Chapter 21
I'm a Loser, Baby
Warnings: Bullying, adult language, some questionable violations of personal space (I know, where was that warning on Strando's chapter?).
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Drastic times called for drastic measure and dear god was Sam tired of having his emotions jerked out of his chest and stomped on, because that shit was not only A) un-cool, but B) better suited for people that had actually earned Fate's retribution via a swift kick in the ass.
His head was all over the freakin' map in the aftermath of his and Dave's (newest) fight, and it was with the stubborn dignity of needing a safe place to hide that Sam managed to walk through the halls without completely falling apart – again – guitar a solid but mocking presence against his back.
He had washed off his face as best he could before hitting the crowded hallways, forcing one foot in front of the other in a steady march, getting lost in the rhythm of it and pushing away the betrayal, the shame, the anger. He had known it was a long shot, but he hadn't thought-
There was a lot of shit that went wrong in the meeting, and Sam was pretty sure his opinion wasn't biased about that, anyone would have agreed. Dave being an ass on purpose (which hurt), Dave's expression of surprise and confusion (which stung), Dave's immediate move to trivialize the things Sam had been working so hard to form, to confirm as concrete and real, and dismissing them with an understanding shake of the head (which wounded in a way that diminished their past squabbles to nothing, hurt and stung and killed, or maybe he was just being overdramatic).
And yet, every part of Sam's body was urging him to turn around and sprint back to the costume closet, to fall on his knees and apologize and just keep trying, keep talking until Dave believed him.
He wouldn't, because if there was one thing Sam had learned in glee club, it was that self respect was a feature you had to maintain always. No one else was there to do it for you, and the rest of the school would only be too happy to see that crumble and fail. You had to draw a line for yourself, and Sam had done that a long time ago. Like hell would he compromise that for the sake of feelings, he deserved better than that. More than that.
But mostly, Sam deserved - at this point - for Dave to take him seriously. That wasn't something he should have had to work for.
The fact that he did, apparently…
Sam didn't want to think about it.
Sam wasn't sure what his next move was. Dave had called his hand and now Sam was left with a bunch of duds, no ideas and no energy and no freakin' brains to determine a new plan. Was it just over, then? It wasn't what he wanted. Despite Dave's remarkable dickishness, he still wanted to have something with Dave. Still thought he could. As angry as he was now - and it was staggering, almost, how mad he was at Dave - the want for him to be present and happy and just, with him was overwhelming. Sam wanted to extend an opportunity for redemption.
The question was, how?
If he talked to Dave again, he would just insist Sam had been tricked into it, that his feelings weren't real. He had never said, not once – and Sam remembered this because it was his lifeline, it was the only highlight to their encounter and it kept him from fumbling and running back and pleading – Dave never said he had no interest in Sam.
Which meant - and it was entirely possible that this was just like, dumb person logic - but that meant that he just might kind of like Sam too.
Sam couldn't completely surrender to the idea, because there had been other issues Dave was focusing on at the moment so he could have just forgotten to say no, but Sam liked to think that the pinched look of pain Dave had worn was a result was from seeing something he wanted but being too…stupid to take it. Maybe. Or maybe Sam was just reading into it, or maybe he was right and the blond had just missed Dave so much that he had built this up grander than it was, and it was just longing and loneliness and not-
But it wasn't. Sam knew what he wanted. It terrified him, but he knew what he wanted.
He just had to figure out how to get it.
Sam ambled down the hallway, his stride becoming less forced as he considered, shaking off the conflicting feelings that wouldn't help him. He needed Dave to see that he was serious, but how? He had already tried singing to him, and Dave hadn't even let him start to play the build up. Anything short of hog-tying the guy probably wouldn't get Sam to be heard out, and the entire physically-restraining-Dave business would sort of send the wrong vibes for what he was trying to do.
The blond started making his way towards the parking lot, deciding he would wait by Finn's truck until the quarterback showed up to take them home. The fresh air would do him some good, and it wasn't like he could totally withstand having company right now.
As he neared the school's exit, Sam caught sight of some movement down an adjacent hallway. There was a gaggle of Cheerios hanging up some posters in that scarily efficient manner they tended to do things, waving off all others that attempted to interrupt their work. It was a campaign poster, probably. Prom was coming up soon, and Quinn most likely had her newly-reclaimed underlings urging the need for her Queen nomination.
Sam spared the poster a brief glance as the cheerleaders moved away, wondering who Quinn had suckered into being her King running-mate, and almost ran into an open locker door.
He blinked, giving the confused owner of the locker an apologetic glance, then took off towards the poster, wondering if he had been seeing it wrong.
The picture continued to remain unchanged, even as he got closer.
It was Dave.
The picture was of Quinn and Dave, her in finely-tailored Cheerio red and white and Dave in his letterman jacket, arm around the small blonde's shoulder in a show of easy familiarity. It would have been friendly, was friendly, but Quinn was leaning into his side, her arm wrapped around his lower back, a satisfied smirk gracing her pretty features.
For a second, Sam wanted to rip it down. Considered even doing it anyway when the brief flash of rage had passed.
He shook it off, and focused on Dave's picture.
It was an easy smile, one Sam had seen a hundred times, cheerful and carefree and kind, likeable, and oh-so at place on Dave's face and yet oh-so wrong because why was he running for prom king with Quinn? What, did she sucker him into it because he had won last year? Figured he would be an easy mark since he already had one victory under his belt? That seemed like something Quinn would do (because like he had said, Quinn could be a little crazy when she wanted something) but why was Dave going along with it?
That meant, that had to mean, that Dave was taking Quinn to prom. He was taking Quinn to prom, after he had given that little spiel to Strando about being symbolically gay (on top of being actually gay) and Sam was a little angry and a little confused and a little bit- oh hey, there it was, super pissed.
Because this was the shit Dave did, he protected himself – but he protected Sam too – he played the game better than anyone else – but look at what he's done for the glee club -
He was all kinds of an asshole – and he still felt really bad about that.
Seriously? Seriously? His brain couldn't even be angry at Dave right, no, even it was taking his stupid side instead of just letting Sam be mad, as he had rightfully earned to. Sam should be mad, this prom thing was dumb, it was dumb and-
And then, Sam had an idea.
Because Dave was smart, and he protected himself and other people in smart ways. Sam didn't know how to do that, he could never figure out the proper wording to make something like that happen, Sam only had the direct-approach working in his favor. That was all he knew how to do.
So that was exactly what he would do.
It might not have worked out all that great this time, but Sam had confidence that it could only go uphill from here, so long as he took baby steps.
Itty-bitty, baby steps.
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Sam was really starting to sympathize with Kurt's plight of last year, because honestly, aside from the glee club it seemed like there were no gay guys at McKinley. Sam had wracked his brain, considering his options with the same frustrated trepidation as he had the last few times, then considered throwing his hands in the air because damn it, this should not be this hard. He didn't care if it was Ohio, why were all the gay guys he knew either taken or Dave, who would be absolutely no help?
Yeah, there was that Chandler dude that had been text-stalking Kurt last week, but aside from being a total stranger, Sam didn't want to rub salt on that particular wound for Blaine, because unlike the rest of the glee club, Sam didn't spend his time being a self-involved douchebag.
Okay, so that wasn't a exactly fair, but Sam was a little annoyed and a little raw and a whole heapin' spoonful of desperate, so in a fit of what he could only describe as deluded hopelessness, Sam nicked Kurt's phone and fired off a few rapid texts to the only other gay guy he kind-of, sort-of knew, and hoped to high hell that his pitiful attempts at posing as Kurt would be enough to flush the guy out of hiding.
He set a secluded time and place. He got a ride from Joe, who was volunteering at a soup kitchen nearby (Joe had this super power where he knew every charity event that was going on at any given time, because he liked to make the rest of them feel like selfish no-nothings (Sam was almost sure of it)). Joe had bought his excuse of 'just needing some me-time' with a sympathetic nod and a squeeze to the shoulder, emoting comfort without a second thought.
Sam was in the coffee shop, and it wasn't like it was a place that was out of the dude's comfort zone, he had seen him there before, he just needed to keep his eyes peeled on the door and intercept him before he realized there was no Kurt, or Blaine, and hightailed it out of there.
The plan probably would have been more effective if Sam hadn't gotten distracted by some concerned texts from Kurt at the last minute, but it turned out that didn't matter all that much because, surprise of all surprises, his prey came to him.
And looked really freakin' smug about it.
"Please," the teen said, eyebrow quirked in an expression of amused all-knowing. "Please tell me it was you pretending to be Kurt. I will overlook your pathetic attempts at deceit for entertainment's sake alone. You are too cute."
"Shut up Sebastian," Sam grumbled, as though this were a conversation they had a million times, and not, in fact, the first time they had ever met one-on-one. "I needed to get your attention."
The smirk grew, and Sam fought against the desire to shift under the uncomfortable gaze. "I hate to fall into the cliché but damn, I'm starting to see the appeal of liking them dumb and pretty."
Sam felt his face flushing, and he glared at his coffee cup petulantly, trying to ignore the other teen's laugh. "I'm not-"
"Bright? I noticed. But let's not argue the unquestionable; I'm only willing to waste so much of my time on you, so you have until…" Sebastian's eyes lowered, making an exaggerated show of checking Sam out, gaze on his chest, his arms, before eventually stopping on his lips with a devilish smirk. "Well," he sighed, a gusty, relaxed exhale. "Until I'm done enjoying the view."
The scowl was an automatic response, followed by a clenched fist around his paper cup as Sebastian's predatory gaze grew more satisfied. "Listen, asshole-"
"Tick, tock," the other teen murmured, eyes not leaving Sam's lips for so much as a second. "You're on a timer babe." He let out a slow whistle, leaning forward, and Sam quelled the urge to back away as the brunette invaded his personal bubble. "That mouth must see a lot of action-"
"I need your help," Sam interrupted, grip tightening against the edge of the table. Which was, thankfully, still in between them.
"You wanna join the Warblers?" Sebastian asked, gaze flicking to Sam's eyes with a look of interest before focusing on the blond's…other features again. "I'm sure we could arrange something. If you come to my car we could have a private interview, sans shirts of course, that's standard procedure-"
"Dude, I thought you were all into Blaine," Sam hissed, heat rushing to his face as he felt another foot slide alongside his underneath the table. "Isn't all your creeper-stuff saved for him?"
Not that Sam exactly wished this kind of stuff on his friend, but, you know, creeper.
The grin that instigated was nothing short of devilish. "I'm willing to make an exception," the teen murmured. "And your reactions are making it so very tempting." The foot slid forward, angling it so that there was solid contact from ankle to knee, all along the inner side of his leg. When Sam blushed brighter, the stupid smile grew.
This was not going exactly how Sam thought it would.
"I need your help." The leg was shifting now, rubbing a painfully slow path back and forth, and Sam cursed his newfound whatever this was bitterly.
"So you've said."
"Yeah, so I-" Sam cut off, and damn it, he was going to lose feeling to his face at this rate, what the hell? "Would you knock that off?"
Sebastian leered, because he was a dick like that. "I dunno, you seem pretty damn receptive."
Shut up- shut up- shut up-
"Ineedyoutogotopromwithme."
The leg stopped - Jesus yes - but the blood rushing to Sam's face didn't, not under the speculative gaze of Sebastian, who was still trying to figure out what he had said.
"…Excuse me?"
"I uh…I need you- I mean, will you, will you, go to um…prom with me?"
Looking back on this in hindsight, Sebastian's expression would probably be one that was worth treasuring forever, a picture of complete stupefaction that could be savored and dutifully counted on to raise Sam's spirits in even the hardest of times.
As it was though, Sam sort of wanted to dig a hole to curl up and die in at that exact moment, because the confusion changed to malicious satisfaction, then cruelty, which instigated a string of laughter that did not, in Sam's opinion, warrant being exactly as loud or as long as Sebastian made it.
Sam ignored the curious looks from other tables by sheer force of will, glaring down at his coffee cup because there was nothing to see here, thanks. No, he did not know the crazy person across the table from him. Sebastian had given up his battle against gravity and collapsed onto the table, smacking his palm against the cheap laminate in an over-exaggerated, Rachel Berry-approved, expression of disbelieved humor.
Holy hell, this guy was awful. Sam had no idea what he had been thinking giving him a call, he might as well have texted Strando, at least that guy would-
What the fuck, hand-
On his knee, and Sam flailed back with a spastic shudder, grateful that he hadn't been holding his coffee at that time. When he managed to pull himself together, Sebastian graced him with a cheerful wave of his fingers, one hand propped beneath his chin lazily as he stared at the blond, eyes at half mast.
"Alright Slim," he drawled, smirking at Sam's surprise. "I'm willing to hear you out. Talk to me, what do I get out of this?"
Okay, Sam had been preparing for this part the entire ride over here. He could do this.
That thought would probably be more uplifting if he actually believed it.
But what the hell, Sam tried anyway. "The satisfaction of-"
"Satisfaction don't pay the bills," Sebastian interrupted with a quick shake of his head, smirking at the resulting startle. "I'm going to need a little more than that, sweet cheeks."
"But-"
"More," the brunette repeated. He considered Sam for a second, then the table between them, and frowned. The next moment he was shuffling his chair until it was beside Sam's, their legs flush from mid-thigh down and no, Sam was not blushing, that would be stupid. Sebastian leaned over, whispering, "I'm thinking you won't mind what I offer."
"Spoken for, kind of- please don't-" the words came in an unorganized mob, Sam conflicted as to whether to push the other teen away or continue while he could, consciously ignoring the arm draping across the back of his chair.
Sebastian narrowed his eyes at the oncoming blather, eventually pulling back with a knowing nod. "Jealousy card, I get it. You've got your eye on the prize and you need a little persuasion."
"Something like that," Sam muttered. Explaining the 'money where you mouth was' concept to Sebastian probably would be a lost cause, and either way, this would get Sam's point across well enough, and it was something Sebastian actually understood. "Are you interested?"
Sam knew it was a poor choice of words the moment they left his lips, but there was little he could do about that except hold still as Sebastian leaned to rest his chin on the blond's shoulder. "Oh darling," he gushed, voice husky. "I am very interested." He shifted, so very slightly, and Sam was conscious of the lips hovering just millimeters from his neck, the puffs of warm air doing little to enhance his calm. "Of course, my services don't come cheap."
"What do you want?" His hands curled into tight fists in his lap, trying – and failing – to ignore the way Sebastian was all-but nuzzling his neck.
The other teen laughed, low and amused, and Sam knew he shouldn't leave that much freedom, should have offered something to spare himself, but he couldn't think like this and he-
He just really wanted Dave to know he was in this for the long haul, okay?
"Two demands," Sebastian murmured into his ear, delighting in Sam's discomfort. "First of all, as your prom date I require all the privileges such a position would allow me."
"What?" Sam asked, a second before he could stop himself, realizing too late that the other teen just wanted to hear him be confused.
He had turned, and Sebastian was right in his face, gleeful and pleased. "You know," he said with a wink, slathering on the charm. "The physical privileges."
"I'm not sleeping with you," Sam hissed once it dawned on him, too fast and damn, damn, he was going to die of embarrassment. That was actually going to be a thing.
Undeterred, Sebastian shrugged. "I'll take making out and some slight frontage."
"I don't-"
"I'll show you baby," he purred, and there was a flash of something, there in his eyes, something controlled, something mean. It took a second for Sam to understand to realize (to his shame) that this, this interest, was just a front, a tool. Sebastian didn't actually like him, he liked control, he liked being an asshole-
And part of Sam was stupidly disappointed by this – because there was another one – and part of him was kind of mad at the fact that he was getting a little turned on by this business anyway, the closeness and the warm air on his neck and the hand on his thigh-
When did he become such a freakin' lightweight?
"Whatever." Sam just wanted them to move on, for them to get past the part where Sebastian needed to message his legs because that was getting a little too far north, in Sam's opinion. "And your second demand?"
Sebastian paused, considering. The hand behind Sam's back had moved until it was resting on the other side of his neck, beating a sporadic rhythm right on the collar of his t-shirt, where clothing met skin. He was there, so close to Sam, able to read everything, the blond at his mercy, and he knew it, he knew it, and Sam wondered how far south this could possibly go.
"You seem awfully faggy for a 'straight' guy Evans," a voice (possibly on cue) cut in, disgust and judgment heavy in its tone. "What, can't even stick it out with Puckerman? You gotta spread your gay-shit everywhere?"
Rock. Hard place. Sam was really happy to be here.
Though this time Strando's posse only consisted of one other guy in what was, undoubtedly, neutral territory, the other jock didn't look a fraction less like he owned the joint, sneer plastered on his face in a constant fixture of displeasure as he took in the sight of Sebastian and Sam.
Sebastian, who hadn't so much as moved from his previous position of 'all over Sam'. He turned his head slightly in the other teen's direction, allowing him that much effort, and raised one well-groomed eyebrow.
"What can I say," he drawled. "I'm skilled in the art of persuasion."
Strando countered that with an indignant snort, sharing an exasperated look with his friend. Mark. It was Mark, that asshat. "You're skilled at something alright," he grumbled. At that they shared a laugh, despite the fact that it made absolutely no sense, and Sam felt Sebastian tense beside him. You wouldn't have known it from the outside, his expression perpetually smug, but right there, at that proximity, Sam felt it.
There was a chance Sam didn't breathe when Sebastian made an exaggerated look over of the other two teens, continuing until their laughter died with a furious clench of their fists. Strando was about to say something, Sam could see it, his jaw working behind closed lips, fingers twitching, and Mark didn't look much better, but (thankfully) Sebastian stopped. He considered, making sure they knew this was what he was doing, making sure the simpletons where aware of his current action, then shuddered, lips twisting in disgust as he looked away, back to Sam.
Aw, hell. Sam was going to get stripped down again.
Or Strando was going to do something equally nonsensical and psychotic. It depended.
"Go away jackoffs," Sebastian ordered, voice sounding unfairly sophisticated despite the choice of words. "The big boys have important things to talk about."
"You-" Strando sputtered, his face almost as red as Sam's must have been.
"Are you still here?" Sebastian head turned with an exaggerated swivel, eyebrows furrowed as though it were the most confusing thing ever that they were sticking around. He rolled his eyes. "Beat it."
Strando floundered, stubbornly keeping to his spot because he had to win this, even though he was in no place to actually argue, and Mark was starting to look like he knew this fact.
"You're just- you're just mad," the jock managed after a few false starts. "Since we're not-"
"Retard," Sebastian's voice was like silk, unyielding, unforgiving silk. "I have taste." He titled his head until it brushed against the side of Sam's hair, smiling roguishly. "And really, it's juvenile for you to spread the hate just because you're too cowardly to find your way out of the closet."
"What?" Strando – and possibly Sam – exploded, successfully gathering the attention of the last few individuals in the immediate vicinity who hadn't already been blatantly eavesdropping. Sam was pretty sure some of them had their phones out.
He realized, with a detached kind of dread, that he was probably going to see this on YouTube later, which meant New Directions would see this on YouTube later and-
Hey, maybe he wouldn't have to take Sebastian to prom after all.
Said teen was glaring down the two jocks – Strando still spitting fire, Mark uncertain and occasionally throwing longing glances at the door – through half-lidded eyes, bored annoyance.
"Go away," he said, making a vague shooing motion. With that, he turned back towards Sam, satisfied once more.
The hand on his neck moved upwards, tracing a random pattern along the bottom of his jaw. It was at that point Sam realized maybe he should, like, be a part of this train wreck instead of just watching it happen (unfortunately), so he geared up whatever wits he had left and hissed, "If you get me beaten up, the deal's off."
Because honestly, no one needed that. Sam was having enough of a crisis here, he did not need help.
Sebastian considered this, obviously considered this for a moment, shooting the ceiling an annoyed look before he turned his eyes, very reluctantly, back towards the would-be bully and company.
"Dumbasses," he snapped, pulling Strando out of whatever homophobic-induced shock Mark had been attempting to snap him out of. "Repeat after me. Father," he pointed to himself. "State Attorney. Say it with me now. Father-"
"State Attorney," Strando mumbled, blinking dumbly. Mark, gathering about whatever sense of self-preservation he had left, took that as his cue and grabbed the other teen by the shoulder, dragging him bodily along before the bully could reboot himself.
Sam watched them go, anxious and, honestly, a little awed. "That was…"
"Amazing?"
"Unnecessary."
Sebastian laughed, burying his face in Sam's shoulder, putting on a big show for the few individuals that still stubbornly had their cameras out. "You are so, very pretty," he repeated, not even bothering to mention mental capacity anymore. "Be grateful for that. And if you thought that was something, you should hear my second condition."
Oh. Oh shit, he still had one more of those.
Sam felt his stomach drop, just, everything fade away, the world a void save for the mocking voice beside him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.
"Yeah, that's the correct response."
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"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Dave steeled himself, sucking in a deep, calming breath, and turned to face his confronter. "Hello Kurt."
"Do not 'Hello Kurt' me you charlatan, I will not be deterred by a reasonable voice and a seemingly stoic demeanor."
"Kurt-"
"Dave," the other teen countered, eyebrows raised in that knowing look Dave hated, had hated since he had stupidly made moves on the guy last year. "We are friends here," he continued, softer, more controlled. "And I need you to talk to me because I do not understand what is going on."
There was a headache growing, a quiet pulse behind his eyes that kept with him after the tears had dried up. Dave swallowed, pulling himself together by a fine thread. "I'm going to need you to be more specific," he said at length. "I know your were purposefully vague to allow me the opportunity to fill in the blanks, but honestly Kurt-" I'm very tired. "-I'm going to need a little more guidance than that."
It was quiet and steady, no excessive…anything- just, patient Dave. One normal, rational teen having a normal, rational conversation on a normal, rational day. There was nothing to see here.
He felt lousy.
"Fine," Kurt huffed. Dave didn't need to look to know the shorter teen was wearing a pout, annoyed that Dave wouldn't humor him. "First, let's start with the posters."
"They're nice posters."
Quinn had done a great job on them, and Blaine had been the one playing photographer, coaxing out the right positions, the proper wardrobe. Not too much make up, relaxed smiles, buddy-buddy all-around. Like they were approachable to anyone, but desirable enough to be aspired to. A fine balance.
Dave hadn't thought much about the posters, honestly. It was just another necessary precaution among many.
"I wasn't going to argue their quality." Kurt matched his stride easily, falling in with a confident gait, head back, posture perfect. "I was more concerned about their purpose."
"Not to insult your intelligence, but their purpose seems pretty self-explanatory."
Kurt didn't falter in the wake of his response. "Let me rephrase that," Kurt began, stepping in front of Dave in a grand lunge, forcing the bigger teen to look at him. "Dave, why are you taking Quinn to prom?"
With more reluctance than he had practiced, Dave shrugged. "She said we had a higher chance of winning if we campaigned together."
"All well and true," Kurt allowed with a nod. His gaze, however, was locked on Dave, studying, taking in his tired expression with a slight tilt of his head. "Though still a little befuddling."
Dave shrugged again. "It's not that complicated."
"In the interest of moving forward with this, I'll agree with you on that point." Kurt's voice didn't change, still as professionally charming as it had been when they started, but his eyes seemed to soften. That was something that was hard to cover up, the eyes. "Dave," Kurt whispered, shooting quick glances down both ends of the hallway, making sure they were alone. "Why didn't you ask Sam to prom?"
No matter how much he had prepared himself for it, Dave couldn't stop the flinch. He knew the question had been coming, there were too many people that knew, and too many people who were 'helpful', too many that wouldn't leave him alone to his song and dance forever.
"Kurt-"
"No Dave," Kurt hissed. "Not this time. I am not backing down."
He ignored Dave's beseeching eyes (what little he could manage, feeling too worn out to put up much of a fight) and grabbed onto his wrist with tight fingers, all but dragging the football player into the choir room. Of course it was the choir room; it was always the choir room. He closed the door behind them with brutal efficiency, shutting the blinds with a flick of his wrist before turning, arms folded across his chest like an immovable sentry.
There were two doors, but the other one seemed to already be locked, as though someone had prepared for this.
Dave should start checking the closets, or under the risers or something. There were probably a few other 'concerned' glee members tucked away, waiting for him to spill his heart out.
Dave sighed, rubbing a heavy hand across his eyes, trying to ignore the ache that lingered. "Kurt please, just-"
"I have left you alone for three weeks." Kurt's voice was steel when he interrupted, tough love incarnate, almost sounding strained. "I have given you space, we have all given you space to work your business out and you two respond by being the two biggest morons in the entire school!"
"So sorry we fail to pass muster," Dave mumbled, half-heartedly trying for petulance.
"Don't make this about me," Kurt hissed, looking wounded and annoyed. "Look, Dave he- Sam told us what he said."
"That's great Kurt," Dave murmured, beginning to make a tired loop around the classroom, looking for potential hiding places. "I'm glad for you."
"Provocation will not work on me David Karofsky." Kurt was on his heels in an instant, refusing to allow Dave the opportunity to gain distance. "On movie night," Kurt clarified. "Sam told us what he said. What he asked you."
Where it not for the slight gentleness to that final statement, Dave probably wouldn't have processed it. He wasn't really in a state for doing that, at this moment, but Kurt had backed down. He had lost that hard edge of accusing; of pointedly trying to keep Dave involved, indicating a delicacy he assumed was necessary, though why-
It came back to him slowly, with Sam's latest…with their latest fight, Dave had more than enough to occupy his woes, but he remembered that statement with such startling clarity it hurt, ripped inside his chest and burned, and Dave had to remind himself to keep breathing, because how had Kurt found out about that? Sam had told him- oh, that was right, Kurt was the one must have talked Sam into saying what he- and even if he hadn't, Dave was sure he didn't remain neutral, that wasn't what Kurt did.
"You," Dave breathed, a tiny exhale as he felt the melancholy fade away from him, surrendering to the tendrils of growing rage. "What have you and Sam been up to? What did you-"
"A hell of a lot less than I should have," Kurt scoffed. It did nothing to calm Dave's nerves, already strangled and stretched thin, and he found himself turning on the other teen with a sudden lurch, reaching forward to grab at his shoulder.
"Kurt," he growled, fist curling against the heinously expensive shirt. "What did you do?"
He waited, glaring down the shorter teen, seething. He was tired of this crap, why couldn't Kurt just let things be? He had no right-
He took another deep breath, other hand moving to Kurt's shoulder, he didn't know why, and looked down at the other teen, waiting-
The picture before him was one of utter uncertainty, and there was a distinct something to it, a wavering, bright-eyed-
Fear.
The realization hit like a bucket of water, killing his anger with a startled hiss before he was wrenching himself away, across the room and out of reach. It had been like before, when he was the bully, and Kurt was just another thing to him, not a person, never a person-
There was a hand on his elbow and Dave tried to shake it off, tried to clear his vision so he could get the hell out of there, but it persisted, grip strong until Dave was turning to look at him.
"Dave," Kurt said, eyes big and wet, pleading. "Dave, I promise, after that initial blow up I left the two of you alone. There was no intervening, on either of your behalves, but I need you, Dave-" he reached forward, snagging Dave's other arm. "I need you to talk to me. Let me help you."
'I know what he said', and wasn't that humiliating? Who else knew, Dave wondered, who else had allowed him 'space' to lick his wounds, who would come after Kurt to try and coddle him back towards Sam?
Why couldn't they allow him the dignity of quietly dying inside in peace?
Dave freed his arms with a swift tug, looking anywhere but Kurt, and making a beeline for the door. He paused with one hand on the knob, the other teen still trying to latch on in a vice-like grip, and stared at its stupid brassiness.
"I didn't ask Sam because he wouldn't say yes."
He wasn't sure why he said it, even though he had thought it, so many times. Even before it had gotten serious, before Sam had gotten drunk and before Dave had joined glee club, he had pictured how it would go down perfectly, in his head. Hell, maybe he would have taken Brittany up on that white horse into the sunset idea. Sam would've liked that.
Now, if Dave went and asked him, Sam would probably say yes.
It wouldn't be so bad, right? Sam would probably be really happy on prom night, and maybe for a few weeks after. They could hold out until graduation, at least.
But Dave couldn't stand the idea of it ending. Knowing, with the certainty that came from playing it to himself straight, that what he truly desired would be impossible.
He couldn't ask Sam to prom. He couldn't get that yes now, only to have it be a no later.
"You don't know that Dave," Kurt pleaded. His grip was surprisingly strong for a guy his size. That was what happened right, when you wanted something badly enough? You fought for it.
"You don't," Dave countered. "I do."
Unable to listen anymore, he shook Kurt off with a gentle push and moved away, exiting the room with a stride that was a little too speedy to be casual.
It didn't matter though; no one gave him a second glance.
He made his way out of the building, ignoring the perfectly-normal posters plastered across every wall, and somehow managed to get out the door.
Retreating like the loser he was.
-:-:-:-:-:-
Endnotes:
I don't know who's driving the bus anymore, but I feel like it's not me.
So…yeah, Sebastian. What can I say, it seemed like a good idea at the time, and once I got it, there was no way I could just ignore it. The angst people, and the snarking, it could only lead to brilliance!
Abby! Thank you Abbles, for both the redemption and the review. I will try to do you justice in the future. And sure, they could talk it out and save everyone a lot of hurt feelings, but really, it seems more in the spirit of the show to make things complicated. That's like, how they breath. Standard operating procedures. But yes, the rest of the school will not go quietly into the night (especially after Sebastian's little you-know). I'm not a hundred percent certain how it's going to play out, but I have some ideas. And, as always, I am welcome to suggestions :)
Until next time :D