This was a little drabble for Grimapparition's birthday, I just thought that now there is FINALLY a Paul Karofsky tag, I was going to very well put it up!
Hope you enjoy. :]
If Burt was told a month ago, even perhaps a week ago that he would be hanging out with one of the loser A/V club kids, he would've laughed in the person's face and possibly punched them. Yet here he was, sitting across the lunch table from Paul Karofsky with his turkey sandwich and mini salad his mother had packed for him to "keep a lean figure," as Paul had explained.
He wasn't sure if he had ever seen such a dorky sight, but he had to admit that the lunch did look appetizing. Looking down at the cafeteria slop, he definitely agreed with that assessment.
But that wasn't important right now, what the real issue was that he was sitting across from a dweeb, even if he was one of the more handsome and less socially awkward dweebs. The case of the matter was, he still was one. And Burt was sitting here willingly. As for the reason…
"Why are you sitting with me?" asked Paul, looking at Burt curiously.
"Let's just say something is gonna go down during lunch, and I really don't want it to happen to you," said Burt gruffly, eyeing any jocks within a 200 yard distance.
"Why, and what?" asked Paul, venturing for more information.
"It's better that you don't know right now," muttered Burt.
"Alright then," mumbled Paul, digging back into his sandwich. Things were calm at the table, except for Burt's sense of mind until he saw the beginnings of the prank. Standing up abruptly, Burt walked over to the four jocks carrying a humongous cooking pot from the kitchen where the lunch ladies probably had no clue it was missing.
"Hold it," said Burt firmly, crossing his arms in front of his fellow peers.
"Why? We're about to pull a sick prank," cackled one of the jocks, gesturing toward the pot of what the lunch ladies said was clam chowder.
"And I'm telling you you're not," replied Burt. "Go somewhere else; otherwise I'll be forced to dump it on you."
"Man, why are you helping out the nerd? We're your friends, Burt, not that loser," jeered on the jocks, looking at the young man with disgust. "You should be on our side."
"Not on this one, guys. Now scram." The football players conceded to Burt request, muttering with the pot still in their grasp. Burt sighed, looking back to a wide-eyed Paul.
"Why did you do that?" questioned Paul, slack-jawed at Burt coming to his defense.
"I know you're deathly allergic to seafood, I saw it the other day when I was in the nurse's office," explained Burt, looking away sheepishly. "And when I heard their plan to do this, well, I knew it would end badly."
"Yeah, it would've, but you stopped it," said Paul, looking up at him with a smile. "Thank you."
"Forget about it," said Burt, rubbing at his neck. "Just I gotta warn ya- this doesn't mean you're scot-free of any slushies or dumpster dives."
"Oh, wouldn't count on it. But thanks all the same," said Paul with some amusement. "…You probably saved my life, that's all I could really ask for in this case." Burt just nodded in acknowledgment and walked off, Paul watching him leave.
Burt Hummel was definitely an interesting guy.