Author's notes: Something I whipped up recently for a prompt I had wanted to see filled for some time that I think I like a little too much. Oh well, it let me try writing Karofsky on for size. Definitely an interesting character to work with. I also found a way to fix my double-dash/hyphen problem for this site (even though the character doesn't even exist in my word processors without me copying it online and pasting it in). I might go back to some of my other stories and fix this, but that will probably take some time for me to get around to, so in the meantime enjoy some creep fic. :D
Courage.
Kurt squeezed the phone in his pocket, willing the message deep into the core of his being.
Courage.
It had gotten him into this mess, maybe a little more of it would get him out.
There he was, just a little further down the hall. Dave Karofsky. Kurt breathed in deep through his nose. He could do this; he could do this. Just one talk. Nothing more. He needed to do this. For Dave. For himself. He sucked in another breath, through his mouth this time. He wasn't getting enough air into his lungs. It was making him panicky. The bully seemed so much larger than he had yesterday, so much more intimidating. Courage, Kurt, courage. You can do this. You've stood up to him twice already, even if those times didn't turn out so well. It'll be fine. You can do this one more time.
The memories of the last confrontation rose to his mind unbidden. Blaine. Blaine come down here, all the way from Dalton, to try and support Karofsky with the whole being gay thing, maybe even help him on the difficult journey of coming out, but Dave had wanted none of it. Kurt could still feel the panic that had risen in his chest at seeing one of his friends threatened when Blaine had been shoved back against the wall, held in place by one of Karofsky's large, heavy hands. It was funny. Even then, even when Blaine was so obviously not a McKinley student (the uniform was kind of a dead give-away), no one had bothered to help, to try and put and end to the violence. There had been so many people in the halls and not one of them noticed a kid holding another against the wall by his throat. He drew in another breath. It was all up to him now.
Courage.
Karofsky rounded the corner into the locker room. He was in there more often than not these days. The little sign declaring it to be the boy's side stared down at him, a little man-shaped figure with the words 'boys locker room' stamped beneath it. Someone had carved their initials into the wood beneath the sign. He wondered absently who 'S.R.' was and when they had gone to school here. Focus. He needed to focus. Kurt swallowed and pushed the door open, heart pounding at the sound the handle made as it swung down, the lock clicking out of place. You can do this. You can do this. Courage. He gripped his phone tighter, his hand shoved so far into the fabric of the pocket of his slacks that he feared the seams might give.
"Karofsky?"
It smelled so strongly of sweat and boy in here. Almost enough to gag. He could hear the metallic clangs and subtle thuds of someone shuffling items around inside a locker. Oh boy, what the hell had he been thinking, coming in here? Alone. His heart was beating too fast, his breathing too shallow. He needed to calm down. He could do this.
"Dave?"
Karofsky was standing alone at what Kurt presumed was his locker, his large hands hidden from view behind the door. He was in his trademark jacket—the red and white fabric made him think of muscle and bone exposed to the open air. Like some sort of science experiment or walking diorama of human flesh. The jacket also reminded Kurt of the kiss, and he felt his courage drain away as a gentle heat rose to his cheeks. The kiss. His first with another boy. His heart was racing to get out of his chest. Why did he think he could do this?
"What do you want, Hummel?" Hummel. Not homo, not fag. Just Hummel. That was new. Kurt hadn't even been sure Karofsky knew his name. He wasn't looking at Kurt, still focused intently on whatever was in his locker. He was pulling things out and placing them in his battered backpack, shuffling unseen items around with dull scrapes and bangs. He was trying to distance himself from this, Kurt guessed. A defense mechanism, perhaps.
Kurt could feel tiny tremors wracking his body. He could do this; he'd already gotten this far. Now was not the time to back out, regardless of what he feared Karofsky was capable of. "I, uh, wanted to talk to you. About," he muttered breathlessly, "about what happened."
Karofsky slammed the locker shut, and Kurt jumped at the sound. "Nothing happened." His voice was low, quiet and dangerous.
"Yes, it did, Dave. You can't keep hiding-"
"I said nothing happened!"Dave slammed his palm on the metal door. The resounding bang echoed throughout the empty locker room. Kurt felt his heart stop. Oh god, what was he doing? Why did he think he could do this?
The hand that had been shoved so deeply into his pocket tightened once more around his cell phone. He wondered briefly just how much pressure it took to break a phone, to shatter the plastic and send those tiny little shards deep into his the skin of his palm. Courage, Kurt. You can do this.
"I just wanted you to know that I can help you, Karofsky. If you need a friend. You should know that you're not alone."
Karofsky wasn't moving. He was quiet, eyes fixed on the closed door of his locker. Kurt pushed ahead, his nerve building with every word. He could do this. "I can't…I can't forgive you for kissing me. Not yet. But I can be a friend if you need one. You're not alone, you know. I can help-"
Kurt suddenly found himself thrown back against the hard metal surface of the lockers. Something was digging painfully into his shoulder blade (a lock, perhaps?) and there was incredible pressure on his sternum, choking him of air. One of Karofsky's strong hands was splayed across his collarbone. Kurt could see the boy's arm shaking, though he was uncertain whether it was from emotion or physical strain.
Dave's face was pale, his eyes narrowed and tight with anger and something else Kurt couldn't identify. His face was so close Kurt could feel his hot breath wash over his nose and cheeks. Kurt's fingernails scraped weakly at the metal doors behind him. He couldn't breathe.
"I don't want to be your friend."
And the pressure was gone. Kurt slid to the ground, coughing. His hands weakly wrapped around his throat, though the skin there was completely unharmed. He still couldn't breathe. He could feel a bruise forming on his chest. That would be fun to explain to his dad.
The thunderous sound of the door slamming shut echoed throughout the empty locker room, bouncing off the walls and empty metal lockers. Silence fell like rain.
I don't want to be your friend.
His hand moved unconsciously back to his pants pocket. His fingers gripped the smooth plastic of his phone once more. It was comforting.
I don't want to be your friend.
If Karofsky didn't want to be his friend, then what did he want to be? He had no clue, no idea what the boy was thinking. What did Karofsky want? The thought scared him to no end. He pulled out his phone and brought it to life with a quick swipe of his thumb. The cold of the floor was seeping into his legs through the fabric of his pants, but he barely felt the chill.
He found the number he was looking for and tapped out a message. He needed to tell somebody. He couldn't keep this a secret.
To: Blaine
Text: Are you free? I really need to talk to somebody right now.
He slumped back, his hand landing on the floor beside him, phone clattering to the floor as it slipped from his numb fingers.
I don't want to be your friend.
What the hell had he gotten himself into?