A/N: So, I have a wife now. BreeZombiee. Yeah, her fic inspired this and now we haven't stopped talking since and we think alike so we decided to get married. And we're totally adopting some Karomel/Kurtofsky/Kurve/Kave babies together. Yup, yup. So if you see Bree around, give her a shout out. She deserves it. ;D

Also: WHOA, THIS IS MY LONGEST CHAPTER FOR THIS FIC YET! And it's a little strange, so bear with me. This whole chapter just... spiraled out of control. I got inspiration from all over the place; remarks made in Chris Colfer interviews, shirts worn by the actors, my own little personal fetishes... yeah, don't ask. Whatever. Just read and enjoy, I guess. And please, PLEASE leave a review for this chapter; I need to know if i've screwed up this time. D:

Chapter 5.

An entire month passes by without much consequence. Kurt is a little proud of himself, because more than once he kept himself from saying a witty comment that could have made a conversation with Dave evolve from being civil to war-like. He was able to avoid any conflict by simply holding his tongue, and more than once he's caught Dave doing the same; opening his mouth, uttering a broken noise, and then closing his trap again.

It hasn't been easy, but they've made it a month in thus far, so it really can't be so awful to live together like each of them initially thought.

One interesting thing is that, within the first week, Dave and Kurt discovered that they share a single class: Thursday afternoon Economics 101, part of the business portion of college, and just part of good general knowledge every freshman should attain simply because they have to make their own living in the American economy now, as adults.

Also within the first week, Kurt had his first actually gentle encounter with Karofsky.

It had gone something like this, the Saturday of their first week of classes…

"Oh cool, my mom sent me some of my favorite LifeSaver mints," Dave remarks, tearing open a package with his name on it.

Out falls a bag of said mints, and Kurt glances back at his locked cabinet, because he still has his cookies and rabbit in there, out of the cardboard, of course, but only about two of the cookies missing. He hasn't had the chance to eat many of them just yet.

"Want a few?" Dave asks, and it's a curious thing, because Kurt's parents had forgotten to give him some mints like he requested in his e-mail, and yet Dave has some, and is offering them, and didn't even know what Kurt had asked for.

"Sure," Kurt replies with a smile. He catches one as Dave tosses it to him, and after unwrapping it, pops it in his mouth. The cool sweetness covers his tongue, distinctly Winterfresh Mint. Smiling broader and shifting the mint to the side of his mouth in his cheek, Kurt turns and unlocks his cabinet and slides back the little door. "Hey, do you want some snickerdoodles or peanut butter cookies? My stepmom sent them to me, but I'm not much one for sweets."

"Oh, sure," Dave says in surprise. He grins and holds out a hand while he sits on the edge of his bed. "Can I have a peanut butter one now, before I put a mint in my mouth?"

Kurt laughs. "Of course." And he scoops up by the bag, careful to close the cabinet built into his headboard so that the jock doesn't see his rabbit, and proceeds to crawl off his bed and come to sit beside Dave on his. He opens the Ziplock bag and holds it from the bottom, tilting it toward his acquaintance. "Here."

Dave sends him a look, one that Kurt can't figure out. Then he digs his hand in, finds a cookie with criss-crossed fork prints on it, and takes a bite. He sends a smile, one gentler than Kurt ever remembers being on Karofsky's face, and hears him say, "Tell your stepmom that she's a great baker."

And they sat there like that, striking up bouts of conversation while Dave played his iPod on his stereo, music like Liquido's 'Narcotic' and miscellaneous Blue October and Disturbed songs. The mix was strange but not unpleasant, and while they talked, Kurt found out a few things about Dave Karofsky.

Like how Dave's true love is hockey, because it's the only sport he feels he's good at, the only time he feels just a little bit graceful (Kurt's word for it, not Dave's; Dave made a face at such a girly term), and the one time when he can use his shoving skills for good instead of evil.

Like how Dave's favorite color has always been green, because unlike all of the shades of blue (blue is the most popular favorite color to have, surveys in the past have shown), green is more intense and can mean so many different things. To Dave, dark emerald green means jealousy, soft yellow-green means new life and new beginnings, pale minty green means fresh hope, and vibrant neon lime green means fun and excitement. To him, green makes up different parts of him; or, at least, this is what Kurt feels their conversation implies.

And like how Dave has always had a strange obsession with hands. He says they're the weirdest, most useful, and most attractive part of a person's body, and tells more about a person than their eyes do. You can assume someone's age by their hands, or how overweight they are, or how much work they've done in their life, all by their hands. "And," Dave admits quietly as he touches one of Kurt's knuckles with a finger, "You know… you have nice hands, Kurt. For a guy, I mean."

And something shifts in Kurt, because being complimented like that… it makes his stomach squirm. "Thanks… I guess."

The awkwardness after that is as thick as frozen margarine, the silence filled only by the sound of the mint in Kurt's mouth clanking against his teeth as he shifts it in mouth and the munching of the cookie in Dave's mouth. The music helps a bit, too, but not enough to clear the unsettling feeling between them.

Kurt decides to shatter the silence (once his mint is gone) by offering three facts about himself in return. He blurts out, "Sometimes I sleepwalk or sleep-eat or sleep-shop online, I used to be obsessed with Transformers, and despite popular belief, I'm not the biggest fan of pink, especially not any of the cotton-candy variety of shades."

Dave frowns before raising a brow in confusion, but as the meaning behind the outburst occurs to him, he smiles. "I never thought you'd like the color pink much, anyway. Gay or not, what guy loves pink? A guy is a guy, after all. And the Transformers? I loved them as a kid, too. Did you see the newer movies? What am I saying, of course you have. And as for the sleepwalking thing… I hope you don't sleepwalk out of the building, Hummel. I would hate to have to chase after you so you didn't hurt yourself. But that sleep-shopping thing is insane. Did you get in trouble for that?"

"Many times," Kurt declares with a short giggle born of embarrassment. "I've charged a few very meaningless things on my father's credit card by doing so. I once subconsciously bought a life-size cardboard cutout of Hugh Jackman from that Wolverine movie. I don't even like X-Men, or Hugh Jackass as my father refers to him as, and I immediately disposed of it by selling it to some girl with purple hair and a panda t-shirt on." He shakes his head. "I'm silly, aren't I?"

Karofsky smirks. "Completely."

Kurt hangs his head. "I know…"

"But… I'm worse. I'm not even 'silly.' I have no fun quirks. I'm just a jerk."

Kurt glances up. "But you're not being a jerk right now." He shifts uncomfortably away from Dave on the bed. "That is to say, at the moment… you're being relatively decent."

"It's only because you gave me cookies," Dave jokes. "But seriously, I have such asshole tendencies. Don't be surprised if I get mad at you, like, tomorrow for something random. It's just how I am." He rakes his nails through his hair, onto his scalp; a nervous tick of his. "So I guess… don't expect a lot out of me because of this, okay?"

"Oh, I wasn't planning on it. I know that you're a bully and a prick through and through," Kurt laughs, because he doesn't mean it. He can tell: somewhere in this dastardly fellow in front of him there's someone wholesome, a scrap of someone worthwhile. Now, if he can just unlock this magical version of Karofsky somehow… well, then, he won't have to worry about the remainder of the school year very much.

But enough about that. The moment passed, they parted again, and things went back to semi-normal. That moment had been something special, though. Something different. And Kurt would like to think that it's a sign of some sort, an indication that Dave might be able to be changed for good (not to quote Wicked again).

XXX

One night, things get ugly.

It's going on month number two, about a week into it in fact, when Kurt can't stand his roomie's mess any longer.

"Okay, I've tolerated it for a week now because I figured, 'Oh, school is rough, and sometimes even I can't keep up on my cleaning.' But this? This is ridiculous, Karofsky! When was the last time you did your laundry? It's scattered all over the floor, and I can barely find anything in the garbage messes you keep leaving on just about every flat surface! Where is your sense of hygiene? Your body is clean every day, sure, but what about your room? For example, do you see this?" Kurt holds up something in his latex gloved hands, and the item in question is unable to be identified as food, a wrapper, or a dirty sock. "I think this was an apple core at one point! Do you see my dilemma? I swear, this is like living with Pig Pen from Peanuts, but at least the little dust cloud that follows him around isn't cluttered with debris!"

During his rant, Dave had only been growing redder and redder with anger. And now, he finally explodes. He uses his height (what little there is left of it, since Hummel keeps shooting up like a beanstalk, damn him) against his opponent as he argues back, "We can't all be little neat-freak martyrs like you, Hummel! If you want it cleaned so badly, then fine, I'll do it! You don't need to nag me and bitch me out like my mother, okay? Why do you even think I haven't been picking up after myself? Because I figured, 'Hey, cool, my mom's not here to cuss at me for being messy! Hahaha!' And you know, I figured, with you as a roommate, you'd just keep it clean yourself. But fine, whatever; if I have to do it myself, I fucking will! Just stop yelling at me and I'll start! Look, here I go right now, ooh, and it's so impressive, isn't it? Such a relief that I know how to fucking pick up a trash bag and put shit inside of it!"

"Yeah, it truly is! Look at that; the desk surface is nearly visible!" Kurt mocks with false surprise. "At least now I can get more of my homework done without the place reeking of leftovers and dirty laundry. And would it kill you to dust around your shelves and whatnot, or at least clean your sheets? I swear, I can already feel myself developing dust mite allergies."

"Sure, fine, whatever! God, just get off my fucking back and I'll do it! I can't clean when you're standing over me like that, narrowing your fucking eyes and pursing your fucking lips, as if it'll make me move any faster!" Dave hisses back.

And round and round it goes.

But not half a week later, in their now-kept-immaculate dorm room, Dave gets up to go pee in the middle of the night. When he shuffles back to his bed, about to get into it again and resume sleeping, he glances briefly over at Kurt, just to get a glimpse, just to confirm something inside of himself.

Except as Dave does so, he notices something beneath Kurt's forearms where he lays on his back, his arms folded across the expanse of his chest. Dave drops the covers in his hand and steps over the short aisle between their twin beds to blink at the object, trying to place what it is in his hazy, sleepy brain.

It's… a rabbit. There are the ears, and those are the big hopping feet, and that's its little nose and its little beady green eyes, all illuminated in the streetlamp light peeking in through the window. A stuffed rabbit, old and worn with love, but seemingly clean (like everything else involving Kurt). Dave reaches down and slides the toy out from under Kurt's loose grip, turning it over in his meaty hands.

It's… adorable, and neutral-gendered, as if a little boy or a little girl could own and love this, straight or gay or not. And it smells overwhelmingly like Kurt, as if the boy had taken a piece of his essence and smothered the stuffed animal in it. Dave thoughtlessly returns the doll to its proper place. He could totally make fun of Kurt with sleeping with a toy rabbit as a college-aged young man, but… it wouldn't feel right. It feels far more intrusive than every poking fun at Kurt's sexuality or choice of after school activities.

So Dave drops it. He pretends he hadn't seen a thing, and acts as though he doesn't find Kurt Hummel completely and utterly charming for being sensitive enough to still crave the comfort of childhood and of home via cradling a stuffed toy to his chest at night.

And on that note, the jock does his business and then falls back into his bed and into slumber.

XXX

"So, who is she?" Kurt remarks with friendly, genuine interest as Dave says goodbye to some girl in the hallway and casually slips back into his dormitory room.

"Huh?" Dave poses, clueless as to what Kurt had just asked.

"I said, 'Who is she?'" he repeats with a laugh. "She was pretty. And she seemed less-slutty than the usual college girl type."

"Oh… yeah, I guess," Dave huffs. He drops down onto his bed, back hunched a bit. "She's a sorority girl. Her name is Amber." He wrinkles his nose. "She's way too thin. I could snap her like a toothpick. Why the fuck is she into me? All I did was accidentally ram into her when going to a class, and I felt bad since she totally fell right on her face, and I thought I'd just help her pick up her books since, you know, I don't like hurting girls and I wanted to make it up to her, but…" His eyebrows pucker. "She kept buggin' me. I think she wants me to ask her out."

"So why don't you?" Kurt mutters, and this is a test. He's waiting to see if Karofsky will even remotely hint that he's not into girls at all, and that he likes guys.

"Isn't it obvious? I'd crush her! I'm way too beefy for her. If I tried to kiss her, she's probably split in half. And I don't even want to think about how sex with her would work out," he snorts pessimistically. "Besides, she's a total ditz. She Kept blabbing on and on about Twilight and how cool it would be to date a vampire and then she tried to impress me, I think, by singing that 'A Thousand Miles' song, you know, the one with the girl on piano? Anyway, she tried singing, but she only succeeded in making my ears bleed. She sounded like a dying raccoon."

Kurt barely contains his laughter. He winds up snorting, and then deadpanning when he catches Dave cracking a smile at the piggy noise. "Um. I'm sorry to hear that," Kurt says. "But it seems to me that despite the fact that there is an entire sea of beautiful little girl fishies swimming up to your side, asking you to be theirs, you keep either scaring them off by flashing your shark teeth or you dismiss them completely. It's been almost three months now, Dave. Why haven't you dated any of these girls? They all have the hots for you, and you keep swatting them away like flies."

Dave stands tensely. "Are you implying that I'm not into chicks, Hummel? Are you trying to say that I'm like you?"

Kurt immediately loses his smile and his shaped eyebrows lower. "No. I was only teasing. But now that you mention it, maybe I am implying exactly that. These girls are throwing themselves at you – I know, I've seen it – and yet you keep turning them down, and once when you did say yes just last week, you stood the poor girl up!"

"That – I had something to do that time! That doesn't count!" He yells, and he pokes a finger to Kurt's chest. Kurt winces; that hurt. Dave goes on furiously, "Look, I don't have to explain myself to you, Hummel. I dig women, okay? I do! Don't look at me like you think you know better, because you don't. I could have any of those girls in a heartbeat if I wanted them. I could get it up over any one of them, because you're right, they are all hot. I just don't feel like it lately, okay? So leave me alone, faggot!"

And he shoves Kurt for good measure before storming out of the room and chasing after Amber. Maybe he should sleep with her, just to cool his jets, just to get lost in something for a while, and maybe if she rides him, she won't get broken, and it could work. It could. And then Dave could finally get rid of the morning woods he wakes up with every so often after another dream about the creamy-skinned boy across the room from him. And then Dave could be fucking normal.

But fuck, he can't do it. Halfway through the dorm building, Dave turns around, heads back a few steps, pivots on his heel, walks forward again, and then flips around one final time to retreat back to his room, his roommate, his rightful place.

Dave hates himself for doing this. Why can't he be strong and fight these feelings? Why is living with Hummel so much worse than missing him while he had gone to that homo-Hogwarts? And whywhywhy does Dave get the feeling that he's developing attachments that run deeper than lust or even friendship, something that skips over and merges both and feels like being trapped and free all at once?

When Karofsky re-enters the room, Kurt gives a startled jolt. He then puts a scowl on his face and chooses not to look the taller male in the eye. "What are you doing back? Did Amber change her mind?"

"No," Dave spits back, "I did. She really isn't worth it. But some girl will be soon, Kurt. Mark my words, I will get laid."

"No need to prove anything to me, David," Kurt tosses in riposte, "It's clear to me that you are very, very straight. In fact, your heterosexuality is starting to convert me. I can't believe I ever thought you were the one who kissed me back then; how foolish of me. I must have imagined it. You must have been correct after all; it must have been I who made the moves on you that time. So sorry, the misunderstanding won't happen again," he says callously, his voice seeping with sarcasm.

Rage boils and burns its way throughout Dave's blood and hardens his bones, his knuckles turning white as he clenches his fists. He quakes in his shoes, sorely tempted to grab Kurt, spin him around, and beat the daylights out of him.

But Karofsky refrains from doing so, because, really, what would that accomplish? He could do it – he could bruise Hummel's supple flesh effortlessly – but what would that solve? Kurt would only hate him more, their living situation would only worsen, and the tension would only skyrocket instead of dim down to a dull roar.

So instead, Dave kicks the foot of his bed – ignoring how it stings – and picks up his pillow and launches it at the wall before turning and punching his dresser. Kurt flinches each time a sound of impact reaches his ears, but he's grateful that Karofsky is choosing to take his aggressions out on the furniture and not Kurt himself.

When Dave is standing in the middle of the tightly packed room, Kurt turns to him with hands on his hips and asks, "Are you quite finished?"

Dave glares at Kurt and flips him the bird before bending back over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath and calm his adrenaline-pumping heart.

"Oh, real mature." He rolls his eyes and takes a step forward, and then another, until they are barely two feet apart. His hands fall to his sides. "David… please. Tell me why you do this to yourself. Tell me why you can't stand the thought of being homosexual. It isn't nearly as wrong or abnormal or rejected as you think."

"I'm well aware," Karofsky grunts gruffly as he stands up to full height. He stares down at Kurt with a peculiar look in his eyes. Something fiery, but comprehensive. "Okay? I know. I've seen it even at this school: gay guys and one lesbo couple who are openly displaying all their affection for each other, all smiles and glitter and rainbows. But that isn't me, all right? I'm not like that. I like horror films and video games and hockey and football and I hate shopping and looking perfect and being clean. By definition, I'm the prime example of a straight guy!"

"…You may fit the mold of society, yes, but what you feel is what you feel, David," Kurt replies a bit more kindly. He tentatively raises a hand and places it on his roommate's shoulder. Dave simply continues staring. "So you have to be honest with me: is society keeping you in a box? Are you actually gay? I won't tell if you are. I'll let you stay as far in the closet as you like for as long as you need to. But I want to know – no, I think I need to know, and have the right to, after all the grief you've caused me – are you gay?"

Those three final words make Dave wince plainly, and he finally breaks his gaze and allows his eyes to roam the room. He leans out of Kurt's touch, because the warm sensation is too much to bear right now.

Quietly, only heard due to their proximity, Dave Karofsky comes clean with a whisper. "Yes… I am."

And it hurts more than anything Dave's ever experienced to finally say it out loud, to himself, to someone else, and it aches so badly that Dave turns and flees the scene, marching out of the room with the posture of a man on Death Row.