I don't own Glee. :(

Please review...it helps with extrinsic motivation.

There was that weird feeling in his gut.

That twisting. Wrenching, he once heard Kurt say.

That incredibly uncomfortable tightness in his core, like someone had reached down his throat and grabbed his intestines.

Sometimes it was like someone had opened an entire jar of butterflies into his stomach, and they fluttered around, making goosebumps erupt on his muscled arms.

He preferred the second, because it meant Kurt had looked at him. That he had spared a soft glance, or glare, or terrified look.

But it was usually the first, the agonizing, gut-wrenching, terrible distortion.

Because usually, Kurt wasn't looking at him. He wasn't sparing a glance, he wasn't paying attention. Usually, he was laughing (he had a pretty laugh) at something Finn said. Usually, he was staring at the screen of his phone, his lips pulled upward into an affectionate smile.

Usually, Kurt was too busy, too important, too amazing, to be looking, noticing, to care, about him.

So, usually, he walked around with his heart in his throat, with a fist clutching his vital organs, with his jaw clenched unhappily.

And one day, he just couldn't live like that anymore.

So, one day, he decided to shove the kid with his shoulder.

One day, he knocked that phone out of Kurt's hands.

One day, he finally got Kurt to notice him.

He just hadn't expected Kurt to run after him. He hadn't expect retaliation; didn't Kurt understand why he was doing it, why he absolutely had to shove Kurt around?

How he had to, somehow, feel Kurt's body against his, had to have Kurt's teal eyes bore into his?

Was Kurt really that blind?

Because suddenly, Kurt was shouting. Shouting about homophobia, shouting about how simple he was, how ignorant.

He felt so many different emotions bubbling up inside him, crawling up his throat, compressing his heart. Any second, any second, he was going to explode.

And then Kurt was near him. Kurt was close. Kurt's chest was nearly pressed against his, the warmth of his flushed face and biting words brushed over him.

Kurt's teal eyes were flashing.

So, really, he thought that no one could blame him for doing what he did.

No one could blame him for lunging forward, for capturing Kurt's hot lips with his, for letting seven years of lust and hurt and something like love drain out into his kiss.

He clung to Kurt's face, his fingers smoothing over that soft porcelain skin, and tried, with every fiber of his being, to memorize everything.

To remember the taste of Kurt's lips, the heaving of his small chest, the smell of his coconut shampoo.

And then, he was shoved away.

He hadn't been surprised; someone as wonderful, as beautiful, as perfect as Kurt wouldn't take well to being mauled on the fly.

The countertenor had pressed a hand to his lips, his teal eyes wide with shock (and revelation?).

Kurt really hadn't known.

He bit the inside of his cheek. He realized, suddenly, that he didn't regret it.

He didn't regret kissing Kurt.

Because all that emotion, all that locked up intensity, was gone.

Because it had all exploded onto Kurt's lips.

He felt lighter.

Free, almost.

Except for the way Kurt was looking at him. Like he was a monster, like he had done something wrong.

So, he punched the locker, let out a strangled type of roar, and left.

And that was that part that he regretted the most.

"Dave."

He looked up. "Yeah?"

"You're supposed to be taking the test, not staring at it." His English teacher looked like a mixture of Mick Jagger and Patti Smith. He looked back down in order to keep his composure.

"Sorry." He rolled his pencil through his fingers and flipped the first page over.

Multiple choice.

What symbolism did the author achieve by showing the...

He stopped reading. It was useless. Dave had never been good at English. In sixth grade, he'd gotten a 54% on his report card.

His eyes traveled, sweeping around the room. Most of the people around him were scribbling furiously at the paper, pencils moving at a rapid pace.

Kurt was one of them.

Dave could tell, even from the good 30 feet between them, that his letters were neat and swooping, even at the brisk rate that he wrote. His teal eyes were locked professionally on his test, and his scarlet scarf was tossed carefully over his shoulder in order to keep it out of his face. His forehead was creased slightly, as though the brain behind it was working incredibly hard to form the answers.

Dave looked away, his cheeks burning.

Because, honestly, who noticed things like forehead creases?

He rubbed at his temple and stared back at the first question for the second time.

But his eyes refused to stay up; they drifted upward.

But this time, when they landed on Kurt, the countertenor was staring back. Dave just about peed his pants; he managed an evil scowl, a quiet glare, but Kurt's profile was blank.

Like he was just...looking.

Dave felt like he was being examined under a telescope.

Like Kurt could see right through his dirty look, like he had found a window into Dave's thoughts.

Like Dave was transparent, and everything in his heart was exposed.

And then, the bell rang.

Dave glanced down. He hadn't answered a single question. His teacher snatched the paper away from him and let out a long sigh that seemed to echo. Dave swore he heard Kurt scoff.

Which, if he was being honest with himself, hurt him more than it should have. So he opened his mouth and managed evenly, "I was wondering if I could have someone help me in this class? Tutoring or whatever?"

The teacher looked surprised, but nodded.

When Dave spared a short look in Kurt's direct, the countertenor was gone, his seat empty. "I know Kurt is the best at English stuff. Maybe he could...?"

"We'll see, Mr. Karofsky." She regarded him with an unturned nose; Dave recognized the look. It was the I'm-about-to-do-you-a-favor-even-though-you-don't-deserve-it look.

So he grabbed his nearly empty backpack, bit the inside of his cheek, and wished to God that he hadn't just made the worst mistake ever.

Kurt was tapping out a steady rhythm against his notebook paper with his forest green pencil.

One eyebrow was raised slightly higher than the other; his bangs were pushed perfectly into place.

His teal eyes were traveling carefully across his face, searching the blushing plains for something.

What, Dave wasn't exactly sure.

He shifted anxiously in his seat and took a glance at his watch. 3:15.

For the last fifteen minutes, Kurt hadn't uttered a word.

And Dave really couldn't take it anymore.

"Why'd you agree to help me?" Kurt's pencil halted; Dave dropped his eyes to the wood table. There was a little cough, like he was clearing his throat to begin a long, dramatic story, and Dave couldn't help but look up, eyes locking onto the countertenor's full lips.

"First of all, I'll be receiving fifteen extra points on my end-of-year grade." His voice was like a symphony; Dave's ear pricked, taking in every word. "Tell me you wouldn't take any challenge for that much extra credit."

"I would." Dave's eyes flicked upward, meeting Kurt's for a split second before he lost his nerve and looked away again.

"And second, you looked pathetic today in English. I'm a sympathetic person."

Dave lifted an eyebrow. "Thanks a lot, Hummel."

If Dave wasn't mistaken (which, when it came to Kurt, he'd only been once), the small beginning of a smile tugged at the corner of his bottom lip. "I'm also an honest person."

"Obviously."

"But this doesn't mean I forgive you."

Dave stuffed his hands into his letterman jacket and looked down at his converse-clad feet. Kurt's pencil started tapping again. He clamped his lips together and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something like, "I'm sorry, it was all because I'm in wholeheartedly in love with you and you never noticed me because you're perfect and beautiful and everything I've ever wanted".

"Especially," Kurt accentuated, "the shoving. The slushies. The things you did to my friends."

He didn't mention the kiss. Dave felt relief shudder through him.

Because he thought that his heart might have broken into a million pieces if Kurt had mentioned the kiss.

"If it makes a difference, I did it all for a good reason." It flew through his parted lips before he had a chance to stop it; Kurt's eyebrow shot higher up his forehead. "I mean...I just...I'm...Like the Beast, you know? From that Disney movie?"

The smile that had tugged on his lips broke out now, small, but bright. Dave had always loved Kurt's smile. "The Beast was misunderstood, Karofsky."

"That's what I am."

"That's what people say when they don't like who they are." The words seemed to echo; Dave rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to pressure the aching feeling in his head away. Kurt used his pinkie to shove a copy of Oedipus Rex across the table. "Read two chapters a night, Karofsky, or I'll force you to dress in drag."

Dave decided not to point out that there was absolutely no way Kurt could force him to do anything. He lifted a tired hand and flipped through the thin book with his thumb. "This isn't a book. It has...weird things...What the hell is a 'strophe'?"

"The first of a pair of stanzas of alternating form on which the structure of a given poem is based."

"English, Hummel?"

"Kurt."

"English, Kurt?" He liked the way Kurt's name rolled off his tongue.

"It's the first part of a poem."

"So Oh-de-pus is poem?"

"It's a play." He said matter-of-factly, tapping the cover with a long, thin finger. Dave sighed.

"If it's a play, then why the hell am I reading it?"

Kurt sighed and raked a hand through his hair. Dave could see the long explanation building inside him, burning up his throat, but he shook his head once and merely said, "Because you asked for my help, and now I'm helping. Understand?"

Dave nodded, because it was easier than demanding a better answer. He shoved the copy into his backpack and stood up.

A hand grabbed his wrist before he could even take a step toward the door; Kurt's fingers were warm, scorching against Dave's skin, and it made him freeze. "Karofsky, we're not done here."

"Dave."

Kurt pursed his lips. "Please. When I'm ready to call you by your first name, I will."

Dave got that.

Because by calling him by his first name, Kurt was humanizing him.

Made it seem like, despite everything he'd done, he deserved to be regarded by his first name.

Made it seem like they were friends or something.

Dave nodded jerkily and pulled his arm out of Kurt's grip, wondering how the countertenor's mere fingers could effect him so much. "It's 3:30. I said I would spend time going over this bullshit until 3:30."

"Give me five more minutes."

If he asked, Dave would've given him a lifetime.

So he sat down.

"I want you to understand something." Dave looked up, meeting Kurt's eyes. "I want you to understand that I understand."

"What is this, 'repeat yourself' day?"

Kurt plowed on, ignoring him. "I understand why you did the things you did. The shoving, the slushies. I know how secrets can affect you. And I just want you to know...being gay isn't the end of the world, although you seem to find it that way."

Except being gay wasn't really the secret that he was hiding the most.

Except the real secret was something deeper.

Something like "I love Kurt Hummel more than anything and he doesn't even know it".

Kurt's fingers reached over, clasping themselves tightly over Dave's weak hand. "And I think that, maybe, we can be friends."

That feeling, the tight, unbearably uncomfortable feeling suddenly returned.

Because Dave didn't want to be friends with Kurt.

But instead of protesting, he just nodded.

Because being friends was Kurt was better than having no Kurt at all.

...Right?

Alright, so. This is my Kurtofsky story. I'm trying out a new style, kind of. And basically, this story is going to consist of heartbroken Dave and oblivious Kurt, and how they become friends and how Dave finally tells him his deepest secret...Or something like that. ;)

Reviewwwwwww.