(Friend) Requests

AN: OK, so… not really sure what this is. It was meant to be the first Chapter of my Dave and Burt story, "Vehicles," but then Dave started way over-thinking things, and Santana kind of took over. So here: one-shot. Can be read as a prequel to "Vehicles," which I will get started on right away! Details on my profile, if anyone's interested.

Rated: R for language and references to masturbation.

Disclaimer: Don't own any of it. Unfortunately.

Dave had a pending friend request on his facebook. He dragged his cursor over to the small "1" floating above the icon on his screen, but couldn't quite bring himself to click it.

If it was who he thought… Well, that would be the most wonderful thing to happen to him all week. Possibly all summer. But it would also be the most terrifying, because it would show up on his news feed, and people would question him, and he could already hear the insults and accusations that would come his way.

So he didn't click.

That way he didn't have to find out that it was someone else. Even if it was Kurt (he really hoped it was) and he ignored the friend request (because Dave was nothing if not a coward, and there would be questions about him friending Kurt, he was sure of it) it still meant something that Kurt sent the request in the first place, right? It meant that Kurt wanted to be able to communicate with Dave online over the summer. Or at least have the option to communicate with him if he decided that he wanted to.

Or maybe it meant absolutely nothing. Maybe it wasn't even him.

"I didn't come over to watch you sit on your ass and go on facebook. I thought we were going to watch a movie." Santana was seated next to Dave on the couch in front of his TV. Not as close as two people who were actually attracted to each other might sit, but it was a comfortable distance. Almost like they were friends.

Dave didn't know if they were friends. And it wasn't exactly something you asked someone. Not the person who knew your biggest secret and could ruin you if they wanted to. Not when you knew their secret as well.

"Yeah. Movie. Sorry." Dave considered clicking out of facebook, then settled on just putting his laptop down on the coffee table where the pending friend request could mock him from a distance. "What do you wanna watch?"

"Something besides a blank TV would be a start."

Dave felt himself start to get nervous. Which was ridiculous, because Santana wasn't someone he ever thought he would want to impress, but he was going to be judged on his taste in movies, he could feel it coming. And maybe they weren't friends, but they saw a side of each other that few people did and were still voluntarily speaking to each other, and that was something.

"A comedy?"

Santana looked up at him through her long, thick eye lashes and drawled out, "whatever you want, big boy," half fake-flirting with him and half bored.

He hated the awkwardness, the unspoken questions between them, the unvoiced assumptions about what exactly was going on between her and Brittany (he knew she had her own theories about him and Kurt). And what the fuck did "I know about you and Kurt" even mean when she said it at The Lima Bean before she forced him to date her?

It was so easy to be angry, but so much harder to forget. Forget about fake threats, and locker shoves, and soft lips pressed against rejected kisses, and apologies bursting out of him, painful and ugly and cut far too short to encompass all the guilt he was feeling.

And forget about fucking prom royalty, and dances ("come out- make a difference") stopped before they can really get going or even have a chance of finishing ("I can't").

"Have you seen Forgetting Sarah Marshall?"

"Yeah but we can watch it if you want to. It's kinda funny," Santana said, still sounding unenthusiastic, almost like she could be doing anything and be underwhelmed by it.

Dave stood up to put the movie into his DVD player. Santana reached into her purse resting by her feet, and pulled out a bottle of blood red nail polish. She was unscrewing the cap as Dave sat back down next to her.

The DVD menu came up on the screen.

"If you get any of that on the couch my mom will personally murder you."

Santana shrugged slightly and cocked her head, coating her finger nails with even streaks of crimson. "Ooo, death threat. Scary," was the sarcastic response, and she was back to painting her nails and ignoring Dave once more. Sharp red nails like small bloody daggers.

It probably wasn't meant as a jab at him for what he said to Kurt ("I know about you and Kurt") but it stung like one.

His voice was timid as he asked, "You going to switch schools because of it?" And if she didn't know before, he just told her.

She put the top back on her nail polish and stared at him with a hard expression on her face, one set of nails red and the other set bare.

"You threatened to hurt him?"

"I didn't want- he was going to tell people!"

"Tell what, your big gay secret?"

Santana certainly was good for anger control. He barely had time to consider reining in his temper before she smashed it back down with her condescending words and judgmental expression.

Sometimes he felt so small and transparent, because she had everything on him and he had just one secret of hers that he just couldn't blackmail her with because she could spill his whole soul down the halls of McKinley if she wanted to.

She was just as guarded as him. She was just a much better actor. Or he was much worse at reading people.

"How did he even know in the first place?" Dave shook his head and didn't speak. "Because you're practically in Narnia and you probably have tea with Mr. Tumnus when you get home from school every day." Santana snickered and added, "Unless you made a move on him, which he obviously rejected because not even Kurt was that desperate."

There was a slow burn building throughout Dave's body. He swallowed against it in his throat and closed his eyes to hide the imminent tears. He was starting to sweat.

"Oh my God, you did." It was not the triumphant declaration he had been expecting, but instead it was surprising soft and annoyingly sympathetic. "You what, asked him out?"

"I don't even have the balls to be nice to him, you think I could ask him out on a date?" His voice broke on "date" and a tear managed to slip out. He swiped it away, angry at himself for showing vulnerability in front of one of the biggest bitches he knew, about one of the biggest bitches he knew.

(Kurt Hummel was a bitch. Dave kind of loved that about him. But then he also hated it. Hated the cruelty, hated that it was such a turn-on.)

A large part of him was screaming "stop while you're ahead," but there was the even larger promise of relief that he couldn't grasp, a part of himself that was saying how there would be less grief if he could just share it with someone.

"I kissed him. It was… not exactly planned."

Santana stared at him with an unreadable expression on her face. Then she turned away from him and rested her hand on his arm for a few seconds.

They didn't usually touch. Maybe they were both afraid to seek the comfort they knew they both needed. But she was offering, and it was a start.

"Were you planning on starting the movie, or are we just going to sit here and stare at the menu all day?"

"Sorry," Dave mumbled as he hit the play button on the remote.

They watched the movie in silence for a few minutes. Well, Dave alternated watching the movie and staring at his facebook. Santana finished painting her nails.

"What's so interesting about your facebook?"

"What?"

"Do you think that I can't see you looking at it? You're not that subtle about the things you stare at."

Dave frowned, repeating, "What?"

"Sam's ass," Santana supplied.

"Oh. Sorry, it's nothing. Stupid." Dave reached for his laptop, intending to close the offensive window. But then- "What do you think a friend request means?"

"What does it mean?" she said as she gave him a look like he was crazy. And maybe he was.

"Yeah, like why do people do it? People don't add friends unless it's someone they want to potentially be able to talk to, right?"

"The hell are you talking about? First, you can send people messages without being friends with them so you can contact whoever you want to. It doesn't matter if you're friends with them. Second, I'm guessing that you're asking me that because you're trying to turn that friend request you have into a bigger deal than it's probably meant to be. Who's it from, anyway?"

Dave felt his face heating up. "Dunno."

Santana rolled her eyes. "You are so weird. Gimme that." And she plucked the laptop out of his hands, finally clicking the icon. "It's from Kurt," she said, disinterested as she deposited the laptop back on top of Dave.

"You're obsessing over this way too much. Just add him. I know you want to."

"But then people will see." God, he really couldn't get any more pathetic if he tried.

"Here's what I know. Kurt's facebook has really high privacy settings. I know that because I tried to look at his pictures because I wanted to photoshop a dress on him for my digital photography class. You can stop looking at me like that, I never pretended that I'm anything other than a huge bitch. Point is, if you want pictures of him to jerk off to at night, you'd better add him because it's the only way you're going to get them."

"I don't-"

"Don't jerk off? Or don't think about Kurt while you do it? I've spent a lot of time around guys, I have a pretty good gasp on how they think. Gay or straight."

Dave added him.

There was silence for a few minutes while Dave explored Kurt's facebook, reading up his info (most of which he was pleased to see he already knew, with the exception of "mechanics" listed under "activities,") when Kurt's relationship status caught his eye despite his efforts to avoid looking at it.

"What the fuck kind of name is Blaine?"