The sky appeared as only a bland dusting of white clouds after the sun rose that early September morning. What would have been an endless sea of blue was immediately engulfed in a haze that swallowed the sky in its entirety. There was a distinct chill in the air that signaled summer was migrating out, and winter wasn't too far in the distance. The trees were starting to lose their leaves, the red and yellows hues that framed the hills scattering along street sides. On a sunny day, walking through the falling leaves would have felt surreal.
But this morning, dark grey clouds loomed overhead and the scent of a September rain signaled an imminent downpour. Moisture was thick in the air, and though he'd only walked a block or two from his house, the temperature had significantly lowered in that short time. He could feel himself become a bit heavier from the weight of the humidity. The leaves seemed to feel it too, barely moving in the breeze, eager for the rain to just come already.
Dave could relate to that.
He looked toward the sky, watching as the clouds moved above him; not too fast, but faster than him. The dark masses of air were pushing at the lighter ones - hustling them along - and the whistling of the wind warned him 'Hey, you might want to get a move on, too'.
And while he knew it was right, he just couldn't seem to get his feet to move faster. When he saw the hairs on his forearms start to stand up and goose bumps begin to form, he absently wished he'd grabbed his Letterman jacket over his Bully Whips one this morning...
But the thought was immediately retracted. Just like his Letterman jacket represented his high social standing inside the walls of McKinley, that red, shiny Bully Whips jacket represented something too. And in fact, if wearing it and upholding what it stood for meant suffering a rainy chill, he'd gladly weather the storm.
As if on cue, small, wet beads began to prick his neck and arms. Dark circles were forming on the sidewalk beneath his new sneakers and within seconds, that drizzle evolved into a steady flow. As he turned the next corner water came barreling down on him from the darkened skies. At first, the water rolled off the surface of the jacket, sliding down the slick material until finally the fabric gave way to the weight, and Dave could feel it soaking into his black tee shirt. His hair began to dampen, and he absently wondered if perhaps he shouldn't have made such a fuss at Santana to lose the berets.
The sky began to roar and Dave titled his head upward as though to acknowledge it. He watched as the once still, drooping leaves now whipping around violently, fighting to hold their own against the pelting winds and heavy rain. Dave found himself slowing down until he's stopped all together. He watched those leaves as they struggled and battled for their all their worth.
Dave suddenly felt like that was a struggle he could relate to. It was a battle he was too cowardly to face.
Like the leaves awaiting the rain to come, he felt heavy and weighted down. And like the leaves, he knew that the rain was the only thing that would lift that tension. Yes, Dave knew that the only way to ease his pain, and to feel like himself again, was to acknowledge who he was; to himself, to his parents and to the world at large. But, that was easier said than done.
He'd watched someone else do it though. Kurt Hummel.
He'd watched Kurt endure the deluge, in matching rain gear no less. He'd seen Kurt suffer his way through the storm, and emerge. Like the leaves, he lifted his weary shoulders and rolled in relief from the loss of tension, dripping, but reflecting brilliant specs of gold in the sunlight.
Kurt had done it. But Kurt was a very different person than Dave was. Dave could never shine like Kurt did. But for now he was okay with that. This time last year, Dave had been wearing his Letterman jacket, standing beside Azimio, slushy in hand. This time last year, Dave was well on his way to falling over the edge, constantly mocking and belittling Kurt, simply to assert his own dominance. To prove to himself that Kurt's feelings didn't matter to him. To prove to himself that Kurt didn't matter to him. That the young countertenor that waltzed into his homeroom freshmen year didn't suddenly cause his breath to catch, and stir within him emotions he'd never before experienced.
At first Dave wasn't able to identify the change. Now he knew he simply wasn't equipped to. He just knew that sitting behind Kurt, watching him toss his shoulder-bag over his chair everyday and smile brilliantly made his insides ache. None of the other boys in the class even acknowledged Kurt's existence, still sizing him up and trying to figure out just what the hell the young flamboyant boy was all about.
Back then, Dave had believed that his second row, window seat was a place of torment. Having to look at Kurt, and watch his effeminate mannerisms day after day. The way he balanced his bejeweled pens between his fingers, resting his chin against his propped, open hand. The way he tipped his head as he took notes, his whole body leaning into the motion and bending the soft curve of his neck. Dave knew the arch of Kurt's neck better than the back of his own hand.
Was it weird to be so very turned on by that minuscule exposure of skin?
Of course it was. But that was just one of the few things that was weird about Dave. Freshmen year, it had been easy to keep to himself. He'd simply watched Kurt, but never spoke to him, as it became a silent rule by every boy in the school that Kurt Hummel was not acceptable to talk to.
Artie Abrams was the first boy to break that rule. Before that, Kurt's only friends had been girls. Mercedes Jones, and that Asian girl, Tina (she was in a bunch of AP classes, so Dave didn't really know her that well).
Dave didn't like Artie from then on.
But freshmen year, Dave didn't harbor any anger towards Kurt. In truth, he was fascinated by him. He walked to talk to him. Just once. Then with only two days left of the school year - much to Dave's shock and alarm - Kurt had turned around in his desk, those perfectly manicured nails curling around the back of his seat, and those blue-green eyes opened wide, meeting Dave's pointedly.
"Hey, did you understand Mrs. Bachman's lesson in Math A at all yesterday? I got totally lost and I'm really worried about the final today." He said.
For a moment, Dave didn't say anything. For a moment, Dave wondered if perhaps he should just ignore the smaller boy entirely, like everyone else did. But, it wasn't like Azimio was even in his homeroom. In fact, the only popular kids in there were Hudson and Puckerman, and they were still mid-way through their pre-homeroom naps.
So Dave had pulled out his Math notes, and placed them wearily on his desk,
"W-Where did you get lost?" he asked. His own voice sounded small to him; despite having gone through puberty rather early in life. In fact he rarely used that deep tone of his freshmen year. Kurt had sighed heavily in dismay, and proceeded to turn more towards Dave, explaining where he got confused. Dave spent the rest of homeroom showing Kurt where he'd gone wrong. A couple of times, they'd swapped his pencil around, fingers brushing, igniting in David a feeling he couldn't possibly wrap his brain around at the time.
When the bell rang, and the homeroom teacher began to take roll, Kurt turned around with a smile.
"Thank you." He'd said, his sweet, well formed lips curving upward. "I really appreciate it."
Two days later, as school was letting out, Dave had bumped into Kurt in the hallway, mistakenly knocking his locker belongings out of his grasp.
"Sorry!" He'd blurted, clumsily reaching down to pick up the heavy materials, trying desperately to ignore the tingling in his side from the sudden contact. He rose to his feet, presenting the fallen items to the smaller boy, "Sorry." he said again. For a moment, Kurt just stared at him, wide-eyed there in the middle of the hallway as people navigated around them.
Then, he'd smiled.
That was the last time Kurt Hummel would ever smile at Dave Karofsky.
The next year, three days into the new semester, Azimio had dropped the label "fag" for the first time, and he, Hudson and Puckerman had snatched Kurt from behind, hoisting him into the air, and tossed him into the school dumpster.
A year of "fag", "queer" and "homo" eventually led to more frequent dumpster dives. Slushy facials became a trend, and by the end of sophomore year, Dave was shoving Kurt into lockers, damning him for ever making him think that he was at all similar to him in any way. Similar to the boy the world inside McKinley High seemed to loathe so very much.
And yet, Dave was still so very jealous of Artie Abrams.
Then, last year...
...Dave wasn't sure who that person was that wore his clothes and bore his name. It wasn't until he'd already gone over the edge that he realized the Dave he once was had been left behind back in that hallway. Junior year, Dave became painstakingly aware that Kurt was getting older. The curves of his face were getting sharper, those dancing muscles more defined. His clothes got bolder, his voice got louder.
He was impossible to ignore.
Mid-way through Junior year, Kurt was all Dave went to school for. He didn't think about his classes, or extra-curriculars. It didn't make sense, and Dave was fully aware of that. But still, he couldn't seem to stop himself. Why? He wondered. Why was he so desperate to touch Kurt Hummel that he restored to throwing him into lockers just have that contact?
Then that day in the locker room...that day he...
Dave regretted scaring Kurt. He regretted every moment he'd ever inflicted any pain on him, and he wished so badly that he could turn back time, and try again. Do things differently. But, he couldn't do that. And in retrospect, if there was one thing he wouldn't take back, it would be that kiss.
That kiss had been everything that Dave had been building up to until that point. It was the surfacing of everything he'd buried down inside himself. That kiss was his acknowledgment that no matter how much he tried to deny it, his fate was inevitable, and his feelings for the young man before him were very real.
Though the moment was fleeting, the feel of Kurt's skin under his fingertips was everything he'd ever imagined it to be. The slight whimper that erupted from his mouth and filled Dave's own made him suck air hard into his chest, and it burned at his lungs. But the swelling against his ribs and the flipping and flopping of his stomach blocked that out entirely. His whole body responded, suddenly feeling relieved and tense at the same time.
God, it had felt so good.
Kurt hadn't meant to, but his lips had unconsciously moved along, unable to fight Dave at all. The clicking sound when their lips parted echoed in his ears. He knew he'd just exposed himself. And in that second, he didn't care. He just wanted to do it again.
Of course, Dave would never blame Kurt for pushing him away. Dave would never blame Kurt for anything ever again. He'd spent two years silently cursing the other boy for his own shortcomings. But not anymore. Dave was on a better path now, taking care of his own problems, and not looking for someone to point a finger at for what he could not, or would not do.
After that, after the kiss, Dave wasn't sure what happened. He didn't know where he thought the denial, followed by the threats, followed by the now even more-so incredibly useless bullying, were going to get him. He wanted to plead insanity. Claim that he wasn't responsible for his actions. He was a teenage boy with an underdeveloped brain trying to fit himself into a very tight social mold. In other words, he was an idiot.
And didn't those fall into the same categories anyways? Teenage boy = idiot. You didn't need to be good at math to figure that out. But Dave had gone above and beyond the bar to prove he was the shining example of adolescent stupidity. He never really meant it when he'd told Kurt he would kill him if he told anyone what happened. And honestly, he hadn't thought much of it after he did. And that was the biggest problem there. Dave hadn't thought much about his actions, or put a lot, if any, thought into the repercussions of what he was doing.
After all, he was doing what seemed like the proper reaction to his teenage brain. And in that silly brain of his, he didn't see his actions as being that bad. He'd seen worse on TV, anyways. And that's where he was at fault. That's where the entire American society was at fault. Believing that life is what we see on the television. That everything revolves around the simple mindless drama of the day to day goings of high school. And that in the end, everything will work out.
As kids, we're told we can be anything we want to be. Which is great and all. Dave wasn't saying it was wrong to instill hope and drive into children. But it would help if they reinforced that with work ethic instead of empty dreams. Told kids 'hey, it's more than just wishing. It's work', or more importantly, 'you're not special'.
And Dave wasn't being cold in thinking that. Kids in today's world, himself included, seemed to think they're all special. That they are all inclined to some sort of special privilege or treatment. And when they don't get the fantasy they see on TV, they feel they've been cheated somehow.
Dave hadn't been cheated. Dave had a good family, plenty of good opportunities, and had been blessed to be born into a world that allowed him to pursue his dreams, should he be inclined to do the work. It took a lot time for Dave to realize that being gay wasn't like having some sort of handicap. Sure, it made his situation different, and in some cases, harder. But the reality of it was that he'd allowed himself to fall into this societal structure created for him by the dramatizations of television and the underdeveloped minds of teenagers.
Being gay in a small town middle-America sucked. But it wasn't the end of the world. Dave reminded himself of that every day.
So did he plan on, 'coming out'? No, not really. Chances were he'd wait until college, where he could walk in, and meet new people, and not lie. He'd just be himself from the start. No surprises. Then, when he started to feel comfortable with himself, when he finally got himself on solid ground, he'd tell his parents.
That was the plan.
And he'd forget all about Kurt Hummel...
…Okay, so maybe he wouldn't forget entirely. He would remember everything he'd ever learned from watching the young countertenor. He'd retain all that had transpired, good and bad, as a reminder of what he needed to do to be a better person. But, he would let go. He'd get over his strange, sad little crush, and would move on. Chances were, his first few boyfriends would more than likely resemble the young starlet. It seemed Dave had a type.
Not that he'd been limited to that. Yes, the recognition of his feelings for Kurt had been the catalyst of his dawning sexuality. But after he realized that he was, in fact, attracted to men, it was like his eyes opened. He looked around and suddenly, it was clear who and what he was. It was clear that he was gay. And it was clear that Sam Evans had one mighty fine ass.
But Kurt, he was different. He was special. He was... Kurt. Smart and witty. Bold, honest and kind. He was brave. He was forgiving. He wore his heart, and more importantly, his flaws on his designers sleeves, and said 'this is me', 'this is who I am'. And though he was never exactly humble when it came to praise, took any criticism with great humility.
He was Kurt Hummel. He was the one person Dave Karofsky never wanted to forget.
By now, Dave's hair was soaked. In fact, he was dripping, and he absently began to worry about the contents of his book-bag getting wet. He arched his neck up toward the sky once more, and in the distance, spotted the promise of white clouds, and clear skies. Dave kept moving.