurt might cry; it was always a toss between the diva and the damsel in distress with him, and Dave hadn't figured out yet how to tell which one it would be. He didn't think he could handle a crying Kurt. Thankfully, bitchiness won out.

"Ugh! You never change, do you? After all these years you're still a sweaty Neanderthal with only three things on your mind: food, sports, and keeping your closet doors closed. Still scared of your own shadow, David? Afraid you'll look down and see it prancing along after you, wearing a tiara and a pair of heels?"

Ouch. He felt the echoes of another, younger Kurt's words like a slap across his face. …chubby boys who sweat too much and are gonna be bald by the time they're thirty…You are nothing but a scared little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are! He knew how that last locker room confrontation had ended; it was branded into his brain as the single most painful moment of his life to date, and the most confusing, and probably the most terrifying as well, all rolled into one. He could feel it coming on again, that sense of desperation that had driven him out of his own personal closet of denial the first time. It would have been easy to give in to that impulse now, too; easier even than before, because it didn't matter how much he'd changed and grown in the three and a half years since he'd kissed Kurt Hummel. He could still vividly remember the feel of his pale, smooth skin, the subtle smell of his cologne, the honey-and-peppermint taste of his full lips pressed against Dave's. He could still remember how that kiss had felt for the two full seconds before he'd opened his eyes and realized exactly how much he scared and repulsed the other boy.

Except…he was a different person. He had changed, whatever Kurt said. Looking back on it, he couldn't view that kiss as anything other than assault, and if he repeated the act now he wouldn't even have his own fear-addled mind and teenage sexual confusion to fall back on as an excuse. He knew it was wrong and he knew Kurt didn't want it. He'd only been able to forgive himself for that kiss because Kurt had forgiven him, at least enough to talk to him, befriend him, help him come to terms with who he really was somewhat. He wasn't about to do that to Kurt again. Dave clenched his fists in an effort to remain calm, and looked down at his feel as he talked.

"Kurt, I know you've always been high-strung and kind of a drama queen, but when did you get so damn mean?"

That pulled Kurt up short.

"Mean? I'm mean? Well, hello Pot, my name is Kettle, nice to meet you!" He threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Kurt," Dave said his name again, softly, but with an edge that hinted at his inner turmoil. "I need to go. Can you move, please?"

"No, I will not move, you stupid oaf. I tried to call you a dozen times! I must have sent you twenty e-mails and God knows how many texts, and you haven't been online in days. I know it freaked you out when we ran into each other with your mom there, but I didn't think you'd just stop talking to me! I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought we were starting to trust each other. I thought we were friends who talked about things like rational adults. I thought you knew me, I thought you knew I understood. It's not like I would have outed you." Kurt was ranting, rambling, his voice getting higher and louder with every word, and Dave had no idea what to do to calm him down. He just stood there, wide-eyed and helpless before the onslaught of Kurt's indignation.

"When have I ever done anything to make you think I would? Did you think just being civil to me in public was going to make you gay-by-association or something? What the hell did I do that was so wrong? I-I thought…I th-thought…" his voice began to falter and shake, and Dave really panicked. Here it was, the one thing he couldn't face: a crying Kurt Hummel. Normal Kurt—well, as normal as Kurt ever got—he could deal with. Dramatic Kurt, angry Kurt, screaming-in-his-face-and-looking-too-sexy-for-words-while-doing-so Kurt…he could handle them all, but Kurt in pain? That was something he had hoped he'd never see again as long as he lived. He'd caused those eyes to fill with tears too many times to count in high school, and now? It was like his Kryptonite.

His duffle bag hit the floor, and Dave's arms were around Kurt before he knew what he'd done. He was babbling, saying anything he could think of that might soothe the smaller man and stem the flow of tears he could hear in his voice before they began.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. It wasn't you, okay? It wasn't about you, it was about me. Isn't it always about me and my stupid hang-ups? I just freaked out like I always do, and I hurt you. I knew I would and dammit, I promised myself I'd never hurt you again and then I was too much of a coward to talk to you about it, so I hid. Big surprise, right, I ran and I hid like a stupid child. I'm so freaking sorry, Kurt. Please don't cry, I'll do anything, just please…"

Kurt's cheek was pressed against Dave's shoulder, his arms pinned between their bodies by Dave's embrace and bent upward at the elbows. His hands clenched into fists around the fabric of Dave's t-shirt as he listened to his incoherent confession. He took a moment and willed himself to calm down and breathe, just breathe and not do any of the other things that his mind and body were telling him to do: scream, freak out, pull away, hug him back, punch him, kiss him, run. He didn't do any of those things, just pressed himself closer, leaning into the warmth and comfort of the slightly taller man's arms for much longer than was probably normal or appropriate, just inhaling the calming scent of Dave and willing his mind to stop screaming nonsense at him. Dave didn't let him go, just kept holding onto him, large hands pressing Kurt close, one between his shoulder blades and the other resting in the small of his back. Finally, after several minutes of silence Kurt tried to pull away, and found that Dave released him immediately. He looked into a pair of pained hazel eyes.

"I'm sorry," Dave said huskily. "I promised myself I wouldn't do something like that again."

"Like what, David?" Dave felt a little surge in his heart; they were back to first-name basis. He hated it when Kurt called him 'Karofsky.'

"Like that…grabbing onto you like that, when you didn't want it." He looked away, and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. When Kurt didn't say anything, he looked back and sighed.

"Kurt, I'm sorry, alright? I really am. I'm out here at school…but…not at home. My parents, the guys we went to McKinley with…none of them know about me yet. I told myself I wouldn't worry about telling them until I found someone I was really serious about, or got out of college. Whichever comes first. I thought I was being smart about it, I guess. Then I ran into you in the store with my mom, and I just kinda freaked because…" he trailed off, face reddening, suddenly realizing where his rambling explanation was going and absolutely certain he wasn't ready to go there yet.

"Because?" Kurt asked, but Dave shook his head.

"Nevermind. I'm sorry, though. I hope you can forgive me. Can I…can I do anything to make it up to you? Maybe take you out to dinner, or…" Holy shit. Did I just ask him out after all that? Good job Dave, real smooth, he totally won't think you're a stupid Neanderthal now, just way to go.

But Kurt smiled at him, his eyes alight with mild surprise.

"That sounds lovely, David. I'll be in town for a couple of days. Call me tomorrow and let me know where and what time, alright?"

With that, Kurt closed the space between them and shocked the hell out of Dave by giving him a peck on the cheek, and then practically skipped out of the locker room as if nothing had happened, leaving Dave rubbing his face, bewildered.

Did that just happen? He thought. Wait…do I have a dinner date with Kurt?

He felt the beginnings of a smile growing on his face.