A/N: IS IT PATHETIC THAT I CRIED WHILE WRITING THIS? D:
The very Dave-ish song that Kurt sings in this is 'Flawed Design' by Stabilo, BTW.
Chapter 6.
Dave checks into a Motel 8 after taking out his car and driving around town, wasting gas, for over an hour. He didn't put on the radio or a CD while he drove. He didn't do anything but sit in the silence and stew over his thoughts.
I can't believe it. I actually said it. Dammit, dammit! How dare he make me say it? It's like he has this damn control over me, pressuring me. He made me shove him, made me slushie him, made me kiss him, made me attracted to him, and made me confess what I really, really didn't want to confess, Dave grumbles mentally as he gnashes his teeth and grips the steering wheel with an iron fist.
Once he's in the motel room, he half-heartedly kicks at the air, chucks a pillow, comes crashing down on the mattress.
They have cleaning ladies here, but everything feels foul and as deep in the wrong as Dave had been in the closet until today. Well, in the closet with himself and someone else, anyway. He's still in it for the rest of the world.
"Tch," Dave scoffs, and forces himself off of the bed.
He wants to go drinking again. The burn of alcohol sounds appealing; something overpoweringly strong would taste best right now, something like vodka or whiskey. The latter preferably straight-up, in a shotglass. Yeah.
Sighing, Dave knows better. He really shouldn't. He's already not planning to go back to his dorm room tonight, and already planning not to go to school tomorrow. He doesn't have to call in sick in college. He can just sleep in and skip classes. His grade might drop, but he can bring it back up later. Right now, he doesn't want to see Kurt's face. He doesn't want to feel vulnerable again. If there is one thing the jock despises, it's feeling weak.
His father always told him to, "buck up, be strong, keep a stiff upper lip, and don't like nobody tell you anything different, because you're strong, David, you're strong."
His father is firm but kind, and if anyone, he might understand even a little what Dave is going through. He might be just a little bit accepting, perhaps a little supportive of Dave telling the truth.
The hockey player's fingertips twitch over his pocket. He could do it – he could pick up his phone, press the speed dial digit, and call home; he could confess to his father, too, since he's already down and doesn't think he can be kicked a peg lower on the Humble Ladder – but he doesn't. Like beating up Kurt, he knows it wouldn't be right. Not now, not yet. He can't come out to his dad (and only his dad, because his mother is a bit bipolar and scares the shit out of Dave) quite yet.
Maybe someday. Maybe soon.
Only as it stands right now, in this moment: Dave can barely wrap his own mind around his sexuality, let alone expect someone else to understand, or at all have the willpower to own up to it enough to tell someone else.
With a scowl, Dave turns and punches a bedpost. He isn't made for this. He's a bully and a coward, and that's all he'll ever be.
He should just move out. He should gather up all of his possessions while Kurt is away, at class, tomorrow. He should bring it all here and sacrifice his rent to pay for a motel room instead. Just to get away, just to escape his sexuality and the one person who knows, the one person who gets it because that one person is the exact same.
Except… how can Dave do that? How could he force his payment on Kurt, or be so much of a sissy that he doesn't show his face again?
"Be strong, David, be strong."
Maybe the strong thing is to face his fears; maybe it's to go back.
But not now. Not tonight. Dave's emotionally exhausted, and feeling too chill in the brisk air conditioning of the motel room.
So he turns down the air, slides between the grimy sheets, and attempts to sleep off his worries for a while; it's the next best thing to drinking.
XXX
Kurt debates with himself for a full ten minutes whether or not to go after Dave.
But in the end, he decides that Dave needs his space and is a grown nearly-nineteen-year-old young man, and can take care of himself.
Hopefully.
Maybe Kurt should check all the bars in town, just to make sure…
Shaking his head minutely, Kurt retreats to his bed and curls up in fetal position, his knees close to his chest, his head bowed. Music normally helps him at a time like this.
He attempts to sing a song, one that reminds him of his poor, conflicted roommate:
"When I was a young boy
I was honest and I had more self control
If I was tempted I would
Run…
Then when I got older I began to lie to get exactly what I wanted when I wanted it
And I wanted it.
Now I'm having trouble differentiating between what I want and what I need to make me
Happy…
So instead of thinking I just act before I have a chance to contemplate the consequence of
Action…
"And I will turn off
And I will shut down
Burying the voices of my conscience hitting ground.
And I will turn off
And I will shut down
The chemicals are restless in my head...
"'Cause I lie;
Not because I want to,
But I seem to need to all the time…
Yeah, I lie –
And I don't even know it;
Maybe this is all a part of my
Flawed design."
Kurt's voice wavers at the end and he sighs heavily. He doesn't know why – it could be any combination of a number of reasons – but Karofsky gets to him. He used to get to Kurt solely on the basis of being a bully, getting under Kurt's skin with words that he tried to brush off, with threats and pranks and general harrassment. He used to get to Kurt like no one else could, simply because he was what made Kurt dread school every day.
But now, as Kurt's roommate, as a fellow homosexual… Karofsky gets under Kurt's skin in a different manner entirely.
The soprano asked the jock before: "What are you so scared of?"
He meant it as, 'why are you such a homophobic jerk?'
But now it means something else. Now, Kurt wants to ask the same question, only this time, he knows it will mean, 'why are you so afraid of being gay?' What's so terrible about it in Dave's mind? Dave hadn't answered directly; he only admitted his darkest secret, but he failed to explain why it's such a godawful secret to have.
An idea occurs to Kurt. Perking right up, he whips out his cell phone and surfs down his contact list to the D's. Within the third week of rooming together, they decided to swap numbers, if only to save some time and schedule confusion and to alert one or the other if one of them was going to stay out late.
Kurt clicks on Dave's name and lifts his phone to his ear, licking his lips to help wet his dry mouth. It rings four times before Dave answers.
"Kurt," Dave mumbles, sounding half-asleep, but thankfully not drunk. "I don't want to talk right now."
"Then why did you even answer the phone?" Kurt responds with a smile he doesn't even realize is effortlessly making its way onto his lips. "Besides, you can't hide forever."
"I've only been gone, like, two hours tops."
Kurt lifts his chin crossly. "Going on three, actually." Ad he doesn't know why it bothers him so much; Karofsky being Karofsky isn't nearly half as annoying as Dave being Karofsky. In Kurt's mind, Dave is the roommate he gets along with, and Karofsky is the same bully that he's always disliked. And as it stands, Kurt wants to speak with Dave and talk to Dave about Dave's problems, not deal with Karofsky's rudeness.
"Whatever, Hummel. What do you want?" Karofsky rumbles lowly.
"I want you to come back. I don't know where you are right now, but you sound sober, and that's a start. Please, Dave. I'm highly opposed to pleading or begging of any sort, but I'm prepared to do just that if you don't immediately comply. I understand how you're feeling and all, Dave, but this isn't the time to sulk. We need to talk. And you know that we do."
"I don't want fucking anything to do with you, Hummel! Just leave me alone." And the phone is disconnected out of nowhere, and Kurt hisses like a cat at how irksome his roommate is being, but he knows that no hang up on the phone is going to yield him. So Kurt calls Karofsky back, this time it taking eight rings, just about to go to voicemail, so Kurt hangs up and calls again. It's another five rings before the jock answers again. "God damn it, Hummel! What?"
"Where are you?" Kurt questions right off the bat.
"A Motel 8. Why? What does it matter?" Karofsky grumbles.
"It doesn't. Sorry for bothering you again. See you later," and Kurt is the one to end the call this time, probably leaving Dave stumped. Well, good. He needs to be stumped for a while.
On his phone, Kurt searches for the nearest Motel 8. There's one halfway across town, but not too terribly far.
A light drizzle starts to fall on the dim September evening as Kurt rushes outside in an airy but fashionable jacket, a navy umbrella to match lingering above his head as he fumbles for his car keys. The keys slip from his moist fingers and fall onto the damp pavement. "Shit." He bends down, scoops them up, and the rain gets harder. He plops down into his car, checks his phone one last time for directions, and then drives.
It takes approximately half an hour (well, twenty-eight minutes) through rainy, dismal traffic (tons of people rushing home from work while trying not to skid on the wet roads) to the Motel 8. As he comes inside, his hair dripping onto his forehead as he shakes out his umbrella, he goes up to the counter and asks the woman who's behind it, "Um, excuse me, but do you know which room David Karofsky is staying in? He's a friend of mine, and I wanted to pay him a surprise visit." And he sends the girl one of his award-winning smiles.
She grins back. "Oh, sure!" she says, clearly unable to resists his adorably good looks. She's young, in her early to mid-twenties. She has a nose piercing, a sparkly lavender fake-diamond, and her hair is in a layered pixie cut. "He's… in room number twelve, to the left; um, I mean, your right. Would you like a spare cardkey?" she winks.
Kurt flushes minutely. "No, no; barging in is rude. I'll knock. Thanks, though!" And with one last smile he dashes off in the direction she mentioned.
Number seven… number nine… number eleven… He glances to the opposite side. There it is: number twelve.
Taking in a deep breath, Kurt knocks strongly on the door. He feels wet and a little chill and all he wants to do is go back to his dormitory to dry off and make some tea and do some homework, but damn it all, he can't leave his roommate this way. It settles wrong I the pit of Kurt's stomach, because despite his superiority complex with others, Kurt cares about others, and he has this powerful sense of justice buried within him. Thus, he needs to set things right again.
The door flies open, and for a second, Kurt thinks he's going to have it slammed shut in his face again.
Instead, Karofsky's jaw falls slack. "…H-Hummel?" he murmurs in utter shock. "Kurt?" he says quieter. His face hardens. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"
A shiver runs across the surface of Kurt's skin like static electricity around a balloon. "For someone supposedly smart, you're pretty stupid. You told me where you were, and there really aren't that many Motel 8s in Cincinnati. Now then," he says, holding out a hand, "Let's go. It's ridiculous that you're about to spend the night here when you should be back in your dorm room. And what were you planning to do tomorrow, anyway? All your books and things were back at the room! Where you just going to skip school? That's idiotic, David! I expect better from you."
Karofsky adverts his eyes from Kurt's hand. "Come inside for a sec."
"Gladly," Kurt mutters, because despite the warmth of the late summer night, the early fall rain was cold. He steps inside the room, and Dave shuts the door behind him. Kurt keeps on his jacket and shoes, and opts to sit his rain droplet-covered self in a random chair at a small table.
"Kurt… why are you so persistent? Why can't you learn to keep your nose out of things?" Dave suddenly hurls at Kurt, his voice tense but oddly calm, and his hands clenched into fists.
The soprano stands up again. "This involves me too, meathead! Whether you like it or not, you're my roommate. I'm partially responsible for you, and vice versa. Furthermore," he says, drawing out the word, "We've had a few moments when we were almost like… like…"
Please don't say 'lovers.' It was one or two moments of bonding experience, sure, but please don't make this weird. Don't make me face what I don't want to face, Dave thinks hurriedly.
"Like friends! We've shared things, David. Pain, cookies, secrets. I don't know why, but I understand you so much it actually hurts, not to quote that ninja-themed anime." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Just… talk to me, okay? I have to live with you. I want to get along with you. I don't want the fear between us anymore. I'm about to break under the tension enough as it is," Kurt discloses brusquely. He glances up to peer into Dave's eyes, those once-steely, now-liquefied brownish-hazel eyes. "You said it, Karofsky. You told me what you were. Now you have to elaborate. What's so wrong about it?"
"Everything!" Dave shouts, and he looks as though he's on the verge of tears. "I hate it! I loathe feeling this way, feeling out of place because everybody I've ever known – my mom, my friends, my teams, my school, my town – has brought me up to believe that guys go with girls, that homosexuality is an abomination, that liking another man is the greatest sin, that I should fight it, or else I… or else I…" and he falters, his voice breaking off like a chip from a iceberg in the sun. He shakes his head frantically, his hands reaching up to grip his head as he licks his lips to speak one last time, sitting down and hunching over himself. "I won't be me anymore. I'll be some monster in their eyes, some disgusting creature, and they'll all leave me. They'll abandon me for being… different."
Kurt's heart melts. How can he not pity and empathize with and see eye-to-eye with this individual before him, with this person breaking down right before his eyes? How did he ever hate this person?
"Dave…" Kurt breathes tenderly, trying to console the other.
He steps across to where Dave sits at the foot of the single full bed, the covers behind him mussed, and he lays his hand on the taller male's upper back. Dave heaves a sigh, shuddering, as if withholding a sob. Kurt sits beside him on the bed, his legs tightly together and one hand on his knees while the other rubs Dave's back in soothing counterclockwise circles.
"It's okay. If you believe no one else or nothing else, believe me when I say that it's okay, it's not the end of the world. I've been wounded time and time again by people for my sexuality, but look at me: I still have people around me who love me despite it, people who've learned my true nature and don't disown me because, don't you see, Dave? I haven't changed. I haven't lost who I am just because I prefer boys to girls. I'm still who I've always been, and the people around me have adapted." He pauses, his hand ceasing its movement to rest against Dave's neck. "I once told you that being different is the best thing about me. And you know what? I think it's the best thing about you as well. If you just lose your tough-guy persona and take on your true self, others can adapt. Why don't you give it a chance? You don't have to tell anyone or start dating guys or anything. I'm not asking that. I just want you to accept yourself. I want you to see what my eyes have been opening up to see these past couple months: that deep down, you have the potential to be wonderful, David."
Karofsky withdraws his head from his hands, tear trails down his cheeks, and stares at Kurt for a long, long time in the solid, relaxed silence. Then, with another lick to his dry lips, he murmurs hoarsely, "You… really think all that, Kurt?" he mutters in absolute awe.
The soprano flushes a tad and removes his hand. "…Yeah, I do," he surprises himself by saying; not realizing it's the truth until he says so. "I'm not just saying it. I mean it."
Without warning (as things often transpire when it comes to Dave Karofsky), Dave wraps his arms around Kurt tightly, nearly sucking the breath out of the poor boy. Kurt goes rigid before slowly becoming less tense in Dave's arms. He even gives the taller boy a small pat on the back.
"Kurt," Dave whispers, but he fails to complete the thought. He lets the name hang there above them, a question and statement without response, only raw emotion.
And as they part and decide to leave the motel to return to their makeshift college home, Kurt's mind is left as blank as a sheet of paper. He doesn't know how this will change things, or if it even will. Dave could regress; things could turn ugly, into a brawl or another verbal war. But at least for this moment tonight, they are both exhausted and at ease.
They drive back in their separate vehicles, and once they get back, they don't say a word as they go through their nightly regimens and finally, finally lay down in their beds.
"Kurt?" Dave's voice calls out meekly in the darkness.
"Yes?"
"If you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you."
"…I'm sure you will, Dave," Kurt smiles vaguely. "But your empty threats aren't very threatening anymore."
"…I figured as much," the jock sighs. He rolls over onto his side, facing the wall. "But, Kurt?"
"Yeah?"
"Just because I told you… what I did…" he mutters, avoiding having to repeat the dreaded confession, "Doesn't mean we're, like, buddies now."
"I thought so," Kurt agrees mildly, staring up at the dark grey ceiling.
"Yeah, but I am grateful to you. I'm mortified as fuck, but… I'm kinda glad that you came after me, and figuratively slapped some sense into me. I needed it. I deserved it." He takes in a shaky breath, and releases it slowly. "And… I'm sorry, but I kinda saw your stuffed rabbit one night. You're such a dork, but a smart dork. I wish I had thought to bring something homey with me. I could use it right now."
"…Want to borrow Bunny-Hops?"
Dave's quiet for a moment, and then bursts into quiet laughter. "No, that's okay. I might be… you know… but I'm not a girl like you. I don't need some toy to comfort me. I'm more of a security blanket kind of guy. I used to carry one around with me as a toddler."
A distant smile reaches Kurt's lips. "That's… adorable, Karofsky."
"Don't push my mood, Hummel," the other replies gruffly. "Let's just go to sleep now."
"Fine by me," Kurt murmurs, and soon, he's lulled to sleep by his roommate's steady, deep breathing.