A/N: This is what happens when I write at 2:45-3:30 in the morning.
Oh, dear. I shouldn't post this. But I will anyway. Bwahahahaa.
"It's easy to make a monster out of you by remembering only the worst things I can think of when it comes to memories of you," Kurt quips, but it's missing the same edge that it normally has when they get into their friendly fights.
There is a long pause, one in which Kurt has his white fists balled up so tightly the knuckles and pads under his nails are all even whiter than usual, and his filed nails are digging painfully into his palm. He seethes, them calms slowly, his hands releasing their grip on themselves, his breath slowly being let out from his lungs.
"But, at the same time… I only do so to remind myself that I have Blaine, and that I can't be with you," he says at last, his voice missing all of its anger now, and all that is left is a quiet, desperately tragic tone that turns Dave's insides into a tangled, wiry mass of cold electrical cords.
"I never asked you to be with me," Dave whispers, head bowed, eyes cast to the floor to observe each crease and tear and scuff on his favorite tennis shoes, worn with time. "I never even asked for your friendship, Kurt. You just started hanging out with me at lunch and after school between football for me and Glee Club for you, and the next thing I know, we're friends. And now… what are you even saying?"
Because he can't handle hearing this, not when he's always been oddly (and before, hesitantly) attracted to Kurt, and lately, half in love with him, because Kurt is Kurt, and that makes him wonderful in every instance of the word; talented, witty, fashionable, caring, perfect.
Everything Dave isn't, and everything he can never be. (And well, maybe he doesn't want the "fashionable" bit, but looking good would be nice; just, you know… more attractive, at least to people like Kurt.)
"I'm saying…" Kurt begins, sighing after the second word and rubbing his forehead for a moment before combing back his hair, careful not to muss it. "That I'm fond of you, David. Once I got passed everything you pretended to be at school, and once you stopped all your bullying and grew up, I came to really, genuinely like you. You're a good person when you're with me, and selfishly, I like that I'm one of the only people you open up to when you're around. I don't have that special sort of bond with Blaine; he… he's so one-sided. What you see is what you get, and his feelings can sometimes be fleeting or fickle. But you… you feel too much, and hide it away, and it only makes me want to get to know you even better."
Their eyes finally meet after Kurt's slightly rushed, breathy speech, and as soon as their pupils are connected with invisible strings, Kurt takes a step forward and grips Dave's letterman jacket tightly, his intense expression returning.
"And at this point, I have no idea what to do about this, about you. I always go after the guy I like as if I were a lovesick puppy, but I've caught you, David; you look and follow after me the same way, but unlike me, you don't have the courage to come out with it or make a move outside of your brash and sudden kiss to me over a year ago," Kurt mutters, the slight edge back, but with a different sort of conviction in it this time around.
He lets go of the jock and takes a step backward, nearly reveling in the gawking expression on Dave's face, but making sure to keep himself in check, because what is Kurt Hummel without his self-control?
"So…" And with a few moments of time, Kurt's words sink in, all of them, and it rekindles an old fire in Dave's gut. He squeezes the insides of his letterman pockets and utters lowly, "What do you want from me, Kurt? A love confession? Another unwanted kiss? Do you want me to tell you to break up with your boyfriend to go out with me instead? I'm not Out, Kurt; only my parents know. I couldn't be a boyfriend to you, not like he is. And all those other options are bogus. So what, huh? What do you want?"
"I want you, idiot! Just you, and I don't care how. I won't ask you to do anything; you told me once to wait for you after class. Well, can't I ask you, now, to wait for me to do what I have to with Blaine, declare him and I as 'just friends' or the like, until I can be with you? Because I'm tired of seeing you as the enemy when you're not any longer, David. I want to be able to see you as someone who loves me," Kurt retorts, and Dave can't tell if the paler, shorter boy is about to cry or scream. His face is tinting increasingly pink.
Taken aback, Dave nods dumbly. "Oh. Yeah, okay. Yeah, I can do that. Sure, Kurt," he says, mumbling and rambling, and his eyes keep searching Kurt's face.
Kurt huffs a humorless laugh, pressing his palms into his eyes and wiping the excess water brimming his eyelids. "For crying out loud, you'd think it wouldn't be this dramatic," he sniffs, and looks at Dave with some humor in his eyes, but he's still laughing with an empty tone behind the airy sounds.
Dave nods, faint smile on his lips. "Yeah, well. Things are always dramatic with you, Fancy; you're the main drama queen, remember?" And he takes a crumpled, clean tissue from his pocket and offers it. He always has them in there in case he bleeds during football, and right now, they are coming in better handy than they have all year.
Kurt laughs at the sentiment, a touch of humor there now, and he takes the tissue and blows his nose. He tosses it in the trash bin in his room. He takes a step back, drops onto the edge of his mattress, and looks up at Dave. Raising his hands, he signals Dave over, and Dave awkwardly walks forward, standing before Kurt's knees, and bends down.
Kurt wraps his arms in the familiar motion of hugging Dave from around his broad shoulders, the slightly rough, red fabric under his bare forearms a little distracting, since he usually wears long sleeves and not three-quarter ones. But he ignores this and instead focuses on Dave's massive warmth, coming from everywhere Kurt is touching; his chest, his back, his arms. He sighs, closes his eyes, and Dave sinks against him, kneeling down to press up into the lingering embrace.
"…You were right, you know," Dave mumbles, muffled by Kurt's shoulder. He brings up am arm behind Kurt to cradle his head while his other arm is wrapped securely around Kurt's waist, rubbing back and forth with fanned fingers on Kurt's lower back.
"About what?"
"Having someone who loves you. I mean, I'm sure Eyebrows loves you in his way, but I'm different. I love you, too, but I dunno how much or in what way, I just know that it's different," David answers, and it wavers, insecurity leaking through the cracks of his voice.
"I know," Kurt responds meekly, turning his cheek to rub against the stubble on the side of Dave's jaw, and the sensation sends a pleasant shiver down Kurt's spine. He inhales shakily, then smiles softly. "But it's a positive difference, and an important difference. And I want that sort of love instead, whatever it is. I want it all, whatever you can give me, and I'll deliver it right back, because you know how I feel about equality."
Dave snorts, pulling back enough to watch Kurt's eyes flutter open. He touches Kurt's lightly pointed ear with a fingertip, then dusts his knuckle against Kurt's cheekbone, the entirely move an unexpectedly gentle and tender gesture that has Kurt's heart skipping beats as it speeds up in his ribcage. "I figured as much, after you started PFFLAG for real and made me join it. You technically used a similar blackmail as Santana; how devious of you, Kurt." And his smirk is familiar but changed, and it makes Kurt smile.
"Yes, I know," he says haughtily, and he dares to touch Dave's face, fingers ghosting over one arched eyebrow and finally running along Dave's cheek and jaw on the side of his face, and he doesn't miss how Dave leans into the touch, eyes fluttering like he wants to close his eyes and mark the sensation in his memory bank. Kurt swallows, and there is it, he sees it, the adoration in those hazel orbs.
Kurt abruptly stands and steps away from David. Dave uneasily gets to his feet, knees a little sore from the pressure of the plywood under the carpet, but he ignores it as he looks at Kurt and asks, "What is it?"
"I'm not a cheater, David, but I want to kiss you so badly," Kurt whispers, and he forces a smile. "Funny, isn't it? You kiss me when I'm single and I didn't want it, and now, when I do, I'm taken? The irony is laughable."
"Maybe," Dave agrees, and he holds out a hand, and he's always shy with initiating affectionate contact with Kurt, but they are alone and Kurt's family is scattered and won't know, and it's okay to hold hands with Kurt because no one ever was considered a cheater just from holding hands with someone else.
When Dave lances their fingers, they fit perfectly, and the contrast of skin tones – tan and milky – is beautiful.
"…But I said I would wait, right? So kiss me when you can, if– if you still want to, that is," he adds, and the insecurity is back, and it grates on Kurt's conscious because he knows that he inserted some of that insecurity there whenever he said something hurtful to combat Dave in the past.
"Right," is all he can say in agreement, but he leans in and presses a small peck on the corner of Dave's mouth, mostly on his lower cheek, just to get rid of the urge.
It takes all of Dave's self-restraint not to grab Kurt's chin and guide him back for a proper kiss. He trembles with the effort, minutely so, and smiles. "Couldn't help it, huh?" he tries to joke, and it breaks whatever tension was spawned from that tiny kiss, and Kurt laughs, resting his forehead against Dave's shoulder, their hands still joined, and he places a hand on Dave's chest to stabilize himself as the giggles don't cease and only grow into almost sad hysterics, because this isn't fair, it isn't fair at all that he wants Dave so badly and yet his morals are keeping him from taking what he wants, and Kurt has never been much deprived of his desires before, so why now? Why?
Inhaling to slow down his thoughts, Kurt calms his laughter and moves away again. "Finn will be home from Rachel's pretty soon, and then Carole will be home. You should go, David."
"Yeah. Yeah, I know," the jock sighs, licking his lips nervously and shoving his hands into his pockets, Kurt's skin still a fresh feeling on his palm and fingertips, the memory imprinted. He nods. "I'll see you at school, then, Kurt. Call me or text me if you want. I'll walk myself to the door. Bye," he says, and then, he's gone.
Kurt listens for Dave's footsteps down the stairs, for Dave's shoves being slipped on, for his jingling keys, and for the door closing. He listens for the start of the engine, the slamming of the car door, the wheels pulling out of the driveway. He even listens to the car drive away, all these sounds general and common, but feeling so very different in this moment.
And that's how Kurt realizes that he doesn't just genuinely like David Karofsky; he sincerely loves the jock instead.