13:57
Kurt sighs and repositions himself on the incredibly uncomfortable metal frame of the Bon Temps High bleachers. The sun is absolutely blazing overhead, and if Finn and his dad don't finish their meeting up soon, he's going to have to retreat to the shade. His spf is only strong enough for one hour, and there's no way he's going to risk a sunburn, even for his stepbrother.
He pulls his hat a little further forward on his head, and pushes the glasses further up his nose. Below him, one half of the new football team is running around. Kurt tries to push down the niggling sense of fear in his belly. He recognizes all of the boys down there – most of them were on the football team last year, which meant that he got up close and personal with them whenever they tried to throw him into a dumpster or hurl an ice cold slushie at his face. Yeah, he knew them.
Still, things are supposed to be better this year. Puck joined Glee club, and instantly demanded that the weres leave Kurt alone. That hadn't stopped Karofsky or Azimio, not until the very end of the year when Karofsky had abruptly ceased his hateful attacks. He'd cornered Kurt after school, the very last day, and promised that junior year would be less. . .eventful.
Of course, that had all been before the Vampire Rights Amendment passed through the Senate and was signed into law by the President.
Now, though. . .well, things don't seem so equal. Finn, last year's star quarterback, has been cut in favor of some upstart vampire. In fact, every single human has been cut. Normally, Kurt wouldn't care less about who was and wasn't on the football team. But Finn is his brother, and it's blatant injustice that he's been cut. It's racism, is what it is.
So now he's out here, in the brutally hot sun, spying on this year's team. There's no much to spy on, however, with the vamps still underground for the day. It's all the same boys. . .Puck, Azimio, Karofsky, Marcus. . .nothing new.
Fuck, it's so fucking hot. Shit. I was gonna stop fucking swearing so much. Dammit!
Don't see why we're practicing without a quarterback. What on earth was Coach thinking, cutting Hudson?
I miss the cheerleaders.
Kurt rolls his eyes, and is just preparing to leave when a new figure wanders onto the field, drawing Kurt's eyes and interest.
He's never seen this kid before, which is saying something, because Bon Temps isn't exactly big city living. He knows everyone he's been going to school with, but this kid. . .he's never seen him.
He's a little on the short side, with dark hair carefully parted to one side. Kurt can't make out many facial features, not as far away as he can, but he sees the thick eyebrows, and glint of sparkle from eyes even yards away. And oh, he definitely, definitely sees that tight ass.
Curious, he plunges forward, deliberately seeking out the boys' thoughts, something he normally tries to refrain from, not only because it seems so unfair but also because, quite frankly, he rarely hears anything worth knowing.
But this boy. . .his thoughts aren't like other people. There aren't cogent thoughts or even jumble of words. There's just. . .the smell of grass, crisp and clear, just the tiniest bit bitter. A single droplet of sweat, dangling tantalizing just behind his ear. The gentle thud of cleats biting into the loamy earth. A flash of pain, and fear, and a sense of determination. There are senses and emotions, everything immensely clear and yet. . .and yet not.
Kurt frowns. Maybe the boy knows how to block him, or has some kind of a trick. He pushes a little further.
There's a flash of memory, all in black and white, fuzzy like an old movie. Shoved to the ground, shouts of fag and buttlicker and freak and monster and what the fuck are you and demon and vamp and
It's too much, so he pulls back. It's as though the boy has jumbled a thousand memories into one, massive ball of hate and pain. Kurt realizes that he's trembling, feeling a little cold despite the oppressive heat of the sun.
And then someone sits down next to him.
Which is also all kinds of weird. Kurt's a bit of a social pariah at Bon Temps. The weres hate him, the witches are annoyed that he won't join their coven, and the humans are afraid of catching the gay. Which means that it has literally been years since somebody not in his family or not in Glee club has sat down beside him. He turns to face the mystery person.
And, just to contribute to the weirdness of the day, it's another unfamiliar face. Unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, Kurt notes. The guy is. . .different looking. . .than most people around Ohio. He's tall and thin, and dressed like a total hipster, which Kurt can respect, while simultaneously disdaining the style. Still, the pink shirt, black suspenders, and skintight jeans are daring, and Kurt will always acknowledge a fellow fashion risk-taker. He has high cheekbones and absolutely haunting deep set eyes. Kurt tries really hard not to lick his lips.
On the down-side: the stranger has dreadlocks. Actual, disgusting, matted together, dirty as sin dreadlocks. Which is pretty much the biggest turn-off ever.
"Hey," the stranger says. "You a football fan?"
Okay, his voice is throaty, with a strange inflection. Maybe, Kurt thinks, he can get over the dreadlocks.
"No," Kurt says with a laugh. "I mean. . .hardly. My brother is the quarterback. Well. . .used to be the quarterback. He sent me to spy on the team."
"Hmm," the stranger says. He continues to look at the field, that intense stare still on his face. Abruptly, he sticks a hand out in Kurt's direction. "I'm Travis," he says.
"Kurt."
They continue to watch the field for several moments. Rather, Travis continues to watch, while Kurt continues to surreptitiously glance at the mysterious boy next to him. There's an. . .aura around him, but his thoughts are strangely clouded and contained. Kurt can't keep the frown off his face. His entire life, reading thoughts has been as natural as breathing, and now in one day there are two people throwing him off his game.
He can't decide if he hates it, or absolutely loves it.
"Who's that guy?" Travis asks, breaking the silence. Kurt follows the direction of his gaze, and notices that he's staring at the new guy.
"I don't know," Kurt says honestly. "I've never seen him before."
Travis grunts. "He's kind of small to play football, isn't he?"
Kurt frowns, and glances at him again. He is kind of small. . .in fact, he looks like an actual dwarf compared to all of the weres on the field. And, if Kurt is sure of one thing, it's that the newcomer isn't a werewolf – none of their accompanying grunts and growls were present in his thoughts. He begins to wonder how Finn – 6'6" Finn, who's played football his entire life and actually enjoys spending time in the gym – managed to be cut from the team, while this short, scrawny new kid is wearing a team practice jersey.
He directs his attention back to the field, ignoring Travis for the first time since the kid came to sit. He keeps his eyes mostly on the new kid.
He's good. Like, really, really good. He's not all that fast – no faster than any of the weres, and definitely slower than the vampires will be. And he definitely isn't stronger than the weres – any time one manages to get a meaty hand on him he crashes to the ground like a sack of potatoes. He also hops up again, springy as a pogo stick, and dashes back to the scrimmage line with a frightening enthusiasm. And the thing is, he doesn't get caught often. Even though he's not faster or stronger, he seems to have an innate knack for sensing the other players. He can get through holes in the defense better than most, and he twists his body in surprising ways, evading tackles by hopping to the left abruptly, twisting to the right, or just vaulting over them, one hand on a shoulder and legs flying.
It's somehow incredibly beautiful, like watching a ballet. Except for the times when he gets caught, of course, at which point Kurt winces and pulls back, certain that the kids head will detach from his shoulders and go rolling across the field.
"That's kind of hot," Travis murmurs, and that's enough to snatch Kurt's attention away from the practice field. Because whoa – whoa – is the new guy actually gay?
"I don't like labels," Travis says, and Kurt realizes with a rush of shame that he had actually just said that out loud. He instantly begins to blush. "I say, be with who you love. Gender is a social construct, and sexuality is a spectrum."
Kurt just murmurs a little, not knowing exactly what he's saying. Normally he is strongly opposed to bisexuality – he's always firmly believed that bisexuality is the recourse of scared, gay boys who are afraid to embrace their true sexuality and would rather hide in the guise of still liking girls. But the whole philosophy fits this guy – his strange, bohemian attitude, the devil-may-care yet still dashing good looks. . .yeah, this guy, Kurt believes, is truly bisexual.
Or maybe pansexual. Kurt can see him as a fangbanger, too. Or a werebanger, if that's a thing.
There's a whistle from the field, and the boys begin trotting off. Travis stands up.
"Where are you going?"
Travis just peers down at him, a slight smile on his lips. "I'm gonna talk to the short hottie," he says. Kurt splutters a little.
"But. . .how do you even know that he's gay? Or bi? Or. . .whatever?"
"I don't know," Travis says, his grin widening almost predatorily. "But what's the worst that can happen?"
Kurt has plenty of ideas as to what could happen – the weres could throw him in a dumpster, or egg him, or freakin' eat him. He could become the new pariah even before school began, he could get into a fight, he could. . .
But no. He's walked over to the short kid, and they're laughing together. They're standing near the sidelines, close enough that Kurt can finally make out their features. The rest of the football players are looking them a little oddly, but no one's giving them a hard time.
And then Travis is reaching out and grabbing the new kid's hand, interlocking their fingers in an intimate way that Kurt has only dreamed about. And the new kid is smiling, a bright, charming smile that lightens up the already bright day. His hair is sweaty and plastered to his head, but the edges are curling, and his eyes are a sparkling hazel.
Oh, God. He's gay. They're both gay. He's no longer the only out teenager at Bon Temps, but is only one of three. There's finally a chance to him to walk down the halls holding hands with the guy he likes, finally a chance to slow dance at prom. Except that both of the new guys are heart-stoppingly beautiful, and have already found each other.
Kurt sighs and plops his chin into his propped hands. Yeah. . .his life sucks.
A/N: Wah-wah-wah.
COMING SOON: Finn struggles with being kicked off the football team, Rachel decides to scope out the competition, and the vampires arrive at McKinley
