And the Glee-lovin' goes on! I'm pretty sure I don't own it. Reviews inspire updates faster (hint, hint...)
~~~glee~~~~
Kurt arrived at the coffee shop at precisely 4:08, having dragged his feet all the way down the sidewalk from the bus stop - Finn had the car today, so Kurt was stuck taking public transportation.
He stared through the front window. The shop was set up in such a way that he couldn't see diddly, just a couple of tables and the central-island counter blocking his view of the back. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his way in, the bell over the door jingling happily.
No one looked up. Kurt walked all the way around the shop, looking, but Karofsky wasn't here. A glance at his watch showed 4:12. Did that meathead just stand me up? he thought to himself, indignantly. I'm the one who didn't want this meet! Least he could do is show up to tell me he's not coming.
Before he could really work himself up into a snit, however, the weak winter sunlight coming through the glass door was eclipsed and Kurt turned to see a mountain of jock reach up to silence the happy bell with one big fist. Maybe this wasn't such a grand idea…
Dave glanced around the shop, eyes lighting on Kurt with something appallingly close to joy in his eyes, though the smile on his lips was strained. He waved Kurt over. "Got your coffee yet?" he asked. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic."
Kurt glanced out at the placid street. A single car drove past, nearly sideswiping the year's last, determined bicyclist, who shook a fist at the offending driver. "I can see that," he murmured with a grin, before remembering who he was talking to. Dave flushed, but didn't amend his excuse.
"What'll you be having?" asked the girl behind the counter, her bright smile likely having nothing to do with her perky personality and more to do with the perking coffee.
Kurt stared up at the board. "Café au lait," he said. "Your dark blend, please." He fumbled in his back pocket for his wallet, but Karofsky's hand on his elbow stopped him. He froze, terrified.
"And I'll have a Mint Condition," the bigger boy said. "Here, keep the change." He tossed down a ten, shot the girl a winning smile, and moved off to the other end of the counter. Kurt stared after him in shock. Karofsky was paying? What was this, some kind of date?
They got their drinks and settled in an out-of-the-way booth. Dave fished the chocolate-covered coffee bean out of the depression in his lid and crunched into it, a smile gracing his lips. "Mm-hm. You ever been in the psych ward, Hummel?" he asked, then continued before Kurt had to answer. "They don't give you shit up there. I really missed these beans. Funny - never appreciated 'em before. Guess it takes a bit of deprivation to make a guy realize what he's got."
The look he gave Kurt made him distinctly uncomfortable, and he quickly took a too-quick sip of too-hot coffee. His eyes bugged, and he forced himself to swallow, not spray, the bitter liquid burning its way down his throat.
Karofsky sipped at his own cup, obviously enjoying it. "Never would have pegged you for a frou-frou kind of drink," Kurt commented, absently, taking another, slower sip. Then he realized exactly who he was potentially insulting and he ducked, instinctively.
Dave frowned, opened his mouth as if to answer, closed it again, and closed his eyes, lips moving silently.
He opened his eyes ten seconds later, and assayed a wan-sort of smile. "Like I said, they don't give you shit up in the psych ward, Hummel. I've had my fill of plain, bad coffee. I'm going straight mochas for a while, until I get that taste out of my mouth." He took another sip, but with much less enjoyment than he'd had.
"What was that you were doing just now?" Kurt heard his own mouth ask the question and desperately tried to claw the words back. Was he trying to get himself killed? Karofsky was the suicidal one, not Kurt!
But Dave, instead of getting angry, merely looked slightly embarrassed. "Anger management," he said, shortly. "One of the techniques they taught us."
"Count to ten?"
"Something like that."
They sipped in silence for a time, getting used to having the other sitting across from them. Finally, Kurt set down his cup.
"Look, Dave - what did you want to talk about? I'm here, this place is pretty empty," he wondered about that, it should be bursting at the seams, but only about half the tables had people around them, "so what's up?"
Karofsky swallowed his mouthful, setting the paper cup down, lifting it up, and setting it down again, in a different position, making interlocking rings of spilled coffee on the tabletop. "I - I need your help, Kurt," he said, at last.
"Help with what?" Kurt couldn't imagine what the big galoot thought he could do for him.
Dave drew his finger through the coffee-rings, drawing his own pattern. "How did you come out?" he asked. "You know, to… to your family, and friends and stuff?" His attention was intensely focused on the tabletop.
Kurt shrugged. "It was… it was a bit awkward," he admitted. "But Dad - he said he always knew. He was just waiting for me to figure it out."
"So… they accepted you? It wasn't hard for them?"
"It was odd - very awkward for me," Kurt said again. "But my dad just wondered why it had taken me so long to tell him."
Dave's shoulders sagged. "It's not going to be that easy with my dad," he muttered.
"You mean he doesn't know? You said you'd come out to your counselors, in therapy." And boy, did Kurt remember that conversation well. Dave had been a wreck, afterwards. The nurses had almost tried to bar Kurt from speaking with Dave, he'd been so emotionally labile.
"Yeah, I did. And they know. The doctors. But Dad doesn't. Doctor-patient confidentiality, you know? And I'm eighteen, so he's got no legal right to demand information from them. And I kind of told them that he doesn't get a breath of - of this." He swept a hand gesture that took in, well, all of him, and all the emotional baggage that went with it. He looked distinctly unhappy.
Kurt reached out a hand, his slim fingers resting on Karofsky's thick wrist, making the bigger boy look up at him. "I was terrified to tell my dad, too," he admitted, slowly. "I thought I'd be disappointing him. But I wasn't. And I didn't. Maybe you're underestimating your dad?"
Dave shook his head and snorted. "You know what my dad says every time a gay guy shows up on his radar? And not just in real life, on TV, movies, anything." Kurt shook his head. "My dad says, 'Thank god you're not like that faggot, David. You've got good genes, clean genes. We're men, not weaklings.'" He spat the last word. "If I come out to my dad, I'm going to get disinherited, in the full Old World-flavor of the word. I'll be Ivanhoe, only without the knighthood to cushion the blow." At Kurt's raised eyebrow, Dave asked, "What? I read."
"Have you talked to your counselors about this?" he asked. He was vaguely aware that Dave had had mandatory counseling sessions as a condition of his release from the psych ward, though he wasn't sure of all the details.
But Dave shook his head. "No. The guy I'm assigned to - he doesn't really listen. It's like he's got this recipe in his head for how things are supposed to go - Guy attempts suicide, guy reveals his deep-dark secret, guy tells everybody deep-dark secret, everybody sighs and says, 'you're so brave!,' guy gets to live happy and fulfilled life, end of story. It's like he thinks we're characters on a TV show or something. Real life doesn't happen that way." He snorted his contempt, though whether it was for the man's wide-eyed optimism or for the psychiatric profession in general, Kurt wasn't sure.
"So what are you going to do?" Kurt asked, after a bit.
Dave looked down, at where Kurt's fingers were still resting on his wrist. He turned his hand over, so that Kurt's palm was resting against his. He curled the fingers up, just a little, just enough to cup the small hand in his. Kurt's eyes were riveted on that motion. "I don't know," Dave murmured. "But I was hoping… maybe… maybe you could help?"
Kurt could feel the effort that went into those words. Dave Karofsky didn't ask for help. Never. That was part of what it meant, to be Dave Karofsky. And yet, here he was, asking. Twice, in fact.
He slowly flattened his palm against Dave's, then pulled his hand back gently, thwarting Dave's attempt to complete his capture. "This isn't a TV show, Dave," he said, the harsh words softened by his gentle tone and caring expression. "I know why you did what you did to me, but I haven't gotten over it completely yet. I've got a boyfriend, and I'm happy with him. But," he said, overriding Dave's attempt to react, "I'll stand by you. I can't be your boyfriend, but I will be your friend."
Dave's face was a picture of disappointment. Then a wan smile crossed his face. "I guess I've seen too many TV dramas, huh? Thanks, Hummel. Kurt. I appreciate it." He slugged down the rest of his coffee. Kurt sipped at the dregs of his, now cold from the long wait.
"How is it at McKinley?" Kurt asked, to fill the silence.
Dave shrugged. "Awkward. They all read the paper, every single one of 'em has heard rumors, or told rumors, or made up some story about why I did it." A grin tilted his features. "My favorite so far is that I was jilted by an alien lover who wouldn't take me aboard her UFO when she left to head back to Mars." Kurt smiled at that one. "So far, the 'Dave Karofsky is gay' talk is nothing but a dark little rumor that - as far as they're telling me, anyway, Azimio hasn't been talking to me much - hasn't made it much beyond the fringe groups." He cleared his throat, nervously. "Thanks for that, by the way. You really haven't told anyone."
"I don't rat out my friends," Kurt maintained, hotly, and Dave looked at him oddly. Kurt suddenly realized that he'd just called Dave his friend, for the first time. And dated it back to before that first, extremely memorable, kiss. It disturbed him. A lot.
Dave's lips twitched. "I never realized before how diverse that glee club of yours is. Football players, Cheerios, geeks. Those Asian guys, though what they say mostly stays within the ethnic boundaries. Rachel Berry and her big mouth. If you wanted to spread around a rumor, all you'd have to do is whisper to one of those guys and I'd be destroyed."
Kurt grinned. "Never thought of it that way before. Man, I wish I'd tried it back when I was at McKinley. Not you -" he hurried to assuage Dave's angry look. "But spreading rumors? That would have been fun. See where it goes and how it changes… What was the name of that alien lover of yours, again?"
Dave smiled back, a little wanly, but the warmth was there. He swirled his empty cup around idly. "Don't think I'm ready to come out yet," he said at last. "But I'm glad there's someone around here that I can talk to. Without having to make up some detail about the cheerleader I banged last night." He made a face and Kurt snorted a laugh.
They tossed their cups in the trash and headed out to face the cold. Kurt made a face, remembering he'd have to stand on the corner and wait for the bus. Dave hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "You got a ride? Because I've got my truck. I could give you a lift."
While Kurt was considering the offer, a blast of icy-cold wind cut through his jacket and straight into his flesh. "Sure," he said, decision made for him. "Thanks."
They made the ride in silence, all their words used up in the coffee shop, except for the occasional direction from Kurt. Dave pulled up in the driveway.
Kurt turned to him before stepping out. "Hey. Um. Good luck, alright?"
Dave's mouth quirked. "Thanks. You too, huh? I hear sectionals is coming up?"
"Regionals," Kurt corrected without thinking, then shot a piercing glance at the other boy.
"Regionals. Right."
Then Kurt was out of the car and Dave was backing up. Blue eyes met brown, until Dave smiled and broke the connection, driving off down the street.
Kurt took in a deep breath, the first one in minutes, and sagged. Okay, what just happened? he wondered as he opened the door and let himself into the house.
He wasn't sure he knew.