Author's Note: This began as a collaborative work, but the co-author has since discontinued work on this piece. The characters will be markedly different than they were previously as this project is now mine alone.

The collaborative work had been four chapters in length, but I have deleted all but the first chapter (as that was my work alone). The work henceforth will be mine. Feedback will be appreciated.

Thank you.

The author claims no ownership to the characters, settings, or events from the television series Glee.

Approximate words this chapter: 9,500.

The remainder of Saturday had been spent bar-hopping with Scoop and his other friends, and Dave welcomed the familiarity of his regular crowd after his confounding meeting with John earlier in the day; despite the fairly late hour of return Saturday night, Sunday morning found Dave waking early, remarkably clear-headed, and focused. Scoop, however, barely woke in time to meet their friends at the park for the late-afternoon basketball game they'd planned. Some of the guys' girlfriends met them for pizza and drinks afterward before Dave and Scoop returned to their apartment early Sunday evening, Dave awaiting his dad's weekly phone call and collecting his items for Monday's classes.

Monday passed without incident as Dave motivated himself to adhere more strictly to his previously-casual routines of an early-morning run and regular visits to the athletic department's weight room. When Dave returned to his apartment, he spoke with Scoop, making plans to have a have a group of their friends over for dinner later in the week. There was no rain in the forecast for the next few days, and it had been months, probably the previous autumn, since Scoop had entertained the crowd of them with his barbecuing prowess. The idea, though, was Dave's suggestion.

Tuesday passed much in the same manner as Monday had. Dave's last class of the day was in the late afternoon, and he stopped at the grocery store before returning to the apartment. Scoop was rousted from his place in front of the television when he heard Dave letting himself in through the deck-entrance.

"Hey, what's going on?" Scoop appeared in the entryway to the kitchen and greeted Dave as Dave pulled several filled reusable grocery bags from the deck into the small kitchen area.

"I did all of the grocery shopping for tomorrow on my way home from school," Dave answered.

"Oh, man, thanks, but you didn't hafta do that," Scoop rushed to the doorway to assist Dave with the cumbersome number of bags. "I was gonna go out tomorrow morning for this stuff," Scoop glanced at the bags' contents as Dave lifted them from the doorway into the kitchen.

"Nah, it's cool," Dave replied. "Whole thing was my idea so I thought I should at least save you the trouble and pay for the stuff. I saw your shopping list sitting on the table this morning so I grabbed a pic before I left for class."

Scoop smirked and shook his head. "You're so freaking resourceful, Karofsky."

"Well, I had to stop at the grocery store to pick up the stuff that I'm making for tomorrow night as well. No sense in making two trips."

"Truth," Scoop agreed as he opened the refrigerator, moving items, making places for the new groceries, finally continuing, "You sure you wanna go through with this, Dave?"

"Yeah, absolutely," Dave answered. "Too much stuff in the last few weeks has kinda made me feel like this is the time, whether my friends are ready to hear about it or not. I'd rather have me tell them and have them know for certain that way than have them guessing or asking questions about me or something. I mean, you brought it up because of that Tardis bar thing a couple of weeks ago, and Tony busted me checking out a guy from the other band at the show last week, although I'm not sure if Tony exactly realizes that. I'd been seeing a few guys though nothing really consistent, but if I should want to bring someone with me sometime when we're all hanging out, I want to feel that I can be comfortable doing that."

"Well, you know I have your back, man."

"That's all I need going into this."

"You've been getting up damned early the past couple of days," Scoop noted as he slid two packages of ground beef onto the lowest shelf of the refrigerator.

"I've been going running," Dave answered as he hung an empty reusable grocery bag onto a towel hook. "Gonna be hitting the weight room more regularly too."

"That's cool."

"Yeah, I must have had, like, an epiphany in my sleep Saturday night."

"Uh-oh. What about?" Scoop's voice was slightly muffled as he faced the interior of the refrigerator, moving items to fit the groceries onto the shelves.

"I guess a few things," Dave explained as pulled a large bag of tortilla chips out of a grocery bag and placed it on the table. "That guy I went out with a couple of times got me thinking about how I gotta expand my circle of gay friends; and I want to feel like I can be open around my friends about it."

"Gotcha," Scoop spoke as he turned around and assessed the items remaining on the table. "Have you heard from that guy?"

"Done deal. I told him I'd go out with him again, and that was true enough when I said it, but the way he left on Saturday seemed kinda final. I think he has a few things to work out on his own, and I don't need to be dealing with frustrating, psychotic external forces." Dave snickered his delivery. "Life is complicated enough without that. All-in-all, a couple of hours of my life I'll never get back, but it ends there."

"Yeah, besides, you gotta be ready to deal with my frustrating, psychotic behavior when it happens," Scoop joked.

"Ain't that the truth," Dave razzed back, a cocky smirk on his face. "Anyway, I want to concentrate on making some friends. Then, once finals are over, if it feels like someone I've met is my speed, I'll take it from there when that time comes."

"Sounds like a plan, Dave."

Dave nodded as his phone sprang to noisy life with an incoming call. Dave reached in to his pocket and checked the screen curiously before answering. "It's my dad," he noted aloud.

Scoop shook his head and pushed Dave's shoulder in a friendly manner. "I got the rest of these groceries. Go ahead and take your call."

"Thanks," Dave smirked and nodded, entering the living room and answering the call.

"Hello?"

"Hello, David," Paul's voice sounded through the telephone. "It's me, your dad. Are you busy? If I'm interrupting something, I can call back later."

"No, Dad, nothing really," Dave spoke into the phone, a clear, comfortable tone and expression; Dave always welcomed hearing from his father. "I just got in, but I'm not busy or anything right now."

"Well, okay. I want to talk to you then."

"Must be important. You just called Sunday night."

"David, your mother and I are separating. We'll be getting a divorce." The words came abruptly as if Paul needed to get them out of his mouth as quickly as possible.

Dave exhaled quietly; he was otherwise silent as the benign expression on his face fell to one of confusion and concern. It felt as if everything halted in that moment.

"David? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, Dad, sorry. I, uh, don't know what to say."

"There's not really much to say. Your mother and I, we're... just too different. We both understand that, and, well, we tried to work it out for three years now. It's just not working."

"This is because of me."

Dave could hear Paul inhale audibly over the phone, sounding as if he was aware of the delicate approach his response required. "David, it's not your fault."

"But this all started when I was in high school, when I came out. You and mom were fine before that."

"David, you can't change who you are, and you shouldn't feel any guilt for this."

"Yeah, and mom shouldn't feel the way she does about me, but just because she shouldn't doesn't make it so." Dave stopped for a moment to keep his voice from breaking. "Regardless of what I should feel, the guilt is there."

"David," Paul spoke softly and directly. "Your mom and I tried. I kept you out of conversion therapy, something she wanted. The fact that you were eighteen kept you out of getting sent away. I understand completely why you left for school and never looked back. David, I haven't seen you in over two years, not since Christmas break your first year of college. Don't think I don't know why, but also don't get the impression that I'm holding that or anything else against you. No rational person would put up with that situation."

Dave was quietly fighting tears, but it wasn't apparent in his voice. "So, you just couldn't make it work? Not even with me not being around?"

"It doesn't work that way. She couldn't love you for who you are. I couldn't love her for wanting you to be someone other than who you are. She doesn't love me because I don't share her point of view. That was only the start of things. You may have been part of the reason, the beginning of what made us realize these things, but you are not the whole reason, David. Everything that followed amounts to two people with differences that just can't be glossed over."

Silence passed. Dave inhaled as quietly as he could, trying to mask the sound of an audible sniffle. "Okay, I understand that, Dad," Dave finally spoke quietly, once again to hide his straining voice. "You know, I haven't talked to Mom since that Christmas break two years ago. If I called her, do you think that could change anything?"

"You shouldn't do that, David," Paul kept himself from sounding blatantly cautionary or pleading his cause outright. "It wouldn't change anything. What's happening with your mom and me was inevitable." It remained unspoken that he didn't want Dave talking to his mother; likewise, Dave's mother wouldn't have entertained such a conversation.

"Mm-hm," quiet, just barely detectable.

"I have something else I'd like to talk to you about," Paul began after a pause, his voice became softer, more approachable. "You're in your third year of school. You'll be finished next year, correct?"

"Barring anything unforeseen, yes," quiet still.

"I was wondering if you'd possibly consider coming back to Ohio."

"You mean, to stay?"

"David, I would, um, like it if there wasn't so much physical distance separating us."

Dave exhaled a labored noise. He interpreted his father's last sentence as his father's way of saying that he missed him. "Dad, I, um. Wow. My most recent memories of Ohio are not so good. The last time I was there, things with mom made the atmosphere toxic."

"But your mother wouldn't need to be part of your life, David."

Dave inhaled a wet-sounding breath. "There's more to it than that, Dad. I feel like this place is my home now. I came here knowing nothing about the place, and now I feel like I've kinda become part of it on some level, living here on my own and pretty-much taking care of myself. All my friends are here. If I went back to Ohio, I'd feel like I was starting over again in a place that wasn't exactly friendly to me before."

"I understand, David," his father was quick to answer. "Well, maybe once your schoolwork and finals are done for the spring, I can come out and visit you. Or you could come out here and stay with me for a while. I'll pay your airfare."

This wrung an uncertain smile from Dave's face as he nodded. "That actually sounds good, Dad, either one or both. I'd really like to see you."

"I want to see you too. I didn't mean to stress you or make you feel pressured into anything before, but I just wanted to ask, that's all."

"No, it's okay, Dad."

"As difficult as the news about your mom and me is, you needed to be told and I was just doing that," Paul added. "It's going to be better for both of us."

"Mm-hm."

"Well, I don't want to keep you on the phone, David," Paul spoke, sounding upbeat but forced as if forcing a smile. "If you want to talk or just want to say hello, please call. I always appreciate hearing your voice."

"Okay. Same, Dad."

"Goodbye, David."

"Bye."

Dave was still holding the phone to his ear when a tone signaled that his father had ended the call. Dave slowly lowered the phone from his ear and unsteadily lowered himself to the couch.

"Dave?" Scoop spoke softly but still jarring in the early-evening quiet of the apartment, standing at the threshold between the kitchen and the living room.

"Hey," Dave uttered as he raised his head and addressed Scoop. That Dave was quietly upset was obvious.

"Um, I wasn't listening in or anything, but from what I could hear from sound of your voice in the other room, it didn't sound like a good conversation," Scoop's words were measured and self-conscious.

Dave shook his head and pitched himself forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "It wasn't a good conversation. My parents are splitting."

Scoop entered the room and sat next to Dave on the couch, placing his hand on Dave's shoulder. "Sorry to hear that."

"My dad said that it couldn't be avoided," Dave swallowed audibly.

"Is there anything I can do, man?" Scoop tilted his head, facing Dave whose eyes were focused downward into the carpet. "I mean, I know you don't talk about your folks a whole lot. I know you talk to your dad every Sunday pretty-much. You get birthday and Christmas cards from them. Other than that, I don't remember you ever saying much about your mother. I guess I just assumed that you weren't really that close with your parents. I mean, the only time I remember you even going back home to visit them was the first Christmas break from school. That was a couple of years back. That's a long time for you not to have seen them."

At this, Dave faced downward, tucked his chin to chest, and closed his eyes tightly. He inhaled, loud and wet-sounding as his mouth pulled into a pained scowl.

"Dude, are you okay?" Scoop spoke, soft but urgent,

"No, I am definitely not okay right now," Dave replied, quiet and scratchy-sounding, words forced through a thick throat.

Scoop gripped Dave's shoulder tighter in support, security, and Dave winced as if to shake him off; Scoop responded by reaching his arm further, to Dave's opposite shoulder, and pulling him tighter. Dave fought the motion futilely for a moment before succumbing to the gesture, shrugging and raising and dropping his arms, almost childlike.

"If you gotta get it outta your system, just let it out. I'm here for you, Dave. How many times have I cried on your shoulder, and about stuff that was way less important?"

Dave inhaled loudly again. Raising his chin and shaking his head slightly: a pained expression. "I never told you, but things were bad for me back in Ohio. I was outed my senior year of high school, and it was awful. I had to quit school and finish out the year going to a private tutor and taking a GED exam. My dad supported me through all of that, but my mom couldn't handle the fact that I'm gay. It was everything I could do to finish out that time in Ohio and get myself outta there. When I went back to stay with my parents that first Christmas break, I couldn't stand being at that house. My mom basically wouldn't acknowledge me, like she wanted me to choose not to be gay if I wanted to be considered as her son, which is something that I obviously can't do."

Dave's breathing seemed to regulate and his demeanor became more stable. Scoop remained silent next to him, but nodded: a gesture of understanding which Dave could detect in the periphery of his vision.

Dave's breaths were loud and deep, significantly calmer than the quicker, panicked-sounding breathing of a few minutes earlier. "You know, I honestly thought that me being all the way out here was going to be better for them, that they'd get along better without me being so close, without my presence being a reminder of the friction between them and pulling them in different directions. Those Christmas and birthday cards I get from my mom? She never forgets that kinda stuff. I guess I maybe took that as a sign that, without me being physically around, they were getting along okay, like, they felt like a family again in my absence."

"I'm not a parent yet," Scoop began. "I can't imagine what anything like this feels like from that perspective. I do know that your dad calls you every Sunday night, and that you look forward to talking to him when he does. From that I'd guess that there's nothing about you that your dad disapproves of or finds disappointment with."

"I feel so bad for him."

"I know you do, man, but he probably feels a lot worse about having to tell you about the situation between him and your mom than he feels about splitting up with your mom. I mean, your parents probably tried everything to make it work. Your dad has probably come to the realization that there's no working it out. I doubt that he's happy about it, but he's probably feels at least some sense of moving forward."

Dave nodded, an exhausted expression.

"You know, Dave, maybe this will bring you and your dad closer," Scoop offered.

Dave nodded, composed but still serious. "He suggested maybe I move back to Ohio after I graduate next year."

Scoop nodded. "Do you think that's something you might want to do?"

"No. If I did it, it would be because he wanted me to do that. I mean, I'm sure I could make that work and even possibly be happy doing it, but it really wasn't anything I was planning or even a thought I was entertaining for my immediate post-college life."

"You don't hafta make that decision now, though," Scoop reminded. "A lot can change in a year."

The two sat nearly silent for a time as Dave's breathing calmed. Scoop lowered his arm to rest both forearms on his knees, a posture much the same as Dave's.

"Does this change plans for tomorrow?" Scoop asked quietly. "I mean, we could still have everyone over for dinner. Otherwise, no one knows about the talk you had planned."

"No," Dave answered, dour but purposeful. "Honestly, the sooner the better. Maybe I feel I gotta do this and move on from it the same way Dad feels like he has to move forward with his situation."

Scoop summoned a near-smile. "Well, you have until tomorrow to change your mind. You know I'm behind you a hundred percent on this." Scoop was ready to add to that statement before thinking about what he'd said and exclaiming, "Oh, geeze, that did not come out right at all."

Dave 's face broke a grin.

"Dude, I am sorry; I'm not trying to make a joke outta this," Scoop scrambled.

Dave shook his head, sounding a quiet chuckle. "Dude, I'm laughing. Two minutes ago I was crying, and you just made me laugh."

Scoop stood, a slightly embarrassed expression. "You gonna make that buffalo-chicken dip tonight so you don't hafta rush around and make it tomorrow when I've got the kitchen occupied?"

"Yeah," Dave answered, slow, still a trace of a smile on his face. "But it's still early. Maybe I gotta recover a little from the emotional events of the last few minutes."

"I'm gonna go grab myself a beer. You want one?"

The laughter had left Dave's face which displayed an uncertain scowl as he looked forward to the floor, presumably in thought. "Yeah. What the hell? Grab me a beer too."

Hello there. You've reached the voicemail of Dave Karofsky, you lucky dog. I can't take your call right now, but if you leave a message, I'll call you back as soon as I can.

John disconnected the call before the tone sounded; it had gone directly to voicemail meaning that either Dave wasn't taking calls or he had his phone powered off. Either way, it saved him from him from actually speaking to Dave and magnifying the nervous tension he felt at the situation.

And John simmered. Even Dave's outgoing voicemail message sounded adorable to him.

And he hadn't planned to call Dave. That is, until after Louis cornered him on Sunday morning after the second church service to ask him if he'd seen Dave again. It wasn't any direct persuasion on Louis' part, but the conversation did serve to kick an already confused thought process into a higher gear.

"So, did you try giving that guy you went out with another call?"

"Oh, yeah," John answered. "We went out yesterday for burgers. I have you to thank for that, by the way." John's sarcasm was so slick that it was lost on Louis.

"Oh, nice," Louis smiled, genuine. "How'd it go?"

"Ah, just explosive," John shook his head, a forced smile on his face.

Louis smiled wider. "Fireworks then?"

John's face went stony. "No. Explosive as in nuclear-bomb-explosive, as in doomsday. End of story."

Louis' brow creased and his mouth fell open, aghast. "No! What happened?"

"I struck out, okay? One date. Three strikes. I'm out."

"How come?"

"I'm a fuckup, okay?"

Louis' face pained. "Ouch. I never heard you talk like that. That's not you at all."

"Listen: it is me. You just don't know me."

"Seriously," Louis calmed, speaking more softly, "What happened?"

John paused before speaking, collecting his thoughts. "I was a mess going into the damned thing. Way worse than before. I had Mandy and Katie both giving me advice, then you, more rational advice but no more usable in the hands of a fuckup like myself."

Louis shook his head. "What about Mandy and Katie?"

"Oh, Mandy wants to marry me off, somehow idealizing the monogamous gay partnership as the highest form of love. Katie just wants me to get laid, as long as she gets a graphic postgame analysis." John's voice calmed. "I can see you want me to be happy in whatever form that takes. And I appreciate it. I feel like I should be apologizing to you, though."

"Why?"

"How many seasons can you root for a losing team before you just don't care anymore."

"Aw, be quiet. You're not a loser! What went so wrong?"

"I went into it like I was looking for a boyfriend or something. Sound familiar, like advice somebody might have given me? I guess I told him I wasn't sure on what I wanted, and then I said something totally insane like I wanted a fairy-tale romance or something. Gawd, that must've sounded thirteen-year-old schoolgirl pathetic. Then, failing that, I thought I'd try for the easy roll-in-the-hay, and he turned me down."

"That sounds like only two strikes," Louis noted, grave; his eyes narrowing, serious.

"Oh, yeah. I really did it up for my last strike. When I basically threw myself at him and he turned me down, I got all fucking angry, stood up, walked away, and left him there. I don't even think I said 'goodbye' or anything. I just stood up and walked. And that was after he said that he would see me again, so, even if that was true when he said it, I kinda totally fucked it up by copping an 'I'm-better-than-that' attitude. Is that fucked thoroughly enough for you, Louis? Is it?"

Louis was silent, looking downward, avoiding eye-contact with John.

"I feel like I made such a fool out of myself for this guy"

"Maybe you need to stop listening to your friends," Louis finally offered, quietly.

John's expression became pointed. "Including you, the guy with all the answers?"

"Yes," Louis responded, louder, hands up and defensive. "Including me. If something I suggested made you do something that you now regret, I am truly sorry about that."

John's expression twisted further. "Oh, you think 'sorry' gets you off the hook that easily?"

Louis lifted his head, silent, stunned expression, to meet John's face.

"I look up to you!" John sounded nearly accusing, almost hysterical. "You're like a mentor to me in so many ways!"

Louis' eyes locked on John's; his face was sober, unemotional. "If my suggestion to you turned out to be bad advice, I'm really sorry about that. I'm only human. I'm not infallible. The things I told you were based on the impressions I was getting from you. It seemed like this was something you wanted. Maybe you need to figure out what it is that you want. I won't offer you any more advice, okay?"

With that, Louis turned and walked away leaving John standing alone in the church courtyard.

John had fucked up on Saturday where Dave was concerned. John had fucked up on Sunday with Louis. He'd never seen Louis reach the limit of his patience before; but he knew his friendship with Louis was stronger than that: ultimately it was going to be okay. Maybe he thought the same of his situation with Dave. Maybe that's why he tried to call him.

John thought about what he wanted, what he was looking for in Dave. Louis suggested that doing as much might be beneficial for him. Dave's last words to John had left the door open. John wasn't foolish enough to think that he had any greater idea what he wanted at that moment other than he was lonely and alone and thinking about Dave. In that moment, human contact with someone who made him feel good was really all he was looking for.

"You guys have the most incredible get-togethers. The food was as amazing as ever."

"Thanks Tony, but if you're referring to any of the grilled stuff, all of that credit goes to Scoop," Dave replied adding, "And Chelsea brought the mini Thai tacos."

"Those were awesome," Buke chimed as the other dinner guests, pushing occasionally-though-politely, made their way into the living room area to find seats on the furniture or the floor.

There were a number of large floor-pillows at various places around the room, and people were making themselves comfortable, falling into groups and chatting, drinking post-dinner drinks: Scoop had made some coffee and a couple of people were enjoying that option, but most of the diners could be seen with a bottle of beer in their hand or a glass of red wine. It was Wednesday, a weeknight, and the gathering was likely to disperse within the hour, but for the moment, everyone was enjoying the warm after-dinner atmosphere. A couple of the guys had broken off from the main group in the living room, making their way toward the kitchen.

Chuck and Jack pushed their way past Tony and Dave toward the door to the deck. "We're going out on the deck to..." Chuck spoke, raising his hand to his mouth in a universal gesture indicating that something would be smoked; the gesture caused Buke to follow. "Any of you other guys in?"

Dave and Tony smiled and laughed, declining the offer, as Scoop deposited some of the used plates and silverware into the sink.

"Did you have one of my burgers, Tony?" Scoop called over his shoulder in Tony and Dave's direction.

"Yep," Tony answered. "Awesome as always, but Meghan had some of that salmon you made. I snagged some of that, and it was insanely delicious."

Scoop smiled. "Thanks. That was the first time I made that honey-ginger salmon, but I think I'll be doing that again based on the reactions tonight."

"Guess we should head into the living room," Scoop suggested as he turned away from the sink. "That's where everyone else is."

At the suggestion, Dave, Tony, and a few other people who were scattered in the immediate area slowly filed into the living room, mixing and finding places with the people who were casually convened into loose groups.

Music was playing at a comfortable background volume. Tony lowered himself to the floor in the vicinity of Zack, Robbie, and Ronk. Zack and Robbie were members of the band which Scoop managed, Zack being lead singer and guitarist while Robbie played lead guitar; Ronk was their soundman who'd also built a reputation as a DJ, sometimes spinning music between the bands' sets. Tony was the band's drummer, and Chuck, presently outside on the deck with friends Jack and Buke, was the band's bassist.

At the opposite side of the room, beginning at the far side of the couch, were Chelsea, Meghan, Shelly, and Emily: Chelsea, Meghan, and Shelly were the girlfriends of Chuck, Tony, and Ronk respectively whereas Emily, currently single, had previously dated Scoop and Jack at different times.

"You still going through with this?" Scoop mumbled over Dave's shoulder as they stood to one side of the livingroom, near the entranceway.

"Yep."

"You just gonna, like, jump right in?"

Dave chuckled and turned to address the concern in Scoop's eyes. "Yeah, pretty-much, but I wanted to wait until Jack, Buke, and Chuck came back inside from their toke-fest."

"You don't seem nervous."

"I can't be nervous about this. Even if I am, I don't want to be. It's not like these are the first people I've come out to, but, yeah, it's the first time in front of a group like this." Dave looked again at Scoop. "Dude, you look more nervous than I feel. Just mellow-out. Everything's gonna be okay."

Scoop nodded, wordless as Buke, Chuck, and Jack stepped slowly, jerky and self-conscious, into the living room. Chelsea stood from her seat on the couch and pulled Chuck downward into the space she'd occupied, taking a seat on his lap and flapping her hands playfully against his head as he responded with a confused laugh. Jack and Buke sat, almost dropped themselves actually, onto the floor centrally between the two groups.

"Everyone have a good dinner?" Dave spoke from his side of the room, clearly but perhaps not quite loudly enough to avoid it from being partially absorbed into the background music. He reached for the remote control and lowered the volume level on the stereo. While doing so he heard some of the guests voicing affirmative responses to his question. Dave faced the room again and nodded, a pleasant expression: approachable, on the edge of a smile. Scoop stood within arm's reach beside him.

"You people have been my friends, most of you at least, for almost the whole time I've been in Portland, which is almost exactly two-and-a-half years," Dave began, and in doing so, realized that he had everyone's attention, though divided it might have been in some cases as Chuck made goofy faces at Chelsea, Ronk appeared to be occupied with his phone, and, though facing toward Dave, Jack's mind seemed to be focused elsewhere. "Everyone here is somebody that I consider to be my friend, in some cases, best friends; and I want to get something clear in case anyone should be wondering about me and some of the people that I have brought around in the past or people that I might be hanging with in the future. I'm gay, and I hope that doesn't change the way any of you feel about me or the way that any of you relate to me."

Other than the murmuring sounds coming from the hushed stereo system, the room was quiet, wordless. Dave didn't move but let his eyes scan the room, face-to-face. Some appeared stunned, some appeared unaffected. The moment felt absurdly long.

"Um, uh," Jack began, "does that mean that, like, you and Scoop are, like, together?"

Dave rolled his eyes, feeling near relief, almost breaking a smile as Scoop's eyes widened on the suggestion.

"I mean, it's cool if you are and everything," Jack continued.

Dave shook his head. "Nah, Scoop and I are just roommates. Nothing else going on there."

"Fuckin' shit," Emily almost yelled, a sour expression. "Isn't anyone around here normal anymore? You people all gotta be some kinda freak?"

"Whoa, that's rich," Zack called from the other side of the room, "the chick with tats up both arms and pierced, studded lips is calling someone a freak just because of who he wants to sleep with?" Robbie, who was seated beside Zack, had become wide-eyed, and a confused, nearly frantic expression overtook his face.

"Hey, shut up," Emily shot back in Zack's direction, "this isn't about you."

"No?" Zack countered. "Dave's my friend, so I think it is about me. I think it's kinda about anyone who's friends with us, and I thought you were our friend too."

"This ain't cool, man," Chuck sat up from his slumped position on the couch, almost pushing Chelsea from his lap. "Dave, man, what the fuck?"

Dave opened his mouth to answer, but Scoop spoke first. "What do you mean, Chuck?"

"I mean," Chuck paused, gathering his hazy thoughts, "dudes with other dudes is just fucked-up."

"Oh, and it's okay for you to watch girl-on-girl porn like you do all the time?" Buke shot back to Chuck with a sarcastic grin.

"Fuck off, Buke," Chuck spoke, sounding unaffected by the revelation, "what I do on my own time is no one's business but mine."

"And who Dave chooses to date or sleep with is no one's business but his," Tony spoke, confident, at a conversational level.

"Hey, I wasn't brought up to believe that two dudes together is okay," Chuck was slowly rising from the couch as his voice increased in volume.

"And you were brought up to think that chick-on-chick porn is cool?" Buke reminded again.

Chelsea rolled her eyes, annoyed, "Yeah, he has that stuff on the TV while we're in bed."

"Hey!" Chuck protested, loud, "You're not supposed to mention that!"

"Well, I guess his trust-fund supplyin', CEO dad who's on trophy wife number two would be okay with chick-on-chick porn, but would he approve of his kid smoking weed like there's no tomorrow?" Zack queried.

"Hey, keep my dad outta this!"

Chelsea's expression, which seemed to mask a simmering rage for a minute, exploded along with her voice. "Dammit, Chuck, you brought your dad into this by giving some lame excuse about the way you were brought up when this is really just another case of your spoiled-rich-kid, need-to-control-shit-even-when-you-can't-buy-someo ne-off, life-of-privilege bullshit."

"Stay outta this, Chelsea!" Chuck shot back.

Both he and Chelsea were standing, and she was backing him toward the hallway with an occasional shove as she began to deliver a rapid-fire, unintelligible string of words and verbal attacks. He occasionally yelled her name in an attempt to drown her out.

"I'm outta this freakshow," Emily exclaimed as she stood from her chair, gulped her wine glass empty, and stomped toward the door.

"You sure you wanna leave?" Scoop called to Emily futilely; Emily turned and flipped Scoop the middle-finger before walking through the apartment door and slamming it behind her.

Scoop turned to Dave, worried; Dave faced downward, his face displaying a hint of a smirk before he raised his hand, covering his mouth. Chelsea's voice, now distant, originating muffled from somewhere down the hallway, possibly in the bathroom, was more frantic than before, accentuated regularly with shouts of her name from a cornered Chuck.

"Dave," Zack's voice snagged Dave's attention and caused him to raise his head.

"Zack?" Dave replied.

Zack held out his right hand, offering it to Dave. Dave took it as Zack held and shook firmly.

"I'm cool with you, man," Zack spoke, "changes nothing."

"Thanks," Dave smiled and almost laughed nervously though he was warmed by the gesture while shouts continued to be heard from the hallway.

"Chuck's an ass, and Emily's a fuckup," Zack continued. "You're okay."

"Hey, Dave," Tony approached with Meghan by his side; like Zack, Tony offered his right hand and Dave took it. "That couldn't have been easy, dude, but you're the same guy you were ten minutes ago, and you're alright by me."

"Thanks, Tony, it means a lot coming from all of you who are alright with this."

With that, Tony raised both of their hands and thumped them against his chest, a gesture of solidarity among friends.

When Tony dropped his grip on Dave's hand, Meghan approached and reached upward to hug Dave.

"Dave," Meghan whined, just over a whisper into Dave's ear. "Like Tony said, that couldn't have been easy." With that, she turned and kissed Dave's cheek, bringing an immediate smile to his face. As she dropped her hold, Meghan addressed Dave's face straight-on. "We care about you Dave. If you need anything or need to talk to anyone, we're here for you."

Dave smiled again, wider this time. "Thank you. That means so much."

"Heh-hey!" Buke interjected as he, Jack, Ronk, and Shelly approached, Ronk's arm locked around Shelly's. "Got nothing to worry about with me, Dave," Buke continued, "I can't speak for anyone else, but..."

"Nah, Dave's cool," Jack interrupted. "How many times has he saved me from getting my ass kicked because I got too fucked up and tried to pick a fight with someone."

Dave snickered. "That's 'cause we're friends, man. That's what friends do."

"Yeah, friends are also supposed to accept of each other for who they are," Buke added, sarcastically, nodding over his shoulder in the direction of Chelsea's and Chuck's shouting match, still very apparent.

"Aw, he can go fuck off for all I care," Zack spoke. "This is just so typical of his bullshit. He starts shit like this at practice if some small, insignificant thing doesn't go his way, and there's always a Chuck shouting-match followed by a period of pouting before we can pretend that things are normal again."

Tony laughed in agreement. "Maybe if he gets all of his screamin' and whining out of his system tonight, we might actually have a melodrama-free practice tomorrow."

Zack nodded and chuckled.

The shouting ceased and the gathering turned their attention to the hallway to see Chuck, red-faced and angry-looking, emerge, stomp toward the door, and let himself outside, leaving the door ajar, never facing the remainder of the group during his exit. Chelsea followed, turned her head toward the door momentarily, but kept walking toward Dave and the other guests.

"He and I are going to have a serious talk about this on the way home," Chelsea snapped, pointed, as she leered toward the door for a moment before addressing Dave directly.

"Really?" Dave spoke quietly, "You'd do that for me?"

"Definitely," Chelsea said with icy defiance in her tone. She reached upward to give Dave a peck on the cheek and a smile. "I'm sorry about Chuck. He'll be better-behaved next time." Chelsea backed away to address the rest of the room. "Have a good night, everyone." With that, Chelsea, with an unexpected grace and poise, exited the apartment in the direction from which Chuck had left moments before.

"Dude," Ronk said from where he stood, clutching a ceramic mug of coffee, "Hey Karofsky, whatever makes you happy, cheers!" With that he drained his cup of coffee and widened his stance. "Seriously? I've DJ-ed enough crazy, chemically-fueled events to know that guy-on-guy sex is one of the more normal things I'm ever likely to see."

This caused Dave to laugh aloud, "Man, I really don't wanna know," and Shelly's reaction was to punch Ronk playfully in the chest.

"Seriously, though," Ronk continued, "I'm into girls, but there's nothing wrong with a dude who digs guys."

"Thanks, Ronk," Dave responded. "Out of all these people, I kinda just barely know you and Shelly."

"Makes no difference: right is right," Ronk answered as he shook Dave's hand and Shelly reached around to pat Dave's shoulder.

"So, like, I gotta ask," Buke spoke as Shelly lowered her arm from Dave's shoulder.

Dave turned his head, bemused, "Yeah, Buke?"

"So, when you say gay, um, you don't act like what I think of as gay. Because you, like, play basketball, and you like watching dumb action movies, and you'd have seemed kinda out-of-place in that huge crowd when I was working security last time Gaga was in town. I mean, you come off like you're a regular dude. Is that all a cover or something?"

Dave gave Buke a sidelong glance accompanied with a sarcastic grin. "Guys, it's still me. There's no cover. I am who I am. Just because I'm into dudes doesn't mean I'm going to all of a sudden become this guy you've never known before."

Zack nodded at Dave. "That's true. I mean, I look at you and it doesn't exactly fit with the profile of any of the gay guys I've ever known in PDX. Will and Grace and that show about those dancing, singing high school kids didn't prepare me for this really, but maybe that's a good thing. Hey! Think we can use this for song material maybe?"

Dave shook his head. "I'd rather you not," he spoke dryly but with the humor to assume that it was a joke.

"Are you gonna stop throwing these kickass food shindigs?"

"No," Scoop and Dave answered in unison.

Zack shrugged. "Then I got nothin' to complain about. Hey, and I think I might know a guy that's perfect for you."

Dave waved his hand. "Nah, that's alright. I'm not lookin' for anything serious right now." Truthfully, the thought of his friends trying to play matchmaker for him made him uneasy.

"Hey, what happened to Robbie?" Scoop spoke, craning his head around.

"I think he kinda slipped out when the Chuck-storm happened," Tony offered.

"Huh?" Zack spoke, confused. "He was sitting right beside me when Dave was talking."

"Yeah, and you didn't see the look on his face," Jack interjected. "Looked like he was totally weirded out by everything. Wouldn't be surprised if he just snuck out when he found a window of opportunity."

"Well, it certainly changed the atmosphere here," Dave spoke, "but I felt I needed to get that all out in front of you people."

"At least it didn't cast some kinda gloomy pall over the evening," Tony expanded.

"Well, school night for me tonight," Meghan spoke, nudging Tony.

"Yeah, me too," Tony seconded and the others nodded and mumbled in agreement.

"We should probably get on our way also," Ronk said as he pulled Shelly close to him and both motioned their eyes toward the door.

"Well, thank you all for coming over and being cool about everything," Dave spoke, expressing gratitude without sounding excessive.

"Well, you did it the right way," Buke snarked, "Lure us over here with food and we'd be cool with anything."

"I'll remember that," Dave snarked in return, pointing and smiling.

"Hey, the weekend's comin' up," Zack reminded, turning back toward Dave and Scoop as he walked toward the door. "We'll hafta go hang out. Get trashed. Celebrate."

Dave's face puzzed. "Celebrate? Celebrate what?"

Zack's face drew blank as the entire room seemed to stop and listen, waiting for his response. "Um, celebrate you being you and us being who we are and, uh, I dunno, watching Chuck get his ass handed to him by Chelsea?"

The room fell into laughter and a few stray claps for a moment.

"You guys really don't like Chuck, I guess," Dave commented, slightly wary.

"He's a decent bass player," Tony answered.

"But what you saw here tonight is pretty commonplace," Zack completed Tony's statement as he slid the zipper on his hoodie upward toward his neck, "except that we rarely get the luxury of watching him storm out of the place like a man-child having a temper-tantrum."

"Yeah, it was kinda exquisite," Tony agreed, smirking and nodding.

The guests filed out of the flat, a few at a time; a few of the farewells were lengthy though unnecessarily so: anything that merited being said had already been spoken. In less than twenty minutes, Dave and Scoop found themselves standing in the vacated living room, surveying the scene of scattered pillows and empty bottles, glasses, and mugs.

"Well, looks like we have some cleaning up to do," Dave spoke after a span of silence, accompanied by the sound still softly-bubbling from the stereo.

"Hey, man," Scoop reached his hand to Dave's shoulder in support, "I'm sorry I didn't talk more, just that I was kinda stunned silent when all that stuff started to happen."

"It's okay," Dave reassured. "You spoke up when it was important, and I appreciated all of it."

Scoop exhaled, heavy. "Sorry that was such a fiasco."

Dave's face wrinkled as he half-grinned. "What are you talking about? That went way better than I thought it would."

"Really?"

Dave shook his head, still partially smiling. "Yeah, I mean, compare the ratio to what happened to me in high school, and I did way better tonight with these people. Heck, this was better than the way my parents took it, proportionately speaking. I'd say it was a success."

Scoop finally smiled, an expression that mixed relief with slight disbelief. "That's cool. I guess most of the people here, um, were okay..." Scoop's voice trailed off into a mumble momentarily. "Chuck's an ass," He finally said, speaking clearly.

Dave snickered, picking a handful of pillows up from the floor and placing them on the couch. "Zack and Tony said that was pretty normal behavior for him."

"Yeah," Scoop agreed, gathering glasses and mugs into his hands. "Rest of the guys in the band are pretty mellow. When Chuck doesn't get his way, though, he blows up and mopes."

"What about that Emily chick?" Dave reminded.

"Dah, she's just a psycho," Scoop replied.

"You went out with her," Dave spoke through a laugh.

"Yeah, that makes me qualified to judge her bat-shit craziness," Scoop reacted with authority. "Y'know," Scoop spoke, sounding somewhat thoughtful, "It was actually kinda cool to listen to Chelsea verbally ream Chuck's ass."

"Chel-SEEE!" Dave mocked Chuck's earlier behavior causing Scoop to succumb to a fit of laughter.

"Don't do that while I got breakables in my hands," Scoop pleaded jokingly between breaths.

Dave returned from his Thursday classes in the early evening. As he unlocked and opened the door to his apartment, he was surprised to find Scoop at home, sitting on the livingroom couch with his laptop opened and studying the screen with an expression of intensity (although, in all honestly, Scoop wore that same expression of extreme concentration whether he was doing research, studying for an exam, or watching a viral prank video).

"Hey, Scoop," Dave greeted, an air of confusion in his delivery. "I thought you'd be hanging with the band. It's practice night, right?"

Scoop raised his head from his screen wearing a comically asymmetrical half-smile. "No practice tonight. No bass player."

"What?" Dave asked, sitting in the chair near the couch.

Scoop snickered and his grin turned almost smug. "Chelsea kicked Chuck out last night, said she was fed-up with his crap. He called Tony to see if he could crash with him for a few days; Tony said no. He called Zack who laughed in his face. Chuck ended up crashing at Robbie's place last night, and Robbie reported back to the other guys saying that Chuck wouldn't stop bellyaching about how his girlfriend and his best friends let him down. So, depending upon whose story you hear, Chuck was either kicked out of Omnivore, or he quit Omnivore. Either way, it leaves Omnivore without a bassist."

"Holy shit," Dave mumbled. "All that because of me coming out to everyone last night?"

Scoop shook his head, facing the laptop screen but focusing on nothing in particular. "No, Dave. If Chuck was really friends with those guys, this wouldn't have happened. Whatever happened between Chelsea and Chuck goes way deeper than anything that happened last night, and what happened between Chuck and the rest of the band has been brewing for months. Last night might have brought everything to critical mass, but if it hadn't happened last night, it wouldn't have been long before it did. Believe me, neither Zack nor Tony are losing sleep over this, and it's just a matter of time before Robbie gets just as fed-up with him."

"Crap," Dave voiced, facing forward.

"And in case you were worried about Chuck, don't be," Scoop added, brighter. "He'll just hit his dad up like he always does, and he'll have a new apartment in no time. This just caught him off-guard." Scoop paused a moment before adding, "And it's a damned good thing this happened now rather than when we're in the middle of Europe or something. Could you imagine that: us being on the road in some foreign country and Chuck throws a hissy-fit and quits the band?"

"Oh, shit," Dave spoke as if snapping out of a torpor. "What are you guys gonna do about those shows in Germany? You guys were all so psyched about that."

"Dave, mellow-out," Scoop spoke calmly, attempting to placate Dave's sudden disturbance. "We have a few months to find a replacement. I've hung out with bands for years, and this kinda thing happens all the time. Everyone thinks that bands are, like, forever until you actually work with one. Then you realize that it's more like whoever happens to be in the room at the time is the band. I'm putting out ads, that's what I was doing when you came in. I figure, since the band is established, we shouldn't have too much trouble finding a replacement, even if it's temporary. We'll still be able to do the European dates. I mean, there are a ton of competent musicians who would happily tag along with a band to spend a few weeks abroad, hang out, and make contacts."

"I hope you're right," Dave spoke, sounding somewhat unconvinced.

"Zack and Tony are out hitting the clubs and bars tonight, probably as we speak, getting the word out that they need a bassist," Scoop informed as he turned back to his laptop screen.

"Uh-oh," Dave sounded mock-cautionary, "Are you sure they're actually looking for a bassist and not just out getting drunk?"

Scoop broke into a loud, choking laugh, and Dave followed likewise after a few moments. "You know us too well, Dave," Scoop managed to choke out between breaths and chuckles.

Scoop's laughter subsided, and he leaned against the back of the couch, winded from the moment's merriment. "You know, I was thinking," he began, addressing Dave with an exhausted smile on his face. "You remember last night when Jack asked if you and I were, like, a couple?"

"Yeah," Dave chuckled, exhausted as well.

"I was thinking that if someone thought that about me and you, it really wouldn't bother me if they did."

Dave's expression moved slightly from the remainder of laughter to a smile of near admiration. "Really?"

Scoop smiled and shook his head. "Nah, if someone assumed that you and I were together, it wouldn't bother me at all. Unless, of course, it was some hot chick whose pants I'd been trying to get into. Then it might bug me if she thought I was gay and taken."

Dave let out a hearty guffaw. "Scoop, you are incorrigible."

"You wouldn't have me any other way, Karofsky."

Dave exhaled loudly as he stood slowly from the chair. "Well, I'm gonna make some coffee because there's a fair amount of stuff I wanna get done tonight."

"Oh yeah, what are you up to?"

"Ah, just some school work and checking a few things online, looking at possible internships for the summer, stuff like that," Dave answered. "You want any coffee?"

"Nah, none for me," Scoop replied. "That'll just make me jittery, and I have no reason to be up late."

"Never stopped you before," Dave answered, muffled from the kitchen.

"Yeah," Scoop returned, a mock-agitated tone of voice, "and since when did anything ever prevent you from going to sleep?"

"Well, then, I guess we cancel each other out."

After some minutes in the kitchen, Dave retired to his bedroom, a large, insulated travel-mug of coffee in his hand. He booted his laptop and sat at his desk. As he had told Scoop, Dave planned to check ads for potential summer internships, and he did a small amount of school work to complete including a reading assignment. The first thing he did once seated, however, was something he hadn't done in months: he looked up some online dating sites and considered the various options.

John saved the current document to his fan-fiction folder although he hadn't written a damned thing. This was, it crossed his mind, the writing he did about which he declined to tell Dave when he was asked on their coffee-date, now almost two weeks ago. Fan-fiction. It just felt too lame to qualify as writing.

John kept his laptop open as he turned to the easel, the painting which he'd been working on half-complete. He reached downward and took a few tubes of paint into his hands, but the thought of working on it now didn't appeal to him: somehow it seemed too much work to unscrew the caps, dispense blobs of paint onto his palette, and brush smears of them onto the canvas. Besides, he knew he wouldn't be happy with anything he did right now. He'd reached a point where even his chosen methods of introspective expression and spiritual liberation would offer him no solace.

He knew he was craving human contact. He returned his attention to his laptop and muted the redundant pop-diva music which was gurgling from it. That wasn't working for him either; it was only serving to intensify his already-pronounced feeling of involuntary solitude.

Almost by routine, he clicked on the final tab in which he was logged onto bearhunter. He had a couple of messages from silverfox54 and rustycub93, but nothing he wanted to answer. He grimaced as he looked at a couple of pictures from silverfox, the more appealing of the two choices, and just shook his head with a sigh, then almost a laugh: the realization that someone like himself, someone so desiring of human interaction, could be particular while in his current state was curiously droll.

He felt a little dead on the inside. He knew what he should have done. He shouldn't have been so neurotic where Dave was concerned, he should have had some idea of what he wanted, and he shouldn't have let his hang-ups keep him from living. John rummaged around in his pocket for his cell phone and went to his contact list.

Dave's number: he felt the weight of the phone in his hand and felt the sudden urge to throw it against the wall. Dark feelings spread through him: rage at himself, desperation, isolation. He returned his eyes to bearhunter to see who was new. Maybe there would be...

He gasped.

John quickly deleted his account, glad he hadn't uploaded any photos. He backed away from the screen and left the room, still holding his phone, into the one area of the loft where there were windows. He opened a window to feel a cool breeze in an increasingly warm room. He kept starting a text to Dave, but couldn't finish it. Couldn't send it.

Dave had gone to bearhunter, an account not even a day old. His clouded thoughts failed the ability to rationalize that Dave owed him nothing: he felt at once the victim of loss and betrayal.