I don't even want to imagine how much of a creep I look like right now.

Blaine crossed his arms, glancing around the relatively empty parking lot of McKinley High from behind a pair of sunglasses. He didn't really need them anymore. The sun was dipping past the treeline, elongating the shadow of his car beneath his extended legs. He was resting against the hood of his car, waiting. At first, he'd done so with an equally unsettling patience, eying the front door every now and then while he scrolled through the apps on his phone. But after waiting for almost an hour now, that patience was starting to fall away. He was actually nervous.

It wasn't that he felt threatened. No, he'd been pushed up against many lockers in his seventeen years, and some guy thrusting him up against a chain link fence wasn't going to put the fear of God into him or anything. This was different. He was nervous because he didn't know what would happen if Karofsky kept blowing people off who only wanted to help.

He'd learned a good deal about the Titans' right guard from Kurt, but all of those names and anecdotes meant very little in comparison to what he'd seen when he'd actually met him. Blaine could read people. Or, more specifically, he could pinpoint things right on the head when it came to his own experiences. He knew what 'lost' looked like. He knew what terror looked like, too, and not the kind in horror films, either. Abject terror and self-loathing was as evident to him as if it'd been scrawled out on a slip of paper and handed to him.

But he wasn't interested in reading him. He wasn't so stupid as to think you could pick apart a person from a look in their eyes and their body language. There was more to it than that. He knew there was.

Lifting a hand from beneath his arm, he rested his mouth against his knuckles, elbow digging into his stomach as he stared across the parking lot. Honestly, he didn't know what he was doing here. Karofsky was, as he'd seen before, volatile. Approaching him on his own turf was probably a more ballsy move than Blaine was used to taking, but he knew there might not be a lot of time. From what he'd heard from Kurt, David was more of a ticking time bomb than something that burned slowly. Whatever danger Kurt felt he was in might be pushed over onto another student, and he wanted to do whatever he could to stop that from happening.

Still, this was probably a bad idea. Blaine's head moved faintly from one side to the other as he contemplated the pros and cons of his sitting out there. On one side, he might catch him on a good day. On the other, maybe he'd gotten sacked more times than usual and would just punch him in the face.

Actually, a punch in the face might just be the least of his worries.

His thick brows shot up at the sound of something to his right. The doors of the building opened to let out a stream of loud voices and the guys they belonged to, some of them breaking off without a word and the others saying goodbye with a clap on the back or a one armed bro hug. Blaine's lips pursed slightly as he glanced over their faces for the familiar one, finding it finally near the back of the crowd.

In a crowd of Dalton boys, he would've stuck out like a sore thumb, but here he was one tall, wide-shouldered guy in a sea of tall, wide-shouldered guys. When he saw Karofsky's head turn in his direction, he raised his hand no higher than his own, less wide shoulders in a discreet wave. No frantic hand flapping. No feminine turn of the wrist. The wave was simple. Nothing more than two of five fingers lifted upward and a slight twist. It went perfectly with his mantra of, 'Don't scare him. Don't make him run away. Be cool. You've got this.'

If he didn't go over, that'd be fine. He'd prepared himself for the inevitable regardless. There was a chance Karofsky would mistake the wave as being aimed at someone else, one of the guys standing all around him. There was also a chance that he'd recognize him, even from this distance, and ignore the wave to go about his business. All in all, the odds were stacked against –

Oh, look, he's coming over.

David's heart fell to his feet. He didn't want to see – What was his name again? Fuck. - Hummel's boyfriend. Didn't he get it? He felt like he'd been pretty clear he didn't want anything to do with the clean cut lady boy. Then again, Hummel had been just as persistent and annoying; why should this guy be any different?

His feet dragged himself in the direction of Blaine, eyes darting from the asphalt, to the uniformed man he was quickly closing in on with obvious distrust. He couldn't get his mind to shut up. He couldn't stop the barrage of, 'He knows you're a faggot, Karofsky. He knows and he's going to tell everyone. You'll be the one running for the hills instead of Hummel. It's over,' running through his head. It was so consistent, so powerful, that in the short time it took him to end up in front of – Blair? No. Blaine. I think that's right. Whatever. Lady boy. - him, his brows were cinched over his nose.

Headache. Migraine by the feel of it.

Grinding his molars, Dave huffed, narrowing his eyes. "This better be good," he spat, averting his gaze to the ground before returning them to Blaine's. "Or else you're going to have a serious meeting with the hood of your car for wasting my time. I got stuff to do."

Well, that's slightly better than a punch in the face.

Blaine cleared his throat, standing up from the hood of his car and removing his sunglasses. The sudden change in light had him blinking, face skewed as his eyes recovered and a little half-smile showed up at the corner of his mouth. "I just want to talk." When Dave groaned and shifted on his feet, taking a step back instead of forward, he held up a hand to get him to wait. "Look, I'm not going to sit you down and be condescending or whatever. I know enough about you to know that you could probably use someone who's an unbiased party."

Everyone needed someone who didn't walk into the conversation with an angle, someone who wasn't interested in getting anything out of you or making you feel bad. He was two sets of ears and a little experience. That was it. Tilting his chin up a little, he looked at him. He'd have to be blind to miss how uncomfortable he was. He didn't want to make him uncomfortable, but he knew he had to press a little to get anything out of him.

"A few weeks ago, I... don't know; I saw something that's bothered me for days. I don't really consider wanting to talk a waste of time, but if you do, I only ask you not do the car thing." He managed another, slightly wider smile. "It'll dent it, and this thing is kind of my baby."

A small, brief smile quirked the corner of Dave's mouth, but disappeared the moment Blaine's widened further. It was like he was saying, "Hah! Made you smile," and God that pissed him off. He didn't feel like smiling, and definitely not because this snobby know-it-all wanted to swoop in and try and get him to talk about his feelings. Ugh. "I don't know what you're talking about," he grunted.

His arms crossed over his chest protectively, taking another small step back but not making a run for it. Not yet. He... wanted to talk. And Blaine seemed... normal? It was weird. He couldn't tell what was up with him. The uniform, immaculate hair, it all through him off. He didn't like people who acted superior to him, but he honestly couldn't tell if the Dalton-flamer was acting that because he felt superior, or if it was just a side effect of going to some prissy, rich School for Gays.

"Look, whatever, okay. I'm tired from practice, so why don't you just take your 'get out of jail free' card and get out of here?" His jaw twitched as he tried to swallow, but his throat was completely dry. Brows pinched inward again, lips forming a thin line as he shifted on his feet. "There's nothing to talk about. Kurt's a lying little bitch, got it? Nothing happened. He just wants it to."

"Except I remember you saying that Kurt kissed you, which means something did happen," Blaine replied without so much as a hint of contempt. He knew he was playing with fire, but if singing his fingerprints off was what it took to get this guy to actually talk to him, he'd do it. There were things far more important than toying around with a dangerous potential. He knew that. "I'm not here to point fingers. Maybe it happened that way. I wasn't there. I don't know the truth."

He tilted his head a little, fiddling with his sunglasses before folding them and putting them in his pocket. "I'm not here for Kurt. He'll be able to handle himself eventually. Kurt and I are friends, but this isn't about him at all." Blaine nodded. Even in the short time Kurt had spent with the Warblers, he'd seen a spike in his floundering confidence. Whatever camaraderie that came with putting on the Dalton uniform was really helping him. "I just wanted to let you know that if you want to talk, I can listen," he continued, biting down on the inside of his bottom lip, "I can give you my number." Lifting his hand up to stop him again, his brows shot up on his forehead. "Nothing like that. I just want you to have it in case you change your mind. We don't even have to meet up like this or anything. I can text."

David just started at him for a long moment, head tilted to the side, lips parted as he tried to understand. He knew he was staring at Blaine like he was some sort of alien. It didn't make any sense. Why'd some guy from a school two hours away give a shit about him, when everyone else was happy to leave him alone? Why'd he have to press?

He wanted to slug him. A hard right hook right across his cheek. He wanted to break his nose, blacken his eye, maybe get rid of some of those teeth. Dave hated that little voice in the back of his head that told him how handsome Blaine was. He was supposed to take stock of the lips and eyes, the hips and legs of women. God, he wanted to puke himself inside out when he felt his eyes drift down Blaine's body, but the moment he started to dip below the the neck, he cleared his throat, rubbing an anxious hand through his hair, pawing at the back of his neck as his gaze rolled skyward.

"Why?" It wasn't what he wanted to say, but the word found its way from his lips. "Why. The fuck. Are you doing this? I don't- I don't understand; why do you care?" He shook his head, passing his tongue over his lips before sucking on the bottom swell. "You can't help-" David cut himself off. "I don't need help."

Blaine's brows knitted inward for a moment as he thought over Dave's sudden barrage of questions. He knew very well why he cared. Karofsky wasn't just the guy that bullied Kurt. He was the closeted guy who bullied Kurt and could do even worse damage - to others and himself - if no one actually bothered to help him. Of course he didn't think he needed help, didn't think anyone could help him. That was the only logical step in thought when you had nowhere else to turn.

Someone else might've stood there and jumped to conclusions as to why he was so violently stubborn. They might've assumed his parents were Catholic, that he was raised in some sort of abusive household, that his frustrations were born out of a desire to be accepted in ways that gays just weren't yet.

He wasn't that kind of person. He didn't want to make assumptions about Karofsky. He wanted him to fill in the blanks.

"I don't want to fix you or anything," he said, both shoulders lifting in a small shrug of agreement. "I care because it's obvious no one else wants to listen. No one listened to me, no matter how much I wanted to talk about it. It's just an offer, that's all."

So... he really just wants to help me? His inner self – his real inner self, that part of him that he kept on denying – spoke up, as timid as ever, only to be met by that people-pleasing side of him. You're a fucking idiot, Karofsky. Even if he does just want to help, what do you think is going to happen when people find out you're spending time with him?

Dave took a deep breath as his eyes glassed over. He dug for the strength to tell that side of him to shut the fuck up. God, he was so tired of running. He was tired of hating himself. He was tired of everything. But he still had that competitive part in him that came from a lifetime of sports and a father that pushed him toward perfection at every turn; most of all, he didn't want to just give up.

Without a word, he dug out his phone from his pocket, thumbing across the screen until he got to the 'add new contacts' screen. "...I guess having someone to talk to wouldn't be too bad," he murmured quietly, handing Blaine his phone, careful not to brush his fingers on any part of his skin.

Blaine took the phone without a word, his other hand sliding out of his pocket to grab for his own. Before programming his number into David's, he scrolled over to his own 'new contact' screen and handed it over. He gave him a little smile, a simple twist of his lips. There was no pomp in it or silent 'I knew it.' It was genuine, even if it was smaller than what he was used to.

Turning back to the phone, he entered his name and number - both his cell and home phone, just in case. He knew that it was unlikely that they would talk much, but he just wanted a few conversations. He wanted to show Dave that he didn't have to bottle everything up all the time, that stifling who he was was unhealthy and would only lead to more problems. If he could be that person who let him let go of these things, take a little weight off of his shoulders, it'd be worth it.

When he'd finished adding in his number, he stood up straight and handed his phone over to him. "Whenever you feel up to it," Blaine said, his voice soft, though he made sure to keep it casual. Things had gone... surprisingly well; a lot better than he'd expected. His slight pessimist streak when it came to putting himself out there never really did bear much fruit, but it wasn't going to stop anytime soon. "I'm a compulsive texter myself, so I usually have the phone right by me."

Dave nodded, swapping phones with him once he finished punching his number it; he had thought about adding his home number for a brief moment, before just sticking with his cell. Staring down at the contact info, he let out a sigh. This was a stupid idea. He didn't even know why he went along with it. Well, that wasn't true. He needed someone to talk to, he knew he did. Holding all this in was making him lose focus. His grades were slipping, he wasn't working as hard in practice. He was worried about his future, or moreover, his lack of one.

Clearing his throat, he nodded again, pursing his lips and looking around the parking lot, checking if any of his friends had decided to linger and see what the hell was going on, but they hadn't. Sticking his phone back in his pocket, he muttered a barely decipherable, "Yeah, okay," under his breath.

He lingered there, swaying from foot to foot, hand gripping the strap of his backpack like it was the only thing keeping him alive, before finally just shaking his head. "I gotta get home."

"Alright," Blaine said with an air of finality, his eyes shifting to the sky and off of Dave. It was slowly getting darker. There were clouds everywhere, and the sunset itself was one of the more bland he'd seen lately. There were none of the reds or violets he was used to, only muddy orange and cloudy blue. It was still enough to remind him that it'd be getting dark soon, and he still had a two hour drive home. "I'll talk to you when I talk to you."

Sliding his phone into the front pocket of his slacks, the corners of his mouth quirked upward in another little smile. "Whenever you feel like it," he reminded him, "No pushing. I'll even wait until I hear from you first."

With that said, he straightened his blazer out, fingers twitching. He considered offering him his hand as a sign that he was attempting to be friendly, but he thought better of it and nodded at him instead. He was already pressing far beyond what he probably should have by coming here.

He moved around to the driver's side door, shooting a look over to him before lifting his hand in a little wave. "Drive safe."

Dave was already moving toward his car when he heard him. He just grunted in reply, not bothering to look back, but stopped in his tracks a few steps later. He didn't know how to put into words how appreciative he was, but he shouldn't be a dick about things. Even if he never talked to the guy again, he'd been nicer to him than anyone he knew.

Blaine was just slipping into his car when he called out, "Hey," voice carrying across the parking lot, getting him a surprised expression from the other man, but it melted into a small, expectant smile. "Uh. Just... drive safe, too." The smile widened enough for Dave's cheeks to twitch a bit in response, and that alone was enough for him to continue on to his car faster than before.

His mind was oddly quiet; David had expected it to be running a million miles per hour, telling him every reason under the sun why he shouldn't talk to Blaine. There wasn't even anything from his other, more timid side. It was just silence, and it was nice.

Climbing into his car, he buckled his seat belt and gripped onto the steering wheel, staring out of his windshield, a vacant expression on his face. He really didn't know what to think. He shocked himself just as much as he had Blaine. It surprised him how desperate he was for someone to just ask, instead of assuming he was a hate-filled homophobe. Maybe that was true, but his hate really wasn't geared at gays. He wasn't scared of them, nor did he hate them, but God he was terrified of being one. Was it so bad to just want to be normal? To check out chicks with his friends and actually be telling the truth?

Holding back a sob in the back of his throat, he pulled out his phone, finding Blaine's name on his contact list. His thumb hit the delete button without hesitation, but he had forgotten about the confirmation screen. "Are you sure you want to delete this contact?" it said. David stared at the screen. No, he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything; God, even his phone was mocking him.

Brows twitching inward, he went to press 'yes' when that quiet part of him spoke up again. You need to talk to someone, it said, pleadingly, and he's offering. Just try, Dave.

His vision blurred, eyes burning as he canceled out of the screen, sticking his phone back in his pocket. The grip on his steering wheel tightened, knuckles going white as he twisted the cover, neck craning back so his eyes locked onto the gray fabric decorating the ceiling of his car.

Just try.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Just a few notes. As of now, we're (this fic is collabed if you couldn't tell by the account name) using episodes as a jumping off point, but I'm pretty sure this is going to eventually become AU, especially considering Karofsky's sexuality and how it's handled. Anyway, I hope you enjoy where we take this, we certainly will.