A/N: This was a quick, much much shorter chap that just kinda came to me. I'm seriously letting the story guide me along which is sort of fun in the sense that I'm feeling just as surprised by what's coming next as you guys. The next chap may be a bit meatier but hopefully this one will suffice for now. Enjoy and please leave me some comments, questions or reviews. It honestly gives me the motivation to trudge forward knowing people are interested or actually digging the story, so please don't be shy. Thank you kindly!
For a moment he'd forgotten where he was. He awoke feeling drained; emotionally, and also physically considering the monsterous headache slowly coursing behind his eyes, pulsing and sharp.
He groans his way into a sitting position, beams of light leaking through the blinds and pooling near his feet.
He's starting to remember...
The moment when several aspirin are held out in front of him, accompanied by a glass of water; the sight of a cheeky grin underneath messy blonde hair that was usually styled to perfection in his line of sight... It begins coming back to him. The events of the night flashing through his mind...
Nick, the pompous king of all that is douche, regaling his gay affair with such unrelenting pride, reminding Dave of everything he'd ever hated about high school and himself in one fell swoop...
Chandler, the petite little twink with the annoying laugh, talking excessively about useless old hollywood trivia, crushing his lips to Dave's...
Kurt... God - Kurt... They'd fought, argued about - well, something - and Dave had walked off like a petulant spoiled little prick...
"I know that look. I take it that it's all coming back to you?"
"Unfortunately. Thanks," Dave grunts in response while knocking back the pills, gulping down a generous amount of water to rehydrate himself.
Ian sits on the arm of the sofa with his eyes carefully gauging Dave's slouched frame.
"It wasn't all that bad Yogi."
"Oh, yeah? Tell that to my head. Feels like I just got into a brawl with an ornery meat cleaver and lost - And damn it! Why do my feet feel like I went on a fucking pilgrimage across the county?"
"Because you actually went on a pilgrimage across the county. Well, at least half way."
Dave pinches the bridge of his nose. The aspirin was moving way too slow for his liking.
"So I walked - a lot. And how did I get here again?"
"With my fag space shuttle. I beamed you up and dropped you off here at my humble abode to ravage you in your helpless drunken state."
Dave looks up, his glare penetrating the weak grin arranged wholly across Ian's lips. Ian rolls his eyes and then returns a scowl of his own, not to be deterred by the most intimidating of dagger eyes shot his way.
"I picked you up in your car. I usually hitch a ride or grab a cab so really, you were doing me a favor."
Right. He knows his emotions must've been running high for him to forget how he'd managed to end up here at Ian's place. The walking had aided him in slightly sobering, but once he'd stopped walking, the drunken-ness returned nearly ten fold.
"I just - I remember bits and pieces. I remember Chandler and him rattling on about Dorothy Dandridge or Jean Autry or some silver screen historical crap I could've cared less about, and I think - I think I like - got smacked in the ass a lot."
"By some choice queen's if I do say so myself."
Dave stared ahead, unfocused on his actual surroundings; his mind too preoccupied with recounting the hazy details of his evening. His senses working over time to reclaim the blurred images and snippets of interaction.
"Kurt and I, we were talking. A lot at first. Something stupid about the Terminator being made into a musical and how he wanted to be Sarah Conner or whatever nonsense it was."
Dave chuckled to himself while carding his hand through his hair.
"I got pissed. I mean like, royally pissed off. Man... fucking Nick Harris."
"So you did really know him from before?"
Dave nodded. "My senior year of high school, yeah."
And then it grips him like cog wheels crushing together, squeezing the thoughts out like an old tube of tooth paste.
The spot where he'd been poked in the chest, the soreness suddenly flaring up as if in tune with his dawning realization: the angry cursing, Kurt's pleading eyes, arguing with him about being a treated like a charity case, arguing about Nick... And Dave fleeing, running away as he always does.
"Fuck, Ian. I think I fucked up."
Ian reaches out and pats Dave's shoulder comfortingly. "No you didn't. You just let your emotions get the best of you. It happens Yogi -"
"Yeah - But it wasn't supposed to happen that way. I'm not supposed to be that guy anymore."
"What guy?"
"The guy who hurts him. Not anymore."
"Sweetie. Sometimes shit happens. I mean - whatever it was, it isn't today. Today is always an opportunity for something new - for a change."
Dave sighs, some of the tension dispersing from his body at the words. He feels a slight tug pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"Get that one from a popsicle stick?"
Ian shrugs with feigned innocence. "From a Snapple cap."
"Figures. Look, Kurt and I - It's a long story. But to sum it up, there was a time that I went out of my way to make his life hell. I pushed him around, taunted him, shit I even threatened to kill him once. How depraved is that? Some selfish, closeted bastard too cowardly to be honest with himself, so he takes it out on the one guy who's brave enough to not care - to just be himself. I mean, I was absolutely fucking awful to him. He even transferred schools for a bit because of me."
"I see. You were that guy."
Dave nods slowly, his heart heavy.
He was the same exact dude that he accused Nick of being. His anger is no longer justified in his mind, not when his sobriety was there to relinquish the veil and reveal the true feeling underlying the stupid, massive rage... It was actually guilt and sadness at recognizing that he was the Nick of Kurt's past. The same exact Nick who was now with Kurt, or rather using him.
Ian pauses for a moment, sinking closer to Dave on the couch, his hand falling away as he peers over at him.
"When I said I never drink when I'm working, it's more like I just never drink. I'm actually two years sober."
Dave looks over at Ian for the first time since he's seated himself on the couch.
"How is it that you work at a bar? I mean - I'd imagine it's hard, ya know, temptation and all."
Ian chuckles softly, his shoulders slumping. "I feel at home there. Like not even addiction can get a hold of me when I'm at Scandals. It sort of quells the impulse to engage weirdly enough. It's like the more I spend time doling it out to other people, the less I want it for myself. I dunno - it's hard to put into words I guess."
"I think I know what you mean," Dave conceded quietly.
Ian smiles tentatively, his thin smirk cocking to the side. "We've all got pasts Yogi. It took me a while to figure out how to stop running and embrace mine. It's hard. Everyday. But each day is full of chances for better." Ian pauses briefly, exhales, then states "You like him. Right?"
Dave feels his heart hammering in quick succession. They both know exactly the him he's referring to, but neither man acknowledges it out loud.
The words are lingering on the tip of Dave's tongue, but he can't bring himself to let them slide free and escape into the atmosphere, left bare to be judged and potentially ridiculed by Ian. He ducks his head. His hazel eyes growing warm.
"You know, I didn't just magically detect your hour of need on some random whim, Yogi. How do you think I ended up with your car keys?"
Everything that wasn't said before that moment, is plainly divulged within that single, rather simplistic statement. There was only one person who would've known where to find his keys... Only one person who would've taken the time to prompt Ian's little rescue mission...
And Dave feels whole again. The burgeoning guilt easing, receding back into the recesses of his heart where his past mistakes dwell. He smiles up at Ian knowing that his sudden display of toothiness would easily indicate the truth to Ian - that yeah - he really, really likes Kurt. Despite Nick, and despite their complicated past. He likes him, plain and simple. And no amount of time, nor adventures with a sham marriage, or lack of a formal friendship would dispel that knowledge.
Ian is beaming at him fully now, a hint of a jeering sensibility entwined within the gesture.
"So, Backstreet Boys huh?"
"What?"
"Never mind. Maybe that one's better left in the dark."