A/N: I am back, and I am determined to finish this. I have something like 35 chapters planned and I am going to be taking advantage of any free time I have at work. This is for the wonderful people still reading this fic, and the few new readers and reviewers who have joined since the last update. I love you guys a lot and thank you for continuing to inspire me.

Chapter 9

Duly Noted

Part I

o0o

Tuesday, December 10, 2024

7:36 am

The rest of Kurt's weekend passed by with an unexpected droll since seeing Dave on Saturday. So it was no surprise when the new week took on the same drawn-out pace. That was normal for him this time of the year. It seemed every week until Christmas was reason enough for his co-workers to throw a holiday-themed party. He was able to avoid that Saturday's party thanks to his shopping excursion with Finn and Rachel. He wasn't sure if he would be as lucky the coming weekend, but he was positive that his brilliant mind would come up with some sort of excuse. After eight years of working for Vogue, the extravagant parties were growing old.

With the year coming to an end, work felt sedate and sluggish. Which was similar to how he would feel after the many flutes of champagne he would have to down in an attempt to make it through the Christmas festivities. If he were to attend. For the first time, rather than face them alone without his ex by his side, he so far managed to avoid the festivities altogether.

Despite their busy schedules, Kurt and Blaine would try to make an appearance at each other's holiday work parties before their divorce. That was the extent of his social interactions with his co-workers outside of the office, except for the occasional lunch meeting. While he loved his job and got along well with his coworkers, he didn't have many friends in or outside of work besides Rachel and Finn. He supposed he could count Isabelle. But she was his boss and mentor, and her days were even busier than his and, therefore, even harder to schedule time with outside of work.

During his marriage to Blaine, it wasn't unlike him to turn down invitations to hit the bar or nearby club with his co-workers. Not if it meant being unable to cook dinner for Blaine. That is to say if Blaine had bothered to come home before the food got cold just once rather than staying at his college library late into the evening, leaving Kurt to eat dinner by himself and pass out on the couch. Eventually he stopped receiving the invites as a result. He supposed their offers were no longer on the table.

He didn't mind not having a large group of friends like he did in high school. He grew to accept it, if not strangely enjoy it. He wondered, though, if his loneliness was healthy. Not that he felt particularly lonely. But perhaps it was something just grew accustomed to, or maybe he had grown complacent. It wasn't like he was going to turn into some crazy old cat lady, only to be eaten by his many pets, he told himself. He had Finn and Rachel, and his family back in Ohio. And he enjoyed when they came to visit him and when he flew back home to see them, as well. But he also loved the quiet moments in his life when he wasn't at his bustling job. His tasks at work were usually interrupted by a slew of new ones to complete, meetings with Isabelle and the other editors, days spent training inquisitive interns, always asking for his help or fashion advice... Time to himself was few and far between and, when provided, he reveled in it.

At the end of the day, he loved being able to kick off his shoes and delight in the silence of his apartment, especially when the city itself was so loud. For him, drawing a steaming hot bath and watching an ANTM rerun while wearing a plush robe beat going to loud bars or nightclubs.

What on earth had happened to him?

During the four months he spent living on his own for the first time in... Well... Ever… Kurt came to the realization that his divorced life wasn't much different than that of his married one. Only now he was able to truly focus on himself rather than when his other half would be home, or the impending argument about what they should have for dinner or watch on the DVR that night. For once in his life, he felt like his own person. It was thrilling, really, in a rather sad way. While he was still happy for his ex and all that he was off to accomplish on the opposite side of the country, Blaine's aspirations were no long "their" aspirations. Kurt was able to focus on his own goals, such as being an uncle (the thought still excited him), promotions at work (perhaps not for a long time, but still something to look forward to), dating again (something he was painfully aware he had zero experience in, but he'd figure it out eventually)... Despite how painfully slow the end of the year dragged on, he still had so much of life to look forward to.

And, somehow, in some strange, mysterious, perplexing way… Just one more thing he was looking forward to was his burgeoning… friendship?... with Dave Karofsky.

In his reverie, Kurt was blissfully unaware of the force in which he was flicking his pen against his stack of papers that went unread. That is, until it slipped out between his fingers and rocketed off the stack of papers and smacked him in the chin.

"Shit," he hissed, slipping out of his chair to fish for the writing utensil under his desk. Once he managed to blindly find it tangled up in the wild cables trailing from his PC, he drew himself up, catching the back of his head on the edge of his desk.

"Really?" Kurt gritted his teeth, rubbing the back of his head as he plopped back down in his office chair with a sigh. He was already beginning to feel a lump form. He had to wonder when he became such a mess and if there was some correlation with a certain someone reappearing in his life.

Safely seated in his office chair once more, Kurt leaned back, steepling his fingers under his chin contemplatively. It felt as though he had been lost in thought since the moment he left his apartment that morning. From the moment he saw the bright, yellow post-it note stuck face level to the exterior of his apartment door.

'Dammit, Karofsky,' Kurt inaudibly cursed as he shoved his hand in his pocket to retrieve the infernal slip of paper that was causing his disquiet, though he remained unsure as to why it did so.

Kurt traced the edge of the note, no bigger than his palm. It was harmless enough. The slantwise, thin script was familiar, having seen it in the form of gentle and thoughtfully composed words of endearment on a Valentine's Day long ago. He shook his head, pushing away the painful memory as he examined the ten digit number. For the tenth time that day, he read the short notation under the number.

In case you wanted a less painful method of communication. -D.K.

Kurt couldn't help but snort. While his shoulder gave a twinge with the ghost of the impact that happened two days ago, a small smile played on his lips as he played with the bent corner of the paper. It already started to rumple since being in tight confines of the pocket of his slacks.

Dave still seemed to think the incident his fault, rather than the momentary, if not careless, excitement from his younger "nephew". He was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time, he thought, shaking away the memory of the clang of metal lockers. This was different-it wasn't on purpose, as he reaffirmed with Dave.

Before he could convince himself to shove the paper back into his pocket, forgotten, he slipped his hand into his opposite pocket and pulled out his cell phone instead. As Kurt swiped to unlock the screen, he nibbled on his lip. The organ in his chest beat a foreign rhythm against his sternum as his thumb tapped the contacts button. He entered the five letter name accompanied by the ten digit number just below it.

This is fine, Kurt thought to himself as his fingers hovered over the keyboard screen. He took a steadying breath, unsure as to why he was so nervous. He pushed himself with his bent leg, rocking back and forth in his desk chair. He mulled over the empty field of text message history with David Karofsky that had yet to be filled.

Hi.

Kurt huffed out a sigh of annoyance and he deleted the greeting.

'We're friends,' Kurt thought carefully.

'Kind of…' he reconsidered in an afterthought.

Is that what Dave considered him? They had only a few run-ins with each other since he moved into his new apartment. But why else would Dave leave his phone number on his door.

'Your shared a milkshake with him, too,' the traitorous thought entered Kurt's mind before he could stop it, and his cheeks burned hotter than the inside of the diner that night. 'Friends do do that,' he countered his internal monologue and wondered if he really was losing it.

'Just text him… Something. Ask him how his day is going, or what he is up to…'

Kurt's fingers flew across the keys, but he was already regretting his second attempt.

How is your morning?

He deleted that too.

What was he supposed to say to the man who terrorized him in high school and suddenly (and often literally) came barreling into his life.

With a hint of a smile, Kurt made a valiant third attempt and before he could second guess himself, he hit send.

o0o

Dave rolled over in bed with a grunt and squinted blindly at his phone after being stirred from his slumber thanks to the buzz as the device rattled upon his bedside table. To be honest, it wasn't his first time being woken up that morning. The first being from the aromatic scent of his coffeemaker percolating on its timer set for 6 o'clock AM the night before. The second was at 7 o'clock AM as the sun came streaming through the parted blinds of his bedroom window. Finally, the third, was his phone, which was alerting him of a text message for whatever reason at a quarter till 8 in the morning.

He wasn't annoyed with the rude awakening as much as he was with himself for sleeping in later than he planned. He knew he should get up-do some laundry, clean the kitchen, or go for a brisk morning walk to wake up rather than continue to lay in bed. But Travis took off for California around the same time the morning before, which meant there would be no one to nag him about the state of the apartment until Friday evening. After all, there was no reason he couldn't stay in bed. He had no job to go to, no place to be. But the old habits were hard to break… Most of the time. Today, however, was not one of those days. So instead of getting up before six o'clock as he had when he was gainfully employed (and since becoming willingly and temporarily unemployed) he allowed himself to indulge just this once and rolled over, closing his eyes and snuggling deeper into the covers.

Dave realized, from his spot in the middle of the queen size bed, that there were very few people who would text him this early in the morning.

From under the covers, Dave's hand traced the area where Travis slept next to him when he could sleep next to him. In the six months that Travis shared his apartment, he barely put a dent in the mattress, thanks to his work schedule.

His boyfriend rarely used texting as a method of communication, especially at work. He preferred to call instead, allowing himself the continued use of his hands to continue his work. That was when he did call, which was also rare.

Dave couldn't fault Travis for that. He knew how busy the man was, and Dave knew all about making sacrifices in order to accomplish one's dream.

So that took Travis off the list.

The only other people who would text him this early was his cousin, her husband, and Aidan, perhaps, as he was becoming proficient at stealing his parents phones and using them to play games on. His aunt and uncle would call him if there was an emergency, same with Evelyn and Brian, only his aunt and uncle were somewhat too technologically deficient to text him.

Dave told himself, as he lay peacefully in bed, that if it was something important the person could just call him. So he allowed his eyes to drift close and let the quiet of his apartment lull him back to sleep.

Unless…

Dave's eyes snapped open as he remembered the night before. After taking a very tired Aidan home to his parents once more, he returned to his apartment and took the elevator back up to the seventh floor.

And how his finger hovered briefly over the number "6".

He felt terrible for the injury he had caused Kurt, despite Kurt's insistence that he was fine. He was still responsible for his nephew and knew how unruly he could be at this age. He had seen Kurt's pain, written plainly on his face, and he immediately felt he had been transported back to high school, where all he was good at was hurting others.

But Kurt hid the pain away, just as he did in high school-always so selfless and kind.

Dave didn't know what prompted him to do it-to go to his spare bedroom that served as his office, to pick up the yellow pad of sticky notes, and write his number down… To walk down the one flight of stairs and stick the note right under the peephole. Maybe it was because of their conversation. He really liked talking to Kurt, though he knew Kurt would never consider him a friend. But he could try at least, to show him he wasn't the same person he was in high school.

Sometimes the past felt so distant he had to wonder if he was even the same person-if he wasn't merely living someone else's life. But then he had to remind himself that he had hurt people-he remembered so he could do better.

As Dave stood outside Kurt's apartment the night before, debating whether he should rip the note off the door and forget he ever entertained the idea that he and Kurt could be more than just two people who bumped into each other on the street on occasion, more than two acquaintances who lived just a floor away from one another, he reminded himself that Kurt had been the one to ask him to the diner exactly a week ago. So he let his hand drop, hoped Kurt didn't take his message the wrong way, and he walked away.

Dave sat up in bed abruptly, the thick white comforter falling from his naked torso as he stared dubiously at his phone before practically launching himself towards the other side of his bed to reach it. Settling back in bed and practically fumbling his phone, he turned the display on to his phone and swiped screen to see the "new message" icon from an unknown number. He tapped the icon as he leaned back against his pillows and held the phone about three inches from his nose to read the otherwise blurry message.

I think my shoulder prefers this method of communication. -K.H.

Dave snorted. Yeah... He didn't need the initials to know it was definitely Kurt.

He could almost hear the playful lilt of Kurt's voice and hoped he wasn't in any pain.

I'm sorry (again), Kurt. It's not bruised or anything is it?

Dave frowned as he pressed send. He only managed to fluff his pillows to make his position, propped up against the headboard, a little more comfortable before he received an almost immediate reply.

You can continue to apologize, but it won't make it any more your fault.

Dave scoffed at the message, just as a little red number "1" popped up on the corner of the green text message icon.

o0o

But I appreciate your concern all the same. And it is fine. Really.

"Infuriating man…" Kurt muttered out loud and dramatically tapped the send button with a huff. Dave couldn't just let it go, could he? Even if it was still a little sore, Dave didn't need to know that. Kurt had endured worse by the same hand, and even then Dave had apologized for it.

I'm glad.

Kurt couldn't help the warmth of gratitude that flowed through him at the reply.

What are you up to? Kurt wrote as he bit his lip and then waited for an answer.

Not much, just woke up.

Kurt mentally cursed himself, looking at the clock on his computer monitor. Had he only been at work for 45 minutes? It felt like it had been hours already. Why didn't he wait until after lunch before texting him? Though, at the same time, he hoped texting Dave would make the time go by faster.

I didn't wake you did I? Kurt texted apprehensively, feeling embarrassed. Before he could stop himself, Kurt imagined a sleepy Dave, hair mussed, texting him from his bed. He shook his head and read the next message to distract himself. Where had that come from?

No, of course not.

Kurt gave a sigh of relief, just as another message came floating in.

o0o

Just doing some laundry and enjoying my coffee. Dave sent, though he was most certainly not doing laundry, and had yet to even pour himself a cup of coffee. Instead, he smiled at his phone, waiting for the next text to roll in just as he rolled over onto his stomach, his feet dangling off the side of the bed. He enjoyed talking to Kurt and didn't want to ruin the pleasant conversation with chores of all things.

Sounds thrilling. Kurt wrote back, including a cry-laughing emoji at the end of the message.

Not as thrilling as my plans this evening. Dave smirked, as he added a winking emoji at the end of his. He chuckled as he pressed send. Dave waited, and waited, and waited some more, until he waited so long that he began to think Kurt was too busy at work text him anymore.

So Dave sat up in bed with a groan, stretching his arms above his head. He grabbed his glasses from the table next to where his phone used to be and put them on. Scooting towards the edge of the bed, he toed on his slippers and shivered. The air chilled his bare chest as he pushed the bed covers off. Finally leaving the bed, he wrapped himself up in his robe that hanged from the hook on the back of the door. Just as he went to go open the bedroom door to grab a divine cup of hot coffee from the kitchen, he remembered the phone he left on the bed. Doubling back, he grabbed it and shoved it into his robe pocket and went to the kitchen to begin his day.

o0o

Kurt stared at the winking emoji in shock.

That wasn't an innuendo… Was it…?

He felt his cheeks burn with what he chalked up to be embarrassment. Surely not…

Oh yeah, and why is that? Kurt hoped he sounded casual, but was quite fearful of the answer. He had been sitting on Dave's last text message for the past five minutes. What on earth was he supposed to say to that?!

It didn't take long to receive and answer and Kurt peeked at the message.

Day 1 of the 5 Day Die Hard marathon starts tonight.

Kurt snorted, setting his phone face down on his desk as he rubbed his face with his hands. He couldn't believe how off-base he was with that message. Thank goodness…

"Everything okay?"

Kurt sat bolt upright in his desk chair so fast it nearly threatened to topple backwards. Standing in the doorway was his boss, Isabelle. The look of amusement and curiosity evident on her slender face as she cocked her head. Once Kurt managed to find his feet safely on the floor under him once more, he answered.

"What? Oh, yes. I'm fine." Kurt grinned as he riffled through some papers, attempting to appear busy.

"Uh huh, yeah, sure…" she said in mock understanding as she stepped into his office. She carried a large assortment of papers, folders, and magazines. "Because after six months of you practically moping around this office, now you are suddenly smiling at your phone like a loon and I'm supposed to believe nothing has changed? Makes sense."

"It's nothing," Kurt said honestly, though he knew his shrill voice was a dead giveaway. Though he still couldn't get the overly-cheerful look to disappear from his face. Normally he was such a good actor. Why couldn't he get his smile to go away? And why was he smiling so much in the first place?

"Who is he?" Isabelle demanded, completely ignoring the fact that he had been neglecting his work. She pulled up a chair and leaned forwarded interestedly. That in itself gave him reason enough to tell her the truth.

"He's just a friend," Kurt reiterated patiently. Isabelle blinked knowingly.

"A friend who isn't me, your brother, or sister-in-law?" she pointed out.

"Ouch." Kurt pouted as his hand slapped to the invisible wound over his heart. Isabelle raised her perfectly shaped and filled-in eyebrows.

"Spill," she said. Kurt sighed.

"He's… Just someone I knew from high school. We sort of reconnected. That's it. Honestly." Kurt gave her a pointed look. And he was thankful when she didn't push any further.

"Alright, alright..." she conceded, holding her hands up in surrender. "Well, I just stopped by to give you this article from Samantha. You know that one on Princess Beatrice." She waved offhandedly after plopping the folder on his growing pile of things to read on his desk. He nodded, pretending as though he remembered what the article was supposed to be about. Or who Samantha was. "And I need you to review that and send it back to me before lunchtime, if you're not too busy." The stern look, accentuated by her high bun, let him know that she meant business.

"Of course, I'll get right on it," Kurt said, and Isabelle gave him a kind wink as she walked out of his office, her long, asymmetrical black and white dress swaying around her ankles.

"Let me know if there's any changes," she said over her shoulder. Kurt hoped she was referring to his editing process, but he knew better.

o0o

Dave plopped down on the couch after safely setting his coffee on the coffee table in front of him and reached for the remote. He turned the television on and it was still set to his favorite alternative music station (the one Travis hated so much) from the morning before, when he and Travis were making out in the living room before the other man left for the airport. He would need the music if he was going to get to work on the apartment. Though he knew writing should be his priority, he had a hard time writing when the apartment was too messy. Or maybe it was just his way of procrastinating.

As Dave picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip, willing his drowsiness away, his phone buzzed in his pocket finally, making him jump and slosh some of the dark, steaming liquid down his front.

He was thankful he decided to put on his robe.

Cursing and pulling his phone carefully out of his pocket with the hand that wasn't dripping wet, he read Kurt's message.

I love that movie.

Dave stared at the message and blinked, dumbfounded. Kurt liked Die Hard? He shook his head. Surely he was messing with him. Dave decided not to point out the absurdity of that statement.

After drying his hand on the fabric of his robe he typed, You have anything going on tonight? We could watch it together if you're free?

Kurt's replies had returned to their usual promptness.

I was only planning on enjoying the quiet solitude of my apartment after a long day of work.

'Damn,' Dave thought. He could feel the disappointment settling in his gut like a stone. Of course Kurt would want to take it easy after a long day of work. He could take a hint.

Dave continued to stare at the screen with a frown when another block of text popped up.

Though watching a movie with a lot of explosions with a friend sounds marginally better.

The smile overtook Dave's face. His gaze lingered on the certain f-word in the middle of the text and he felt slightly taken aback. Kurt didn't consider him a friend, did he? And he wasn't expecting Kurt to actually be interested. In the movie. Nothing else. Since Kurt loved that movie, apparently. Dave made a mental note to ask him how that happened.

My place or yours? Dave asked, trying to sound as casual as he could in text form. As if expecting Kurt to rescind the offer.

Mine. I should be home by 5:30.

So that was that. He and Kurt. Would be watching a movie together. Tonight.

They had shared a cab together. Shared a shake together. But that had been in the presence of others. And now Kurt had no issue with inviting Dave to his apartment. The thought of the two of them alone terrified him. What would they talk about? How would Kurt act around him? Hell, how was he supposed to act around Kurt. Dave was considering giving him a raincheck, but what other plans did he have? There were no excuses he could muster up, and for that he was glad.

Okay, but only if I can bring the popcorn. Dave joked.

Lol. Deal.

Dave laughed out loud himself as he stood up. He stared down at the small device in his hand. He couldn't help but think about how his sixteen-year-old self would be having a field day right now.

'If only he knew...' Dave thought with a melancholic smile as he pocketed his phone. He supposed he could clean the apartment later on. But, first and foremost, he decided he would need to make a trip to the store. He would be need to pick up some popcorn, after all.