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Author's Notes: This is the final chapter of Homefield Advantage! There will be an epilogue (I have it written, I just need to rewrite it so expect it sometime early this week) but, after that, it is finis! And it only took about a year, LOL!)

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Chapter 21: The Final Score

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Dave took a deep breath, hands clenched a little too hard on the steering wheel as he stared dully out the window at the hospital building, doing his best to shove down the waves of emotion that kept crashing over him. It was over. All over. Finished. Done. The game was over and he had definitely lost.

Oh who was he kidding—it had been a loss from the start, like playing football with a 10 man team. He'd never truly had a chance at Kurt. Maybe he'd been fooled for a second there, thinking maybe, just maybe, they could make it work if he played hard enough and overcame the odds. But the score was against him, and there was no denying that.

Hell, maybe the loss was really a win. After all, nothing good had really come of the few plays he'd made. After all, Kurt had almost been killed because of his association to Dave. Kurt would be better off playing on someone else's team. Dave knew that. Better to forfeit the game, cut all ties completely, than risk Kurt taking a tackle that was never meant for him. Right? His little trip to the hospital had just been a way to express that, making it crystal clear that Dave understood they were over and done with, if they's ever begun at all. Taking all of the little guilty-pleasure trinkets Dave had collected over the years had just been an appropriately dramatic way to do. Only fitting for a queen like Kurt.

Dave let out a little laugh. What a bunch of bullshit.

He could pretend all he wanted, but his real motivations had been a hell of a lot more selfish than that. It scared the shit out of him that Kurt could have been killed because of their relationship, but if that was all he was worried about he could have just walked away from the game. There had been no need for him to show up at the hospital looking like he spent his days shopping at Stalkers R Us. That had been all for himself.

Dave's shoulders tensed as he remembered Kurt's face yesterday when he'd walked into that hospital room, head buzzing with high hopes fed by Azimio's overly romantic sap. Forget being jumped in the dark—just that *look* had almost killed Dave. The fear, the hate, the anger… it was like Dave had stepped back in time seven years and he was in those fucking halls again, angry and afraid and alone, the only outlet for it all a skinny little gay boy who was everything Dave wished he could be. And he just couldn't deal with it right now. Hell, he hadn't been able to deal with it *before*. There was a reason that the hastily scrawled note he'd left sitting on the floor next to him the day he'd done his best to meet his maker had closed with 'p.s. tell hummel I'm sorry. for everything i did to him.'

Dave couldn't go back to that place. He couldn't bear Kurt's hatred again. It was time to call it a day and let it all go. But every single one of those little trinkets had been another nail on his coffin. Dave knew that, deep down, he must have always held onto some hope that he could at least make amends with Kurt someday, and every scarf, tape, and picture had represented that. Now they were just a reminder that, no matter what he did, Dave would never be good enough for the man who, at sixteen years old, could walk through the halls in a shirt that said 'Likes Boys.'

God, Dave wished he could be that brave. But no, he was just a fucking coward, no different than in high school. Okay, maybe he didn't bully the shit out of people anymore, but he wasn't exactly the dudes from the Ambiguously Gay Duo, either, and he never would be. Hell, out of the hundreds of articles about that damn video, the one that had bothered him most was from 'The Advocate,' with all their happy prattling about *finally* being represented in professional sports.

Ha. They only wished. Dave was no gay superstar. He wasn't going to jump on a pride float and shout to the world. No, he was going to climb right back into his closet like a good boy. But what the hell? His closet, at least, was familiar. He'd spent the last seven years safely tucked away there. It hadn't been until Kurt Hummel showed up and yanked him out that he'd even really considered peeking out the door. Of course, it hadn't been until Kurt Hummel showed up and yanked him out that he'd really felt like he was living at all. Then to have it all torn away in an instant…

Dave could have dealt with the hate, as long as he still had Kurt. But to have Kurt look at him like that… He couldn't do it. It was like being back at school, only this time there was no Azimio to catch him if he fell. His teammates would *not* be so forgiving. Losing Kurt was bad enough. Like his heart had been ripped out. Dave was seriously injured as it was and he was pretty sure that losing everyone else, too, would sideline him for life.

Dave swallowed hard, rubbing at his eyes. Why the fuck was he tearing up? It was over and done with. Time to get on with his life. His life of hiding. His life of lies. His life without Kurt.

Dammit, he could really use a fucking hamburger or five.

Dave sniffed again, silently berating himself for being such a pussy, then turned the key in the ignition, his truck's engine cracking to life. It was time to get gone. Time to forget about Kurt and focus on piecing his pitiful life back together. Seriously, he'd heard that high school reunions could be kind of traumatic, but this was absurd. He'd had a better time when Sue had sent them to that slaughterhouse.

At least it was over. Dave was *definitely* not attending any more reunions, so he would probably never even see Kurt again—

"DAVE! Dave, wait!"

Dave froze, shoulders tensing as he looked up to see Kurt prancing across the parking lot at a fairly good pace for someone with that many bandages wrapped around his head. Okay, Kurt probably thought he was running, but it looked like prancing to Dave. Normal people just didn't lift their legs that high when they ran. It was annoyingly cute.

Damn Kurt Hummel and his unnatural ability to be cute even when covered in band-aids and bruises.

Dave gritted his teeth. He should just take off. It was over. He'd made his decision. He'd taken back all that shit so he *wouldn't* have to think about Kurt anymore, not so that Kurt could chase him down in the damn parking lot and spread his girly gayish cooties all over Dave's very manly and straight-looking pickup.

But that prancing/running thing was just too adorable for him to leave the other man in the dust. Damn him and his strange fascination with Kurt Hummel!

Kurt was panting by the time he made it to Dave's truck, practically collapsing against the side.

"Dave, wait. I want to talk to you." He yanked at the passenger side door handle, getting an annoyed look on his face when it refused to open. "Dave, please, I want to talk!"

Dave sighed, knowing he was going to regret this, and hit the button to unlock the door. Unfortunately Kurt had just pulled on it as hard as he could and he stumbled back as it flew open. He scowled, glaring at the door like it had attacked him.

Damn that man was cute when he scowled.

"Well?" Dave said tiredly when Kurt just continued to glare angrily at the door. "You gonna get in or you gonna stand there all day?"

Kurt jerked, almost like he'd forgotten Dave was there, then climbed up into the truck, slamming the door behind him as he settled in at an angle, pulling one knee up under him on the seat so that he could look Dave in the eye.

Dave just took a deep breath, pointedly *not* meeting those blue eyes, his stomach twisted in knots. This was not what he had wanted.

What was Fancy even here to talk about? How creepy Dave was for having those things? What a loser he was? It wouldn't surprise him. Kurt was many things, but humble was not one of them. And he obviously didn't think much of Dave if he'd really woken up in that hospital thinking *he* had been the one to attack him. He should really shove the smaller man out of the car and head home. They'd probably both be better off that way.

Tired of the awkward silence, Dave finally spoke. "What do you *want*, Kurt?" He tried his best to keep his voice level and steady, despite the racing of his heart. He wasn't sure he could take any more hate from Kurt. God, he hadn't felt this defenseless since the game last season where they'd left him wide open and he'd been tackled by four guys.

Kurt just stared at him for a moment, chewing on his lower lip for a moment, before he spoke, voice quiet and a little strained. "Dave… Dave, I…" He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, almost like he was getting ready for a brawl. "I am *not* going to let it end like this."

What? Now Fancy *didn't* want it to end? God, this little diva changed his mind faster than Mack Brown changed quarterbacks. Dave let out a sad laugh, heart aching. "I'm sorry, Kurt, but I need to go now, okay?"

Kurt's face fell for an instant, then he steeled himself again, reaching out and grabbing at the shoulder of Dave's t-shirt like he was afraid the other might make good on his words by leaping out of the truck or something. "Dave, please. Please listen to me." His voice was a little desperate as he reached out and grabbed the front of Dave's shirt with his other hand, gripping it tight in his fingers as he tugged Dave toward him. Dave yielded, moving just enough in his seat that they were mostly facing each other, though he kept his head turned to the side, staring out the windshield. He didn't want to look at Kurt right then. It hurt too much.

"You know I'm not the begging type, David. I find it common and most certainly unfashionable. But I'm willing to beg right now. I love you. And, just as importantly, I can *admit* that I love you." His voice cracked a little. "I can admit that I love you in the same way that I love my dad and Carole and Finn… In the same way that I loved my *mom.* And that is not something that comes easily. Please, please… Just look at me, David."

Dave swallowed hard and turned to face the other man, wishing immediately that he hadn't. How could anyone deny those big, blue eyes anything?

No, he needed to be strong. He had made his decision. This was ending now. Kurt was too dangerous. He might think he wanted Dave then, but he'd change his mind again soon enough. And Dave couldn't deal with it. It hurt too much. It was time to accept that men like Dave would never be good enough for men like Kurt. It was a whole 'nother ball game.

"Kurt," Dave said, his voice barely above a whisper, "it's not that simple. I… I love you too, okay? I just… My whole damn life is in ruins, Kurt!" He sniffed and Kurt made a sad sound.

"Dave, I am so sorry about that. You have no idea how sorry I—"

Dave held up a hand, words sounding hoarse. "I told you, I don't blame you, Kurt. I mean, I'm obviously not happy about that fucking video. Talk about seriously fucking up a man's life. But this was going to happen, eventually. I knew that, someday, it would come out." He laughed, and not happily. "I'd kind of hoped it would be after I'd retired from football, though. The next few months are going to be real tough, Kurt. You've already been hurt because of it. And maybe you don't care about that, maybe you're willing to risk all the shit that could happen in the future for 'love'. Okay, that's fair—it would be your decision. But the fact is that you're not the only one I gotta protect. I gotta protect myself."

Kurt's brow furrowed, a deep frown coming over his face. "Dave, I told you, I am so sorry for what I did! I realize that it's not something you can forgive and forget, but—"

"That's not what I'm talking about," Dave cut in. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes, trying to hide the fact that he was fighting back tears. "When I saw you yesterday, and you looked at me like I was nothing but that stupid, selfish boy who bullied you back in high school… Shit, Kurt, that hurt a thousand times more than any crap I've gotten over that video." A tear escaped, running down his cheek. One more battle lost. "I am so stressed right now. I feel like I'm stuck between two worlds, and that no matter what I do, they're both gonna hate me." His voice broke. "My fans will never look at me the same again if I come out."

"But I'll be there, Dave!" Kurt protested, sounding desperate. "We'll get through it *together.*"

Dave chuckled sadly. "You say that now, but what if I mess up with you and you start looking at me like that again? I'm not exactly the kind of guy you'd expect to be with Kurt Hummel. You know that. Hell, you thought *I* was the one who attacked you!"

"Dave, I couldn't remember! My memory hadn't come back yet!"

Dave shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Obviously deep down you still think that's the kind of person I am. But, like I said, I'm caught between two worlds, because I'm just as screwed the other way, dammit! If I stay in the closet, my teammates will be okay, the fans will deal with it, but I'll be back to living a sad, lonely life." He swallowed hard. "Kurt… You just don't understand what it's like, to be trapped like this. I know you think you do, but you don't. I'm not trying to use it as an excuse for anything I did to you in the past, but… not every gay guy has it as easy as you did. I had made myself a life, though, done the best I could. But then you came along and now that draining fear I felt every day all through high school is back. It's a terrible fear, Kurt. A fear of losing your family, your friends, even yourself. The truth? God, Kurt… I haven't felt this bad since I was seventeen. And you know how I dealt with it then? I wrapped a belt around my neck, hung it in a closet, and knocked down the chair I was standing on." Another tear ran down his cheek. "I can't deal with feeling like that anymore, Kurt. I need to get back to my life, pitiful as it may seem to you."

Kurt reached out to wipe away Dave's tear, looking hurt when he turned his head away.

"Dave… I can't even imagine what that feels like. You're right. I didn't want to admit it as a teenager—I knew everything, after all, and everyone else was an idiot. You *are* right, though. I did have it easy. But please, don't let people's idiotic small mindedness dictate your life! I can understand that it's hard to trust me right now. But I swear, if you give me another chance I will never, ever let you down again! I love you Dave!" He gave a choked sob, and Dave's gut wrenched as tears started to run down those pale, pretty cheeks.

God, he wanted so badly to just say okay and pull Kurt into his arms. But doing that might very well shatter the pieces of his already broken life completely beyond repair. He couldn't take the risk. Not now, when everything was collapsing around him.

"I-I'm sorry, Kurt," he said. "I-I'm just not you. I'm not brave like you. I… I feel safer in my closet."

"Really? Isn't that exactly the place you tried to kill yourself?" Kurt's voice was clipped, and a little angry, his voice making Kurt flinch.

An ashamed look immediately came across Kurt's face as Dave started to pull away. "Oh, God, I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry, David. I do understand how you're feeling. I just wish you'd give it a chance."

Dave shook his head, feeling a little sick to his stomach. "I… not right now, Kurt, I'm sorry."

Another tear ran down Kurt's cheek. Amazing how everything that happened between them seemed to end in tears.

"Please," Kurt said, his voice desperate. "Just… just think about it?"

Dave sniffed, shaking his head. "Kurt I—"

"Please," Kurt said again as he reached into his pocket, pulling something out. Dave's breath caught as the other man gently settled the wedding topper Dave had taken from him all those years ago on the seat between them. "Please, Dave, just think about it. Think about it…" He brushed a finger gently across the groom's face. "And maybe someday that could be us?"

Without warning Kurt leaned forward, pressing him lips against Dave's. Dave almost moaned at the sudden softness on his mouth, another tear running down his face at the realization that he would probably never feel this again.

Kurt pulled away much too soon, using the back of his hand to wipe more tears from his face as he smiled sadly at Dave. "I love you, David," he said softly as he reached for the door, more tears running down his cheeks as he looked down at the wedding topper. "Please think about it. Think about it because I *want* that to be us."

The door shut softly behind him and Dave let out a sob as he reached out and wrapped his hand around the little couple. "God, Kurt," he said to no one, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "I wish I was brave enough for this to be us."

o o o

Kurt stared sourly at the television, trying to ignore the bulbous, belching assholes pressing in around him. This was *so* not what he wanted to be doing on a Sunday night. Or any night. But, in a fit of insanity, he had agreed to go out with Finn for a few drinks. He couldn't stand another moment with the girls at the hotel—there were only so many times you could paint a person's toenails and if he ate one more spoonful of Cookies N Cream ice cream he wasn't going to be able to fit in his pants anymore. Their sympathy had been nice at first, but after 48 straight hours it had gotten old.

Of course, what he hadn't realized was that Finn's idea of 'getting a drink' included Puck, Sam, Mike, and Artie. Mix in one loud, cramped sports bar and he was in queer queen hell.

The whole place was in some kind of uproar, though the only thing on the TV was a couple of men in bland suits babbling something about lines of sriddish or scribbish or something. Kurt wasn't quite sure what it was. Maybe a new form of cocaine? He sighed as he stirred his cocktail, pretending that he was actually interested in the Neanderthal language pouring out their mouths. Really he was just watching for the occasional clip of Dave, or 'Demo,' as they liked to call him. Mostly all he could see was that big back crouching down, sporting the number '42' and 'KAROFSKY' in white letters. But every once and a while they'd show a clip of him, helmet off, black smudges under his eyes and sweat running down his face, those expressive eyebrows knit in concentration. Big and sweaty and fierce. It was all very masculine, like Testosterone City. And, if he was honest with himself, it also kind of hot.

"We're gonna cook those Seachickens up for dinner," Puck said, a vicious grin on his face as he tilted his beer back and chugged, then slammed the bottle back onto the bar. "We'll tar and feather them!"

The Seachickens? The other team was called the *Seachickens*? What was their mascot, a tuna fish? Kurt sniffed prissily. "Chickens have feathers, Puck. Why would you tar and re-feather them?"

Finn frowned, looking confused. Not an unusual look for Finn. "Who's a chicken? I'm not a chicken!"

Puck shrugged and took another swig of beer. "I dunno. It's Kurt. Probably a Vogue reference or something. You know he likes those feathers."

Kurt sighed in annoyance, tired of these lugs treating him like he was an outsider. He could be one of the boys, too! He liked boys, after all. "You just said that you wanted to tar and feather the Seachickens, Puckerman. I was making a joke. Sort of."

Sam leaned against the counter, grabbing a couple of mugs from the bartender and holding one out to Artie, who was using one of the barstools like his own private little table. That was how they'd gotten seats in the packed bar to begin with. Having a handicapped person could be handy sometimes. "Who're the Seachickens?"

Artie laughed. "Guys, I think he means the Seahawks."

Kurt sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "You know what? I'm sorry I said anything at all."

"But they're total Seachickens, too!" Puck said, sticking his hands in his arm pits and making clucking noises as he began to do the Chicken Dance. Kurt rolled his eyes as all the guys burst into laughter. What were they, twelve?

"ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FOOTBALL?"

Kurt jumped, almost spilling his drink as the sound on every TV in the bar went way, way up and a deep, pounding beat began to play.

He gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to cover his ears as everyone in the bar expressed their drunken approval with shouts, yells, whistles and stomps. Lots and *lots* of stomps. Hell, there was so much pounding that Kurt wouldn't have been surprised if it registered on the Richter scale.

"Everyone give a cheer for the home team, the DALLAS COWBOOOOOYS!"

This time Kurt *did* cover his ears, then had to grab for a stack of napkins as the fists pounding against the bar made his drink tip. Dammit! God, this was insane! And it didn't stop there as the mass of football fans pressed in, crowding the bar.

"We're gonna pound 'em," some guy with his face painted blue shouted just before he tipped over, hitting the floor with a thump. Kurt grimaced. He looked like a drunk Jake Sully.

"We'll make those 'hawks wanna fly home!"

Kurt wouldn't mind flying home right them.

"The losers won't be *able* to fly home—Demolition will break their fucking bird bones!"

"They don't stand a chance. Their quarterback's a fuckwit!"

"Kill those bastards!"

Dear Lord, these people were nuts! It was like two drag queens fighting over a Versace bag!

Kurt sighed, doing his best to ignore the shouting as he continued to mop up the mess before him. It was like being at a fucking cockfight.

"Oh my… what the FUCK is that?" Okay, that was not a yell of victory. Kurt glanced over, frowning at the shocked look on the bartender's face.

"What the hell?" The avatar-wannabe had managed to climb off the floor and was staring at the TV with wide eyes.

"You gotta be kidding me!"

Kurt frowned, looking up at the TV as more and more faces went from excited to shocked in an instant. What was going on?

"Did he just?"

"What the hell?"

"Oh my God…"

The rabble of voices was so loud that, despite being turned up so high they seemed to be shaking in their stands, Kurt couldn't hear a word coming out of the TVs. Seriously, *what* was going?

"SHUT UP!" the bartender finally yelled, somehow managing to turn the volume on the TVs even higher, the announcers' voices seeming to thunder through the room.

"I really can't believe it. It looks like Karofsky is wearing… Wow. I don't think that falls under team colors, Bill!"

Kurt sat up straight at the sound of Dave's name. What had happened? What were they talking about? Was Dave okay?

The other announcer let out a short laugh. "You're very right, Tom! Karofsky's going to get a couple of fines dropped on him for that one. Major uniform violations there."

Mercifully the screen switched from the announcers back to the field, where a bunch of players were milling around, the camera zooming in on the center of the field where a group of referees and men in navy jackets with 'Coach' on the back were gathered, gesturing angrily at one another. And, at the center of it all stood Dave, looking just as huge and sweaty as ever, practically reeking of testosterone as he stood there dressed in full pads and…

Kurt sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening, wondering briefly if someone had slipped some hallucinogens in his cocktail. But no, everyone else in the bar looked equally shocked as they all stared in disbelief at the screen. Dave was really, truly standing in the middle of a football field with his pants tucked into a pair of rainbow socks.

Red and yellow, orange and purple, pink and blue all wrapped around his lower legs in small bands, bright and impossible to miss.

"I really can't believe this, Bill. With the latest scandal, Karofsky was already on shaky ground with the team. He might just find himself on the outs after this."

"I think the chances of his being re-signed to the Cowboys next season definitely went way down, Tom. That's for sure."

The camera zoomed in on Dave's face and Kurt's stomach fluttered nervously as he saw the tight look on Dave's face. The man did his trademark little flick of the tongue as he wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his big hand. His face was relatively blank, but Kurt could tell just from the tension in those wide shoulders that he was probably about ready to puke.

The image suddenly switched to a replay of the Cowboys running out onto the field, Karofsky coming out late then putting on the speed, quickly catching up to the rest of the team. There was a rather humorous moment when one of the players looked over and, eyes widening, tripped over his own feet and tumbled to the ground. Then it was back to live action.

Kurt leaned forward, brow furrowing as Dave walked off the field with his head held high. The camera zoomed in on him as he tossed something up into the air, caught it lightly, then tossed it up again.

Oh, dear God, was that really…? Kurt was pretty sure his heart had missed a beat.

"What's that he's got in his hand, Tom?"

"I'm not sure… It kind of looks like those little figures of a couple getting married. Hey, my wife and I had one of those at our wedding."

"And which wedding was this, Tom? The third or the fourth?" They both burst into laughter and Kurt gritted his teeth, smacking the bar in annoyance. Put the damn camera back on Dave already! Who the hell cared what these balding losers had to say?

"Oh my God, he really is a faggot."

Kurt's head jerked to the side and he flashed his teeth at the man, not that he seemed to notice.

"Who knew Demo would turn out to be a pussy?"

"I never did think he was any good."

Never did think he was any good? That was the guy who'd been saying Dave would break the Seabirds' bones! Kurt clenched his fists angrily.

"What a fucking queer!"

Okay, that was it! Adrenaline rushing like he was on a damn field himself, Kurt turned, grabbing one of the mugs off the bar and throwing it down on the ground as hard as he could, the glass shattering. "Would you all SHUT the FUCK up?"

"Shit, Kurt!" Finn said, eyes widening as he stared down at the broken glass. "You need to calm down!"

Kurt ignored him, scowling deeply. He was sick of this! It was idiots like these fools who had made Dave's whole damn life miserable!

"What is *wrong* with you people? One second he's your goddamn hero and the next, he's a piece of trash because he likes guys?"

One particularly overweight, sweaty looking asshole shoved through the crowd, his lip curling up in disgust as he stared at Kurt, his whole attitude screaming 'I'M a BIG man now!', despite the fact that he was shorter than Kurt. Not to mention that he was just about as wide as he was tall. "So says the pretty boy! You gotta problem, faggot?" He raised his fists, his pudgy face twisting up. "Wanna fight it out like a real man?"

A loud wave of laughter went through the bar. "Since when are you a real man, Adam?" someone shouted, just making everyone laugh louder as the little fat man's face turned bright red.

"I can take him!"

"Oh, shut the hell up—game's starting! I wanna see if they put Karofsky in!"

It was like living in the land of ADD. In an instant everyone's eyes were back on the TV. The ugly asshole sneered at Kurt one more time, then flipped him the bird before he turned away, obviously trying to salvage what was little was left of his manhood.

"Coin toss is good for the home team, Bill. It looks like the coaches aren't angry enough at Karofsky's moves to bench him. And he's still wearing those crazy socks."

"Well, Tom, while I'm sure they're not too happy, benching him now would mean reworking every strategy they've planned."

"This is reminiscent of Redskin Sean Taylor wearing those striped socks in the 2005 game against the Eagles, Bill. He got, what, a $5,000 fine for that one?"

"As I remember it. But they were striped with team colors. He may get ten thou for this. Sock and colors violations."

"But really, what is the motivation for this?"

"I suppose this is his out and proud moment? I can't imagine what other motivation he could have, except maybe to rile people up."

"Oh, we just received word that we have a tweet from Karofsky on the sidelines." The man raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "It says, 'I'm wearing the suit, Fancy.'" He shook his head. "What in the world does that mean?"

"I have no idea, Tom. I guess the man likes a good suit?"

Wearing the suit… Kurt's breath caught. If that meant what he hoped it did, Dave could sure as hell wear the suit. Kurt would be glad to don the dress if it meant another chance with Dave.

There was a sudden buzzing in his pocket. Just when Kurt thought his heart couldn't pound any faster… He swallowed hard as he reached into his jacket, almost dropping his iPhone as he pulled it out. God, he couldn't remember the last time his palms had sweated. Deep breaths. Who would have thought looking at a text message could be so terrifying? Kurt almost didn't want to look. Please, please, please…

1 TXT MSG FRM David: I want it 2 be us 2. luv u.

Kurt choked, a smile spreading across his face even as tears rose in his eyes, a happiness so intense that it was almost painful coming over him. Was this what it felt like to win a game? Because Kurt had definitely scored on the field of love.

"I don't believe it, Karofsky ran it straight down the field, and it's a TOUCHDOWN!"

The bar burst into cheers and Kurt wiped at the tears in his eyes.

A touchdown, indeed.