"Kiss me," he keeps saying, over and over again, in a breathy, soft tone. "Kiss me, please, just kiss me… You did it before, didn't you? Kiss me."
The demand is needy, daring, destitute. He can feel the shorter boy shaking against him, long, pale fingers curled into his striped polo, and his breath coming in cut puffs of moist, heated air against the jock's collarbones.
"Kiss me, David. Do it. Kiss. Me."
And he is so close, too close, the tips of their noses touching at an angle, the carbon dioxide from their lungs intermingling smoothly like stirred brownie batter, and the gleek's smelling just as sweet.
Dave can feel the boy trembling, but fear or nerves or desperation or need or love or lust, he isn't sure. All he knows is that Kurt is leaning forward on the toes of his shoes, mouth perfectly placed right in front of Dave's. Dave's eyelids flutter, only staying open half of the way, and he is incredibly, sorely tempted to give in, to remove his hands tense and frozen from his sides and encircle them around the smaller boy and just kiss him senseless.
However, it would be futile. Because this can't be real. It must be a dream. How is it plausible, feasible, possible for Kurt to be acting this way?
It can't. Because it isn't.
Dave takes a deep breath and slowly grips Kurt by his shoulders, lowering him down to stand on flat feet, but the pavement seems to have given way to grass, and the ground is uneven.
Yes, definitely a dream. But one that Dave doesn't wish to wake from just yet, because he has to settle something. He has to clear the air with Kurt, his only true friend at the moment, even if this is a crafted version of the boy born from Dave's subconscious.
"Kurt," he says, quiet and calm, but he can't help the racing of his heart. "Don't do this. You don't want this. And I don't, either. I made a mistake, and maybe you're making one, too, by being here for me when I don't deserve it, not from you, even if you forgave me. This is just… not right. I know who I am, now, thanks to you, but… But you have so much more to shoot for than I do, so just… just go for it, okay?"
Dream-Kurt frowns, and looks heartbroken. "You mean Blaine? And New York?"
Dave smiles to the best of his ability. He feels dizzy, and foggy. "Yeah. Don't worry about me, and just worry about yourself. You're always a freaking martyr, Kurt; you always forget about yourself and try to help others. I think the only time you actually paid attention to yourself was when I pushed you too far and you left for that prissy school. But that doesn't matter now, okay? What matters is you going after what you really want. I'll be fine, now that I've come to terms with stuff. So you don't have to do this, all right?"
"…But what if I want to, David?" dream-Kurt responds distantly, and his form starts to blur under Dave's fingers, melting away into greyness. His words come in fragments: "What if… I want… kiss you… 'cause I… came to… lo- y-"
0o0o0
And then, all at once, David Karofsky is left blinking into the morning sunshine, his alarm going off.
He rolls over and slams it, silencing the obnoxious thing.
Today is the first day of his senior year.
And he spent a decent chunk of his summer hanging out with Kurt, talking about things in private, and making decisions.
His father knows about him being gay. And Dave is just so glad that his parents are divorced and he doesn't have to deal with coming out to his mom, and he's beyond glad – to the point where he is utterly relieved – that Paul Karofsky is a patient, calm, understanding man.
Burt Hummel knows, too, and was pissed and offended and defensively protective of his son at first, but he found out as soon as Kurt started to explain things, and it all came tumbling down, but it wound up being for the greater good. And by default, the Hudsons know as well, but Finn won't say a word because he's actually a decent guy (unlike Dave), and things are safe over there.
(Dave feels safe over there.)
And Kurt is genuinely Dave's friend, and he wishes he could tell him all that he told the dream-Kurt. But who is he kidding? It wouldn't go over nearly that well, and it's not like Kurt is into him or anything.
And that's the awful part, really. Because, all this time, Dave's realized his sexuality because of being around other guys in sports, sure, but mainly because…
Well, because of one Kurt Hummel.
And it sucks, because he wishes it weren't true. He knows that he couldn't even stand to be with anyone, let alone Hummel, in a real relationship right now because he's just that screwed up, but he can't stop who he likes. Those feelings aren't like turning off the tap in the sink. Like a broken dam, once the water comes through, there's no stopping it.
And thoughts of Kurt Hummel have plagued David for a few years to date.
Damn.
Still, this is a new year, isn't it? Dave thinks vaguely as he goes about his routine of getting ready for school, once he's had set since freshman year. It's a new year to… make things right. And to find time to say the stuff he keeps shoving down to the bottom of his gut like one might shove down the garbage to make room for more in the bag.
Sighing, Dave heads downstairs for the breakfast-and-goodbyes portion of his routine. His father is at the table, reading an alert on his iPhone. He shlucks it away, and turns to his son. "Good morning, David."
"Morning, Dad," Dave murmurs, reaching for a bowl and getting out a spoon. He fetches some Frosted Flakes from the cabinet and spins on his socked heels to slide over to the 'fridge to fish out the gallon of two-percent milk.
"Looking forward to this year? It's your senior year. Your last of all twelve years of grade school. You'll be off to Michigan or Ohio State next year, right?"
"That's the plan; whichever accepts me first," Dave remarks a tad bitterly. He wants to go to Michigan more than he can even begin to express in words, only relate to in feeling. It's like an aching need one might feel when they are burning hot outside in the dead heat of summer and want nothing more than the cool, wet sensation of an ice cube on their tongue and ice-cold, tangy-sweet lemonade pouring down their throat. – Basically, Dave Karofsky is not sticking around to be a Lima Loser, and he needs Michigan to accomplish that goal.
"Well, I hope you get those letters soon, David. I'm very proud of you for keeping up your grades for the second half of last year, and for taking more honors classes besides Calculus this year. Keep it up, son."
And this is Paul's way of saying, 'Everything is still normal even thouh you're gay because you're still my son, you're still a bright kid, and I still love you.' And honestly, Dave will take whatever he can get.
"Thanks, Dad," Dave mumbles around a mouthful of cereal. "Have a good day at work."
"And you one at school! I'll be home late, so make whatever you want for dinner. And please, David… call your mother soon?" Paul adds as he heads out the door.
To himself, alone in the house, Dave finishes eating, but not before he replies to no one but the dust motes in the air: "Yeah, sure, I'll get right on that. And I'll even say it with a freaking smile, 'Oh hey, Ma, long time no talk! Just called to say that I'm gay. Okay, bye!'"
He snorts his disapproval of the impending awkward phone call as he stacks his dishes in the dishwasher, popping a stick of gum in his mouth on the way out the door to keep his mouth semi-fresh. He swings his backpack into place, gets out his keys, and hops into his car.
Already, David can tell, this is going to be one Hell of a day. He just has yet to figure out if that bodes well or unwell for him.
Turning the key in the ignition and hearing his baby purr, he figures, backing out, that all he can do is wait and see which turn the day takes. It's his first of his final year, after all. So he better make this one count, impression-wise.
0o0o0
It's into the second week of school that Dave deems things having gone smoothly enough that he doesn't bother speeding things up after gym class when he takes a much-needed shower. Because, really? This will be the first tardy he's taken in forever, and he's a senior, so it's not like it matters all that much.
So, to drown out the hum of the water and the silence of the locker room, Dave starts to sing. He sings in the shower, a cliché if there ever was one, but he doesn't care. There's no gym during second period, and so he's safe and alone. No one is going to hear him.
…Scratch that. Someone already has.
"Dude, why aren't you in Glee Club? You sound rockin' awesome."
Dave jumps in his skin and looks past the row of showers to his right to find Sam Evans smiling with those big, pink lips of his.
Dave rolls his eyes and shuts off the faucet. "That's creepy, man. Why are you in here? Get out."
"What? I have first period gym with you, and I forgot my backpack," the blond replies with a chuckle. "But seriously, dude," he says, respecting Dave's privacy and turning away when the brunet steps out of the half-stall and dries himself off, heading for the pile of clothes on the bench near his locker. "You sing pretty well. It would be great if you joined Glee with us. We could sue a voice like yours."
"Not interested," Dave mutters as he shoulder-bumps his way past Evans to pick up a fallen shoe and step into it, not even bothering to untie the laces.
"Why not? It's fun, and everyone is really supportive and nice, even if there's drama. And hey, aren't you friends with Kurt and Finn, now? They would love it if you –" Sam prods onward, but Dave cuts him off abruptly with a weak, nervous shout.
"Shut up, man! I said I didn't want to!"
"…Okay, fine. Be that way," Sam sighs, clearly disappointed in the other teen. "But just… think about it, okay? You have talent, man. Don't waste it."
And as soon as the dorky blond says this, he turns and marches out, and no, Dave is not caught glimpsing at the boy's ass again, no way.
Sighing jaggedly, Dave shrugs on his backpack and ruffles his wet, shirt curls, using some of the extra water to smooth down his eyebrows. Glee Club, huh? It would be social suicide, but, as a senior, no one would mess with him, and it would be a good way to make some sort of statement, maybe even turn the club cool, since he is, after all, Dave Karofsky: resident tough-guy jock.
He'll think on it, sure. It's the least he can do… For Kurt, at least. Because Evans had a point: Kurt would love it if Dave joined the show choir group. Kurt would flip a chicken – or, rather, a shopping cart, since the boy wouldn't bother with something as "dirty" as poultry, and he likes to shop, right? – and maybe even be proud of the footballer. And Finn would definitely give him bro-props, and at this point, Dave could use all of those he can get if he wants to try and worm his way into the same group he slushied all last year.
And, with that thought, Dave heads into his second-period class, giving a brief apology to the teacher and taking the tardy she marks down next to his name on the attendance list.
0o0o0
Dave is just about to set foot into the choir room after school for the second Glee Club meeting of the year when Azimio drags him back with a firm grip around his arm.
"Dude, what's your deal? Are you seriously about to join ranks with those losers? I heard that you were gonna be part of Homo Explosion, singin' and dancin' it up like a –"
"Shut it, Z!" Dave whispers ominously. He glances around, making sure no one can hear them as he yanks his arm out of his friend's grip and steps off to the side in the hallway. He looks around one final time before locking gazes with the chocolate-skinned teen. "Look… I've been thinkin': why is it, even though one isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer and the other is nerdy enough to probably know how to speak the language of the Elves from Lord of the Rings, and both of them are in Glee Club, and yet Hudson and Evans are more popular than me?"
Az's face suddenly takes on a level of 'oh, I get it, now.' "…Hey, yeah! What is up with that? You're totally more badass than both of them."
"Right?" Dave agrees, and he loves how easy it is to steer Azimio in the right direction. Really, hiding who he truly is was easiest around Azimio, it was just getting annoying having to do it all the time. "So, I figured, if I did what they do – appeal to the masses and juggle both football and Glee Club – I can totally beat them in popularity in the long run, before I graduate."
"Aw, hell yeah! Why didn't I think of this? I mean, no way I'm joining it with you – you can be alone in suffering through all those show tunes, D – but hey, go right ahead. I approve your plan. And who knows? Maybe you'll get some chicks out of this," Azimio grins.
"Pfft, like I need your approval to do anything," Dave jokes, shoving Az a little. "Now get lost, bro. I have a dorky-ass club to get into."
"Right on, man. Right on…" the other says as he walks away.
Dave shakes his head. Thank God Azimio is gullible enough that, if one thing that makes sense is said to him, he'll let sleeping dogs lie and not bring it up again.
Dave gathers up his courage – or what scrap there is of it in his body – and takes a breath as he steps foot inside the chatting choir room.
Eyes fall on him, and it's the Spanish teacher who breaks the silence. "David," he says, looking mildly surprised, but sending Evans a look at clearly means he had been warned by his blond student that this might happen, "…Welcome. Have a seat, and we'll start auditions for this year's club soon."
There are, surprisingly, a few unfamiliar faces; freshman, maybe a sophomore or junior or two. But every single senior he knows is present and accounted for, every last one from the previous year's group sitting in their respective chairs.
Dave can't help himself; he glances over at Kurt, just to gauge his reaction. It wavers between the poles of 'surprised' and 'confused,' but all positive, whereas some of the other faces around Kurt's – Jones', Berry's, Chang's – are flickering between disapproval and suspicion.
The former puckhead clears his throat, and that seems to break Mr. Schuester from his reverie. "Guys!" he addresses cheerfully, "I am so happy to see so many faces, and I do hope that all of you plan on sticking with the club, and I hope, too, that some of your voices are as powerful as all of the ones I've heard, because I knew McKinley had talent hidden somewhere! So please, if you would, one at a time come up and sing an excerpt from a song you know off the top of your head? Anything, just so we can see where you fall in the club, harmoniously speaking?"
Dave knows the choir terms vaguely. He doesn't know the order, but he's heard the words used here and there; alto, tenor, bass, soprano. Things that sound like Italian or Latin or some shit, except for bass. That makes the most sense to Dave, because Dave knows drums thanks to Rock Band, and the lowest, main drum that carries the beat in the background is the bass.
All of the younger newbies try out first, which is fine with Dave, because he still has to squelch his fears like a bug in his stomach, because he's never felt this nervous before. Not when he apologized to this group of people last year (forced and rehearsed, but secretly genuine), and not when he did any of the performing during the week for the championship game last year. None of it was… permanent like this is, and this audience now feels so personal now that Kurt is in it…
Inhaling shakily, Dave stands once it's his turn to… audition (he had been about to say, 'try out,'), now that everyone else has already gone.
He stands up at the front of the class of students watching him carefully. Kurt offers a small smile of encouragement, as if he understands. This helps Dave relax a little, and he exhales slowly. His gaze turns to Mr. Schuester. "Um, so… Is it okay if I don't remember all of it? I can only think of one song I keep hearing on the radio, but I might skip a few lyrics if I can't –"
"That is perfectly all right, David," the teacher says coaxingly. He smiles softly. "Begin when you're ready. I don't need an entire song, only part of one; just enough to hear what your voice sounds like."
"…Okay," Dave says quietly. He clears his throat, hands in his letterman pockets, and looks at no one and nothing in particular as he starts to sing.
"Crowded room is full of empty faces.
The deepest conversation, full of lies.
Another night with all my friends,
The kind you never see again.
I wonder if they'll see through my disguise…
"And I want to say that I can't hold back,
And it might be wrong, but it's all I have…
"Come take me home tonight,
Come take me home…
"Um, so… so take me home…
"Uh– I think I've found the perfect words to say,
The satellite transmits my voice,
Sometimes we don't have a choice –
"A-and I tried so hard, tried to be so strong…
But you see the cracks, my defenses gone…
"Come take me home tonight,
Come take me home…" And he ends there, because he knows he messed up and skipped a few lines here and there, but these are the lines he remembers best from the radio repeats because he feels… somehow connected to them.
Mr. Schue is the first to clap for him. Kurt and Finn are next, and then everyone else – Santana even grinning a little – join in. Dave exhales, a small smile growing on his lips.
"See? Didn't I tell you?" Schuester is laughing warmly, "I knew you had it in you, David! You truly are talented, and with a little work on your nerves and lyric memorization, I believe you'll be a great addition to the club. Welcome."
And with a nod, Dave sits down again, face carefully composed once again, but not before Kurt catches his smile and winks at him.
Dave's face feels warm, but he brushes it off as nothing as the club soon concludes.