A/N: Hey all. :) This is a little drably thing I wrote at work after seeing this:

http: / / pixolith. tumblr. com/ post/ 5190220518 /for-lostie-d on my break.

This is post-BTW, pre-Rumors. Disclaimer: Glee is not mine in the slightest.

"Okay, what is that?" Kurt couldn't help the exclamation as he looked at the crime against sanity before him. Karofsky's eyebrows pulled together in a scowl and he looked off to the side, hands shoved into his pockets.

""S the Bully Whips uniform," he mumbled, a hint of red seeping into his ears.

Kurt stared. The jacket was retina-scorching, firetruck red. And satin. And the sleeves only came down to Karofsky's elbows. And there was a matching felt beret perched on top of Karofsky's head, threatening to topple off as his head ducked in embarrassment. Kurt honestly wasn't sure which part of the ensemble to have an aneurism over first.

"Why satin?" he asked, picking the current top offender. Karofsky's ears went a further shade towards matching the jacket.

"Santana's idea," he said, not making eye contact.

"And the beret?" Kurt asked incredulously.

Karofsky opened his mouth to agree, but Santana's voice chimed in from the changing stall next door and cut him off. "Oh no you don't, Hamhock," she said. "That sorry-ass attempt to butch it up was all you."

Karofsky's irritated flush crept into his cheeks and down his neck, turning most of his face a color not unlike his unfortunate outerwear. Kurt was about to ask how in the world Karofsky had come to the conclusion that a beret would add testosterone when the other boy's jaw clenched into a glower. The problem was that with his jacket's sleeves bunched up around his elbows and the beret sliding down his head, the expression really came across as more of a pout. Kurt cleared his throat to stifle a giggle and squared his shoulders.

"Well, if you're going to wear the silly thing, you might as well wear it right," he said, failing miserably at keeping to amusement from his tone. Before Karofsky could protest, Kurt rocked up onto his tiptoes and grabbed the beret in one hand and Karofsky's head in the other. He flattened Karofsky's dark curls (taking special care not to notice how surprisingly soft and thick his hair was) and settled the beret on top, sweeping Karofsky's fringe out over his forehead to mask the hideous pleather trim.

"There," Kurt said. He straightened it once more and leaned back a little to examine his handiwork. The first thing he thought was that it was still tacky as all get-out but at least it was a little better now. The second was that he had never noticed the ring of olive green around the hazel of Karofsky's eyes before. He wondered for a moment if it had always been there and if he was only noticing it now because he'd actually allowed himself to get that close.

"Kurt?" Karofsky asked, his voice a little higher than usual. Kurt blinked, realizing he'd been gawking at Karofsky's eyes without even realizing it. He cleared his throat, trying valiantly to ignore the blotchy heat infusing his face as he sank back onto flat feet.

"There," he repeated, his own voice embarrassingly reedy. "You look-"

Perfect

"-presentable, at least." Kurt forced something like a smile and stepped back. Karofsky had gone a similar shade of flustered but smiled in return. It was a bafflingly gentle expression to come from those harsh features, Kurt thought as he was caught off guard yet again.

"Break it up, ladies," Santana smirked from the doorway. Kurt jolted a little, one hand automatically lifting to straighten his hair. Karofsky averted his eyes and took a dutiful step towards his pseudo-girlfriend.

"Anyway," Kurt said, his usual unruffled attitude snapping back into place. "You two have fun, I have a Macy's sale with my name on it."

He shouldered his satchel and left, trying very hard to convince himself that it was simply a pang of residual fear that was making his heart beat so fast.