Disclaimers:

This story is based very, very loosely on the season six spoilers regarding the Kurt/Blaine/Dave love triangle. That being said this story will feature a small amount of Blainofsky; however, this story is not Blaine or Klaine friendly.

This fic (specifically this prequel) was originally meant to be a simple ficlet supplementing a gifset I created for kurtofskythings' Kurtofsky Halloween 2014 on tumblr. It sort of blew up when I decided I wanted to expound upon this idea, attempting to write an entire story where each chapter is inspired by a single prompt for the different days of the event.

Also this fic will feature an original poem I created just for this story, presented in a manner I hope you all will enjoy.

The following prequel is based on Day 3: Butterscotch and Accusations

The First of Many

Prequel

The room in which Dave sat was almost as dim as it was silent, illuminated only by the warm, dingy glow from the lamp next to his favorite armchair. Though he referred to it as his favorite armchair it was more often than not, ironically enough, occupied by his boyfriend rather than himself. However, being that he was alone in his apartment for the last several hours meant that it was his for the taking. Being able to occupy the most comfortable piece of furniture (not counting the queen size, pillow top bed, of course) should have left him feeling pleased, if not victorious, but it merely left him feeling as empty as the room in which he sat.

Dave pressed his fingers against his eyes, which he screwed shut, not sure whether it was to calm his nerves, prevent the all too inevitable tears that were prickling at the corners, or ingrain in his mind the vision that was his boyfriend curling up in the chair on lazy weekend mornings. How his manicured toenails would peek out from where his legs were tucked underneath him as he read the newest issue of Vogue, wearing the over-sized pair of pajama pants that he frequently stole from Dave.

He would miss seeing him like that.

Dave turned his head toward the lamp and toyed with one of the coasters from the set he received from his boyfriend, which, when put together, featured the map of New York: the place they now called home. Kurt gave them to him on his birthday after far too many admonishments about how water rings would be the death of his wood furniture. Not that it mattered. The end table and coffee table were already tarnished having been purchased for cheap at a thrift store a couple blocks away earlier that year. At this time in their lives, it wasn't like they could afford much better.

Dave set the coaster (the piece that suitably featured Central Park, where they had their first "official" date) down. Usually, it would hold a cup of coffee or tea that he'd set there with twice as much sugar than what he could stomach, but sweet enough for Kurt's liking and with an extra splash of cream as well. It was a ratio that was hard to forget. But he also knew it was merely a tidbit of information that would soon be stored away in the recesses of his mind as nothing more than a nostalgic memento of their time spent together, only to wither away in the coming years from not putting it to good use.

To the left of the room next to the small kitchen was a rectangular table and chair set, illuminated only minutes ago by the weak flickers of light from the pair of candles that had since melted in their holders. The table was set for two, but the plates remained untouched; the wine still corked; the Italian seasoned pork chops, broccoli, and red roasted potatoes, cold.

Dave bowed his head, tempted to go over every day, every seemingly insignificant (though, to him, significant) interaction he had with Kurt in the past week... Hell, months... Just to pinpoint the exact moment that he managed to fuck up so badly.

Just as Dave was beginning to mull over any of his various screw up (such as accidentally deleting the season finale of Project Runway from the DVR thinking Kurt already saw it) he heard the metallic scrape of a key sliding into the dead bolt. He held his breath in his lungs, not daring to look up as the lock clicked and the door swung open. He swallowed thickly as he clasped his hands tightly together to stop them from shaking just as the voice as crisp and light as that November's breeze rang out into the stillness of the apartment.

It took him everything not to smile. He couldn't. Not when he knew he wasn't the cause of the cheerful, sing-song lilt. His heart ached at the thought of someone else claiming that responsibility, that privilege. And on such an important date as well.

"I'm h-Oh! Wow it's dark in here. Am I interrupting séance, David? You know Halloween was last week, right?" Dave heard Kurt chuckle to himself as he busied himself with shutting and locking the door. Dave still hadn't looked up. He was afraid what evidence he would find—the telltale signs that would present themselves and confirm his suspicions about where Kurt had been that evening. As Kurt stripped off the slate gray pea coat, Dave twisted the watch around his wrist.

8:47... He supposed it could be worse. Kurt easily could have returned in the morning, though he probably wanted to get it over with as quick and painlessly as possible. It was nothing Dave hadn't already gone through before, with Kurt and other boyfriends. Though nothing had compared to the pain that was Valentine's his senior year of high school. And even he had somehow managed to get through that.

"David...?" Kurt asked softly this time, the amicable tone gone and replaced with worry at the sight of his undoubtedly grim features. "What's going on? What happened?" Kurt still hadn't moved from beyond the frame of the front door, but in his peripheral vision he thought he saw Kurt wringing his hands together.

"You tell me," Dave spoke. His voice was weak and pathetic sounding in his own ears.

"Tell you...? Tell you what?" Dave heard the gentle slap of Kurt's arms falling down at his sides in dismay. He supposed he would have to spell it out for him.

"That you're breaking up with me." He offered. "Or his name for starters." Finally Dave looked up and he hated how his watery eyes betrayed him. It didn't help that Kurt looked stunning, as usual, dressed in a rust-colored waistcoat (of his own creation), navy wool tie, white and blue pinstriped button-down, cream-colored slacks, and brown Doc Martens. His face, however, was molded into a look of horror.

"Name...? Whose...?" Dave watched as Kurt gave him the look of someone putting together a rather complicated puzzle. It didn't take long before he gaped, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief, like he finally realized one of the key pieces to the puzzle was missing.

"You thought I was seeing someone behind your back," he ground out, "and that I'd choose today, of all days, to do that?" Kurt shook his head with an air of disappointment and let out a scoff. Dave sat up a little straighter in his chair, unimpressed with Kurt's reaction.

"Well, I told you this morning that I had something special planned for the two of us, and that was two hours ago. So just... Tell me," he said dejectedly, his chin falling forward once more.

"I thought you meant in general, not that I had a freaking curfew and needed to be home by a certain hour," Kurt ranted hysterically, throwing his hands up in frustration from where he stood at the front of the room. "Besides, I can't do that," he added firmly, though Dave thought he heard a slight waver in his voice despite the strength and composure emanating from him.

"Why not?" Dave murmured. He was too tired to be argumentative; too despondent and still way too in love with the man to yell at him to just get it over with. None of his previous breakups had been this… Tedious and drawn out.

"Because there isn't..." Dave watched as Kurt's expression morphed from a look of indignation, to revelation, and finally complete and utter sadness what seemed like a second.

Dave had to look away at the last one.

"Oh, David..."

A sigh. Then silence. Then footsteps.

Dave sat there, waiting for it—any sort of reaction in response to his accusation of unfaithfulness. An angry shake. Something.

But it never came.

Once Kurt loomed over him, the only response Dave received was the comforting touch of a pair of arms enveloping his shoulders, the sharp, upturned nose nuzzling into the crook of his neck, and the faint tickle of hair against his stubbly cheek.

"Kurt, what..." His voice came out muffled from his face being pressed against Kurt's shoulder, and he futilely attempted to pull away from the embrace.

What was going on?

"Don't..." Kurt said weakly as he tightened his grip, and this time Dave was certain of the noticeable crack in his voice. "Just stop." It sounded more like a plea than an order.

Dave didn't realize just how tightly wound he was before Kurt's embrace. The man's touch was like a salve and he could feel himself relaxing. It was like his muscles were unraveling, stiff from anticipation, worry, and the inevitable that he feared so much. It was impossible not to let go, so, with a shudder of breath, he clutched at Kurt's waist and nuzzled his face in the taut flesh and muscle and bone concealed beneath the multiple layers of fabric.

Slowly, Kurt disentangled himself, but didn't move away. He stood there with Dave's face buried in the soft, waistcoat material. Dave could feel the erratic thud of his heart return to its normal pace at the soothing touch of Kurt's fingers brushing through the hair at the top of his head. His touch was reassuring and his hand drifted down to stroke the hair near his temple.

"I thought you would realize that even if there was someone else—which there isn't—I would respect you enough to break up with you before screwing around with some other guy," Kurt said taking a step back.

"Kurt…" Dave rasped. Already his fingers itched to grasp at him, to hold any part of his being once more.

But that still didn't explain what caused him to be more than two hours late.

"But then why are you..." Dave dragged out, beginning to voice his concern as his eyes followed the slim line that was Kurt's body. He found Kurt slipping his hand into his coat pocket. Out of it he pulled a box. Dave panicked for a moment, thinking it contained a ring, but then he realized it was much too cumbersome and, well, cardboard, to contain a ring.

Was that... Chocolates?

"Late." Dave finished lamely after Kurt gave the box a little shake. Dave could hear its contents rustling inside. He gave Dave a stern and knowing look.

"You know... These were a bitch to find. I had to go to New Jersey to get them. Not to mention See's wanting to get rid of their leftover Halloween treats. I practically had to threaten the cashier that I would jump over the counter if she didn't give me these. But as I can recall... The butterscotch one's are your favorite, right?"

Dave opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He couldn't begin to voice what he wanted to say. But it didn't matter as Kurt continued in a pained voice.

"I'm not him, you know."

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