Never Been Kissed

It began with the words.

"... how extraordinarily ordinary you are—"

Then came the kiss. The lips over his, the hands cupping his cheeks.

Kurt's gut churned with a hundred different emotions and reactions at once, but they could all be called different shades of a single one: shock. Cold, heart squeezing, brain freezing shock. Kurt wanted to yell, faint, vomit... all at the same time. But his nerves were so charged, they couldn't command his muscles to move; he could feel the electricity in his bones.

Finally, finally, the lips parted from his. There was such longing on Karofsky's face that for a moment, it was all Kurt could see. How did he not know this? How could he have missed something this big all this time, when it was crossing his path in one way or another nearly every day? If he'd been able, Kurt would've been chiding himself for his perhaps willful blindness.

Then Karofsky leaned towards him again, and that finally snapped him out of his paralysis. Kurt jumped back, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he gained some space. Maybe now he could catch his breath, maybe now he could think he couldn't think this was too much this was—

A high pitched whine issued from Karofsky's throat. His fist slammed against his locker. He turned... then he screamed — an animal scream of pain. Kurt watched as Karofsky fell to his knees, the heels of his hands pressing against his forehead.

"Karofsky?" Kurt began.

"Nononono..."

"K-Karofsky...?" He'd never know what he was thinking of saying next; perhaps that was for the best.

"StopstopstopSTOPSTOP..."

Then Karofsky's locker door swung wide open, metal clanging against metal as it rattled its neighbor. Kurt blinked; how the hell had that happened? Neither of them was even close to—

Then another locker door opened. And another. And another. Every single locker hurled open.

And no one was touching them.

Kurt felt bile burn in his throat. The shock had him hallucinating. It had to be. But damn if it wasn't the most realistic hallucination ever...

Then the locker at the end of the row began shaking, rocking back and forth as if in an earthquake. Finally, after long seconds, it crashed to the floor, the metallic din piercing Kurt's eardrums. Then another shook and fell. Then another. All the while, Karofsky was on the floor, screaming and crying and holding his head.

Finally, the noise stopped; now it was the silence that deafened Kurt. Karofsky was surrounded by fallen lockers, his sobs subsiding into hiccups and gulps. He looked up; their eyes met. Karofsky's eyes were deep, wet, full of so much: pain, longing, but most of all, sheer and utter terror...

Karofsky scrambled unsteadily to his feet. He stepped over one of the fallen lockers and rushed out the door. Kurt didn't try to stop him, didn't try to call out to him — he couldn't. He couldn't even move. Even when Coach Hill came into the room and demanded to know what had happened, Kurt couldn't move.

The lockers weren't the only thing that had collapsed all around him. His entire world had.

That Night

Burt and Carole had long given up trying to break Kurt's silence. "If he needs us," the latter said to the former in her most reassuring tone, "he'll come to us." Burt nodded silently, casting a worried glance at his son.

Kurt paid them no heed, as he'd paid them no heed since the moment he got home. He was too busy trying to explain the unexplainable.

Earthquake? He would've felt one if he had. Besides, what kind of earthquake could've done what he'd seen?

Hallucination? No, he realized now that had been desperation. If his senses were fooling him that thoroughly, life made even less sense than he thought.

Some kind of trick or prank? No, he'd sounded every wall, examined every locker, over Coach Hill's interrogation. The concrete was solid, the metal was unbroken, the locker doors free of trap or trick.

It didn't make sense. It just didn't make sense. The world did not operate like that. It just didn't. Kurt was deep in his pondering when Finn wandered into the room.

One thing to make clear at this point: Finn usually had a pretty good sense of how much privacy he had. This time, however, was different. First of all, he was on the phone with someone he usually didn't talk to, and that had him thrown a little. Secondly, the subject itself was a little serious. Thirdly, Kurt was sitting in an easy chair in the corner of the living room, in the dark, so Finn didn't see him.

All that added up to Finn striding into the living room and continuing his conversation absolutely ignorant of his fellow glee clubber's presence.

"No, Mr. Karofsky, I haven't seen Karo— uh, Dave since this morning at school."

In his chair, Kurt stiffened at the name. What little breath he had caught in his throat.

"I'm afraid I don't know," Finn continued to the unheard voice at the other end. "Have you tried asking Azimio? Oh..."

Karofsky hadn't gone home? Another pit began opening in Kurt's stomach.

"I mean, I suppose he could still be at school... Have you tried...? Oh. Well, I'm sorry I can't help... If I hear from him, I'll be sure to call..."

Finn was pacing out of the living room at that point, and Kurt couldn't help but feel a little stab of pride for Finn and his concern for someone who'd given him so little but grief. It was the kind of burgeoning compassion that had fueled that disastrous and embarrassing crush, but it was still something he admired.

But back to Karofsky. What the hell had happened to him? Kurt supposed he had every reason in the world to stay away from this — and a few more he would never have imagined in a million years — but he had to know. He had to, if only for his own sanity... What he'd seen had been eating away at him for hours; having to endure even more was more than he could bear. One way or another, he had to know.

Finn was still on the phone, Dad and Carole in the kitchen. Without a word to anyone, he grabbed his coat and let himself gently out the front door. He climbed into his car and drove away, towards McKinley High. In the condition Karofsky was in, he probably couldn't have gotten far.

But as he drove, one question nagged at him: was he more afraid he wouldn't find Karofsky there... or that he would?

Calm

Even Kurt knew about the busted lock in the gymnasium door; he'd certainly heard enough about it from passing classmates sharing that tidbit of information for all sorts of purposes of varying degrees of mischief. He gulped as he groped his way through the dark; he wished he'd thought to grab a flashlight, but he knew that had he put in even that much thought, he might not have come at all.

Fortunately, the hallway lights were on at half power, the dim light almost more sinister than the dark. Kurt took a deep breath and steeled his spine as he roamed the halls. He was suddenly very conscious of how big McKinley was, emphasized by the emptiness of hallways he was used to navigating while full of people. True, there were many (too many) who wanted to do him some kind of harm, but in that moment... he would've killed to have any one of them by his side.

His heart was pounding in his ears, almost (almost) drowning out the muffled sobbing. Kurt stopped dead for a moment. Yes, muffled sobbing. Kurt took a deep breath, then followed the sound. It was coming from the library; the door was cracked open.

Gently, oh so gently, Kurt entered. There were a few odd lights left on here and there by a careless student or janitor, but most of the shelves were cloaked in shadow. Yes, the sobbing was definitely coming from here. He rounded a set of shelves... and saw it.

David Karofsky sat huddled in the middle of one of the aisles. Even in this dim light, Kurt could see the wet streaks down his face. But that wasn't what had Kurt's attention at the moment.

That was held by the books — the books that were floating in mid air all around the football player. Some were just hanging there, others were lazily circling, with a few just slamming themselves against their shelved brethren like birds flying into a window.

Denial was impossible now. Kurt wanted to scream, to cry... But somehow, somehow, he held himself together. He wasn't sure how — perhaps the glowing ember of curiosity in him was starting to take hold. Perhaps it was some kind of deep-rooted survival instinct. Whatever it was, he was grateful for it; he needed all the strength he could get.

"Karof— David? Dave?" Kurt spoke gently, softly, as if trying to calm a skittish cat.

Karof— Dave's head snapped up even at that low sound. "Hummel...?"

"Are you—?" Are you okay? What an utterly ridiculous question. Kurt wanted to slushie himself for even thinking of asking something as idiotic as that.

"Get away!" The voice wasn't at all angry or harsh — it was desperate, pained. The demand actually sounded like it was being made in genuine fear for Kurt. It was almost as much of a wonder as the impossibility being made actual all around him. "I don't want to hurt you!"

The irony of the plea was not at all lost on Kurt; he actually had to tamp down his cynical side. This was no time for that. The ember of curiosity was now a roaring, full flame. "It's okay. I just want to make sure you're all right." He took a step forward.

"Get away!" Four of the books that had been suspended in the air suddenly flew in all directions.

Kurt jumped, even though none of them had even come close to him; they all crashed against a wall or a shelf before dropping to the floor. Still, the pounding in Kurt's ears began again. He had to take a moment before trying again. "Your dad's worried about you."

Dave sniffled. "H-he's better off without me." Kurt's heart sank in his chest; the words were so shot through with fear and self-hate and despair that he hadn't thought David Karofsky capable of that it was another cannon blast to the carefully built and seemingly impregnable walls of his old world view. "Freaks don't belong. They don't deserve to be alive."

Kurt tried to speak through his desert dry mouth, but couldn't, not at first. He sat carefully down on the floor near Dave, crossing his legs underneath him. "You're not a freak, Dave," he said gently.

Dave laughed, high and bitter. The books floating above trembled, as if a stiff gust were blowing through them. "You're fucking kidding, right? I... I fucking kissed you. I...!" He waved his hands helplessly around him, at the books. "This... I'm not normal! I...!" Fresh tears ran down his cheeks as his fingers clutched at his hair.

"So you are doing it..." The sentence came out of him breathy, awed. He'd suspected, obviously, but hearing the words... He somehow knew, implicitly, that they were true, and they were as fascinating as they were frightening. There were so many "hows" coming to mind, one after another after another, so fast that he had to force them down. Asking wouldn't do any good, not now, not for him, not for Dave.

And he was concerned for Dave. He felt like he should've been surprised at this revelation, but he wasn't — not now that he knew that there was something (so much) to him that was more than the swaggering, bullying jock he presented himself as. Dave apparently wasn't surprised when it happened in the locker room, which meant he already knew what he was capable of... For how long? How'd he find out? How...?

And there were the "hows" again. Kurt snorted to himself in disgust and tamped them down once more. He knew his growing excitement was kind of morbid. However natural and human his reaction was, there were bigger issues at stake.

"I can't control it," Dave said plaintively, putting Kurt's attention squarely back to the immediate. "I... It doesn't happen when I'm happy and confident and shit, but if I lose it, if I... Fuck!" More books literally flew off the shelves, joining their flock mates in their chaotic dance in the air. His face sank between his knees, which were folded against his chest; Kurt could see his entire body tremble.

Well, that explained a lot. Not excused, obviously, not in the execution, but certainly explained. Kurt slid a little closer; Dave didn't seem to notice, thank God. "D-do your parents know...?"

Dave shook his head without looking up. "I... I've managed to hide it..." No surprise to Kurt, considering everything he was hiding... "No one knows... I was doing so good, it wasn't happening, but then you had to go around all out and shit and make me lose it and now I can't get it to stop..."

The outrage stirred in Kurt at being blamed was, surprisingly enough, overwhelmed by the further implications. "You... you've been dealing with this..." (With being gay...) "All alone?"

Dave laughed wetly. "Who the fuck could I talk to? Someone who'd sell me out to a circus or some shit? Someone who'd call a bunch of scientists to dissect my brain? Someone..." He swallowed audibly. "Someone who'd look at me like I'm a monster...?" Somehow, that third possibility sounded worse than both of the others put together. "I already know what that's like..." Damn, did that pummel Kurt with all kinds of mixed emotions. "... and I can't lose my mom and dad... I'd rather die than watch them look at me different..." His arms tightened around his folded-up legs, and the books whirled around their heads in equal agitation. "I'd rather die..."

Kurt swallowed, knowing from the bottom of his soul that he was about to make an absolutely colossal mistake. But what other choice did he have? He slid even closer to Dave; still he didn't notice. "I want to help you." Even though he knew that once he spoke the words, there would be no turning back, they were firmer, and easier to say, than he'd thought they'd be.

Dave's head shot up; the books stopped moving, as if as startled as Dave was. "Wh—? You?"

"Yes, me. Why not?" Kurt turned his nose up. "I think I'd be a lot more help than Azimio could ever be."

"But... why? You hate me..."

"I don't hate you, Dave." Again, surprise at realizing just how true it was, at least now. "I hate what you did to me and my friends. That's a lot different from hating you. Besides... I'm involved now, whether we want it or not. No one else knows, do they?" Dave shook his head. "I refuse to leave you alone with... all this. I won't let you destroy yourself, either literally or figuratively, for something you can't control. And unlike—" He paused, reforming his thought. "Unlike your... feelings... I think this is something you can control. You said it yourself — you've been doing it before. I know you can do it again."

"H-how? How the hell can you help me?"

"You don't have to sound that skeptical." Kurt couldn't help but smile, and he thought he saw just the tiniest shadow of a grin pass over Dave's pressed lips. "And honestly... I don't know. What I do know is that it'll be a lot easier for two to figure it out than one. And that it'll help a lot — both you and me — to have someone you can talk to about your... secrets, someone to share the burden with. And I'm willing to be that someone."

"But... why?"

Good question. "I guess... because I'm interested. Not just in this..." He waved at the books with the same careless gesture as Dave had, "but in you. Honestly, I'm amazed you've kept so many secrets... You're a lot smarter than I thought."

Now Dave actually smirked. "You don't have to sound that skeptical," he aped. One of the books gently floated to the floor, and Kurt's heart leaped; he was more sure than ever now he was doing the right thing.

He laughed. "Fair enough. But seriously..." Now Kurt felt like he could dare — had to dare, had to make that connection. He gently reached over and touched Dave's arm; Dave looked down at the hand in shock perhaps deeper than Kurt had felt that afternoon in the locker room. "I want to help. I want you to look in the mirror and see someone worthwhile. Someone who's not a freak, no matter how much he feels like one. Will you give me that chance? Will you give yourself that chance?"

He left the last question unasked: "who else is there?" They both knew the answer: no one, and it was at once the best and the worst thing that it was true. Dave's lip was trembling; he was staring, the dried tear tracks shining in the dim light. Finally, he nodded.

The books fell from the air. One of them bounced right off the top of Kurt's head. "Ow! Son of a—" He glared at Dave's snicker. "Okay, if we're going to do this, rule number one: no mockery!"

Dave roared with laughter, much louder than the situation warranted. It was as though some kind of dam inside him had broken, and rapids were gushing out all at once. His hysteria took a couple of moments to calm; he finally managed to catch a few deep breaths. "Sure," he gasped. "Whatever you say, Hummel."

"Kurt."

"What?"

"If we're going to be working together, at least do me the privilege of addressing me by my given name."

"Sure." Dave nodded slowly, a little reluctantly. "K-Kurt." He took another breath. "I..."

"Yes...?"

"Y-you really mean this? You really want to...? You don't think I'm a...?"

"Yes, I really mean and want to do this, and no, I don't think you're a freak or a monster, for any reason. Rule number two: I am a sincere man. I am as open as the day is long. So believe what I tell you, because unlike a lot of other people, I have no reason to lie or string you along."

"I..." He frowned at the thought. "I guess that's kinda true..." Dave shook his head in wonder. "You're kinda crazy for doing this, Hum— Kurt. But... Okay. I believe you."

He was already sounding like his "normal" self (though what exactly that was was a conception that had changed in Kurt's mind for good), which was almost stupidly relieving. "Good. Now..." Kurt looked about them, at the scattering of literary debris all around them. "Who's going to clean this up?"

"Not me."

"Me neither. Let's just get out of here before someone catches us."

Focus

"Seriously, Hu— Kurt? Isn't this kind of...?"

Kurt cracked open one eye. "If you say 'gay,' I'm going to slap you, telekinesis or no. Now shut up and relax."

"Okay, okay," Dave grumbled under his breath, readjusting his legs folded underneath him. "It's just... I thought this kinda shit was for hippies and soccer moms."

"You said your... abilities seemed to be tied to your emotions, right?" Kurt still felt a little shaky talking about Dave's... talent; it was as though he were caught up in one of those live action role playing games Sam and Artie tried to rope him into once — he was taking the absurd seriously. Yet it wasn't so absurd anymore, was it? He'd seen too much to dismiss it now. It made him wonder what else there was out there whose existence he dismissed. Aliens? Werewolves? God? Now that someone he knew personally was able to break every single law of biology and physics the world had taught him, wasn't anything possible?

That, perhaps more than any other thought, was what kept him up at night. Thus the current "lesson" in relaxation; it was as much for Kurt as it was for Dave. "Well, yoga and meditation are widely practiced by people of all kinds, and is actually very relaxing," he continued. "They allow you to clear your mind, to focus. And that's what you need right now." Actually, Kurt really had little idea of what Dave "needed"; neither of them knew a damn thing about how Dave's power worked, and it wasn't like they could consult anything or anyone other than Internet kooks and movies. But Dave wasn't Phoenix (Kurt hoped), and as he'd said to Dave that night in the library, at least two blind gropers had double the chance of finding something important. "Now less talking, more breathing. Remember: long breaths, from deep in the chest."

"Deep in the chest..."

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Don't think about the absurdity. Don't think about the fear.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Comes to Shove

Dave glared at the pencil as if it had just insulted his mother. "Dammit!"

"You're concentrating too hard, Dave." With his dad and Carole out, and Finn with Quinn, the Hummel living room was the perfect temporary base of operations. Kurt moved all the breakable objects to the kitchen, though, just in case; he made a mental note to search for better options.

"I thought my problem was that I wasn't concentrating enough."

"It's both. You won't be able to control this unless you assert some. Think about how you feel when it happens…" Kurt cocked his head. It hadn't occurred to him before, but maybe it'd help them both get a better handle on this. It certainly wasn't because he was curious. "How does it feel?"

"I…" Dave sighed, leaning back against the back of the chair. "It's like there's this buzzing in my head, this… pressure that builds up. If it builds up bad enough, it's like it has to go somewhere, so it just… bursts out of me."

"Does it… hurt?" Kurt thought of that afternoon in the locker room. He wondered how different life would be right now if hadn't been for Blaine and his (in retrospect, bad) advice. He hadn't really talked to Blaine since that afternoon; he'd be able to tell something was wrong, and what could Kurt possibly tell him? Well, I confronted my bully, like you suggested, only it turns out he has psychic powers and I think I need to help him figure out how to control it. It was absurd (there was that word again — but what others could describe this entire situation?).

Dave was silent for a moment before he answered. "Sometimes. If I'm upset enough or I haven't used the power for long enough."

"How do you usually… use it?"

"Most of the time, it just happens. A lot of the times it's when I'm asleep, especially if I have a really intense dream. That's a big part of the reason I asked for my bedroom to be in the attic. It's got a lot of space, I can sneak out easy, and my folks don't come up too often, so I can clean up when it… happens."

"Then maybe that's the key," Kurt said. "If it builds up like that, then maybe to have control, you have to use it, be comfortable using it."

"I… I don't know if I can…" Dave's hands clutched at each other so tightly his knuckles turned white. The pencil, which had lain stubbornly still the entire afternoon, rolled towards Kurt.

"You're scared of it," Kurt said quietly. Of yourself. Of what you feel, of what you're capable of. Just one secret would've been enough, would've been so huge that it could've felt overwhelming. But two, at once…? No wonder Dave lashed out, went nearly mad. He wondered how he would've handled such a burden… But his designer's mind couldn't help but imagine spandex… Or maybe leather… Primarily black, with a few buckles for emphasis…

"Of course I am!" Dave jumped to his feet, pacing the room. "I'm fucking dangerous! Every day I'm fucking terrified I could hurt someone…"

"Mmm." There must've been something, some shade of tone, in that seemingly neutral murmur that caught Dave's attention, for his entire form seemed to collapse in on itself.

"God, I'm so sorry, Kurt," he said, so quietly and sincerely that Kurt didn't have any choice to believe. "I thought if I were confident enough, if I could be a big man, that it wouldn't happen, that I could keep it down, be normal…" He threw himself back into his chair, suddenly looking exhausted. "And as shitty as I could be, as much as I hurt you, it's nothing compared to what I know I could do with this fucking power..." He buried his face in his hands. "Maybe I deserve it." The words were muffled, but clear to Kurt's ears nonetheless. "Maybe this is my punishment… Being cursed like this…"

One part of Kurt wanted to object to that characterization, express his amazement (and perhaps let through just a little of the low-level envy he felt), but all the other parts knew how insensitive that would be. The last thing Dave needed to hear right now was that his power, that had caused him so much worry and made him feel so isolated from the rest of humanity, was some kind of "gift." So instead he said carefully, "I don't think that's true, Dave. I don't think it's a matter of deserving — you were born how you were born, and it's not your fault… It just is." Kurt was quite conscious of the layers, but didn't bother to point it out. Not only was Dave most likely more than conscious of them, but the whole homosexuality thing hadn't even come up in all the time Kurt had been attempting to help him — they'd had more pressing matters to deal with. "What matters is how you handle it, how you use it… How long have you been able to do this, anyway?" Dave was silent for so long that either he fell asleep, or Kurt had hit on something that was probably key to Dave's psyche. "If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to…"

"I almost killed my brother." This time, Kurt wasn't sure he heard right, not until Dave's face rose, tears welling in his eyes for the first time since that day. "I almost killed my brother," he repeated. He took a ragged breath and continued. "I was… twelve, I think. Thirteen, maybe. Jack's five years older than me; he was in his senior year in high school, I remember. He was kind of the typical older brother: a real bastard. We were in the front yard, and he was messing with me; I don't even remember how or why. I was getting madder and madder, and that just made him enjoy messing with me even more." Dave swallowed. "I remember feeling it then, feeling it just kinda… welling up inside me, but I had no idea what it was, and I wasn't even really paying attention to it, I was so mad at Jack. Finally, I just couldn't take it anymore; between Jack and the pressure in my head, I thought I was gonna explode. I just screamed 'Leave me alone!' and Jack… He just went flying backwards…"

One of the empty dining room chairs toppled over by itself. Neither boy noticed. Kurt waited patiently for Dave to wipe his eyes. Finally, he continued. "The street was busy; there were a bunch of cars going by. I… I almost shoved him right into the road. We were lucky; he slammed into our mailbox instead… nearly broke it off the post. He… he had to go to the hospital." Dave gulped down air. "I had no idea what happened at first, but then, over the next few months… Stuff started moving all on its own, I'd wake up from a nightmare and my entire room would be a mess, and even though it seemed impossible, eventually it sunk in. I knew. I did that to Jack." A shudder went through his burly form. "He recovered okay. I don't think he realized what happened, but… He stopped messing with me after that. I should've been grateful, but… He also never wanted to be alone with me after that either. We barely talked. He looked at me different, like… like…" He shook his head. "I don't know… I just… I don't want that to happen again. It can't. I don't think I'd be able to take it, I…" He stared directly at Kurt, a stare so despairing and desperate that it nearly had the physical force of Dave's power. "Please don't leave me," he whispered. "Please… I know it's shitty to put all this on you, but you were right, I don't have anyone else, and I don't think I could handle…"

Kurt swallowed. Truth be told, he'd had second thoughts, a lot of them. But in the end… Damn his overdeveloped sense of compassion and responsibility. "I should be insulted at your lack of faith in me, David. But I am going nowhere." He laid his hand over one of Dave's, resting on the table; Dave looked down, his face too blank for Kurt to make out a reaction. "Nowhere," he repeated.

It didn't make much better, Kurt knew. It wouldn't heal Dave or banish all his fears.

But for now, it was enough.

Suspicion

"What the hell is going on?"

Kurt shut his locker door to reveal Mercedes behind it, staring at him.

"I'm not sure what you mean," he said with forced casualness, striding towards his next class. Mercedes followed, matching him stride for stride.

"I mean, things are weird around here lately, and you're part of it."

Kurt winced inwardly; if there was anyone who could've been able to sense something was up (besides perhaps Rachel or Finn, but they were too caught up in drama between each other), it was Mercedes. If things had been different, if it weren't for the sheer insanity of Dave's secret, he might, might have been able to confide in her. As it was, it was painful knowing that he had to keep her in the dark. Necessary, but painful. He'd hoped he was succeeding, but apparently not. "I'm still not sure what you mean. Everything seems normal to me: the halls are full of cavemen, the glee club is full of drama…"

"See, there's the thing… Nobody in the glee club's been slushied for days." Kurt hadn't asked Dave to stop, but he had anyway… Then again, it was the least he could do, given everything Kurt was doing for him. He had no idea how he'd gotten Azimio and his other friends to follow his lead, but Kurt wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "And you and Karofsky…"

Kurt nearly stumbled on his own feet, but managed to recover without skipping a beat. "What about Karofsky?"

"You don't think I'd noticed how he seemed to be zeroing in on you lately?" Mercedes snapped. "I was gonna do something about it — maybe report it to Figgins or Coach Sylvester — but he stopped about a month ago. Just like that! I don't think I've even seen him in the halls for weeks! And that got me thinking." Mercedes smoothly stepped in front of him; Kurt stopped short. "I saw you two talking, Kurt."

"And?" Kurt asked surprisingly evenly. "Am I not allowed to talk to certain people?"

"It's not that you're not allowed, but… Why? Why on Earth would you be associating with him?"

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, a tinge of coldness seeping into his voice, "but I didn't know I needed to justify that to you."

Mercedes groaned. "It's not like that, Kurt! It's just that… you two seemed pretty chummy, and… Is he making you do something you don't want to do? Because if he is— "

"Mercedes. I am fine. He isn't forcing me to do anything. I appreciate your concern, but I'd also appreciate it if you'd just drop it."

She threw up her hands. "Can you blame me? Just a month ago, he was bullying you — bullying almost every single one of us — and all of the sudden the two of you are best friends? Tell me, with a straight face, that wouldn't seem really strange to you if you were in my shoes."

He couldn't, and they both damn well knew it. Kurt sighed. "We're not exactly best friends." Saying that stung more than he expected, but it was true. They weren't friends before, and they were kind of thrown together with little choice in the matter… "If you really want an explanation, I had enough of the bullying. Dav— Karofsky seemed to be at the center of a lot of it, so we've been talking. I'm trying to humanize myself, and the rest of us, so he stops. And he has stopped, hasn't he?" Mercedes raised a skeptical eyebrow; Kurt kicked himself inwardly for even hoping that would work. He sighed again. "Trust me to come to you if I have any real problems?" Of course, it was already a lie — he was already having real problems, trying to teach a teenage telekinetic to not rip apart a room with his mind when he was upset, and he had absolutely no idea if he was doing anything right. Not that he could ever tell her that; not that he could tell anyone that. Ever.

In a way, he had become as isolated as Dave. And the hell of it was, he felt as though he had as little choice in the matter as Dave had.

For her part, Mercedes' face softened. After a long moment, she nodded, and silently opened her arms. He gratefully walked into them, and the two embraced. "Just be careful, okay?" she whispered in his ear.

Kurt could only nod, even as he knew that her concern was for completely the wrong person.