Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Fox and RIB, not me. :)
Kurt Hummel was back at McKinley, with the joint efforts of David Karofsky and Santana Lopez to thank for it. As sarcastic as that felt, he was honestly happy to be back; walking through the front double doors for the first time in so long, being immediately assaulted by the howl of a hundred conversations and the heady press and shove of bodies ubiquitous to pubic school made it feel like he'd finally come home again. The safety of Dalton's anti-bullying statutes was a small comfort when one actually lived he life of a privates school student. The woolen silence of the halls and commons; the carb-heavy, cardboard food passed off as gourmet; the creativity-stifling curriculum of everything from art to extracurricular activities; the uniforms… Kurt shuddered, never so glad to once again be deprived of oxygen by his skinny jeans. He'd keep the uniform for now, of course; the ensemble as a whole was tragic at best, but the prudent application of a seam ripper and appropriate accessories the components themselves had some potential.
Potential was something he'd been seeing a lot of lately, Kurt mused as he found his way back to his locker and dialed in the same combination as always. If someone had told him even a month ago that there would ever come a time when the very thought of David Karofsky's name didn't send an icy claw of panic down his spine, Kurt would have been more than happy to tell them very politely where they could put that thought for safekeeping. Now, thought… Kurt glanced out of the corner of his eye towards the other end of the hallway. Karofsky and Santana appeared to be having a particularly engrossing discussion via their tongues in each other's throats. Kurt wrinkled his nose and shook his head a little.
He supposed he wasn't really one to judge, what with the things that had gone on between him and Brittany during The Plaid Phase. He was content now, though, Kurt thought (flashing a dreamy smile at the "Courage" collage now back in its place of honor on his locker door); and that contentment was slowly congealing into altruism without his permission. Rather than fearing Karofsky now, it seemed much more prudent to show sympathy and try to help him. There was potential of David in there somewhere, buried beneath the scrubby brusqueness that was Karofsky. Kurt had seen it in the other boy's eyes, sitting across from him in Figgins's office the most recent time; that little spark of sudden, swift doubt was pulling Karofsky unrepentantly towards epiphany. Karofsky had made surprising progress already, his stringent denials now turned to an admission that he wasn't sure one way or the other. All he needed was a final little push in the inevitable direction.
"What is that guy's issue?"
Kurt started, broken out of his own head by the sound of Mercedes's voice in his ear. He'd been so caught up he hadn't even noticed her arrival.
"Who?" he asked needlessly, following her narrowed gaze. Karofsky, now sans Santana's tongue, was rather blatantly gawking at him from around the side of his locker door. Kurt rolled his eyes, snapping his locker shut. Apparently after a seminar on who Eve Harrington was, lesson number one was going to have to be leer subterfuge. Kurt himself hadn't even been this obvious when he'd been panting after Finn's attention every third second. He put on an uncaring smile and shrugged, linking arms with his best friend.
"Who knows?" Kurt said loftily as the two of them strode down the hallway. "You know how the plebeians are irrevocably drawn to the glow of my superiority," he added, flicking a strand of hair out of his eyes.
"Humble, too," Mercedes teased, giggling. She gave his arm a fond squeeze, but Kurt's attention was on Karofsky and the tiny-but-there half-smile the other boy had let slip at the comment. For some reason Kurt felt a swell of something half pride and half relief in his chest as he lifted his chin and sauntered past.