Chapter 9.

Dear Dad and Carole,

If I told you what's been happening these past few weeks, you wouldn't believe me. I'm almost afraid to tell you, simply because I myself find it just as ludicrous as you surely will. But it's the truth.

You know the roommate of mine I've been complaining about via e-mails like this one and on the phone to you? My former bully, Dave Karofsky? Well…

Well, he and I have been getting along as of late. In fact, we've had some days where we were like long-lost friends, and others when we were perfect enemies. But through those days that we've been indifferent or completely all right with each other, we've found something in each other. I don't know how to describe it. It's as if something was building up and up little by little, like rain filling a reservoir behind a dam. And then the dam finally burst, and with it, the barrier between Dave and I.

I know it sounds crazy. I don't believe it half of the time. Somehow, by living with him, I've found out things about him I never would have thought could apply to him, and yet it all makes sense now.

I'm sorry, I must be rambling something dreadful. The point is…

I no longer hate him, Dad. Carole. My bully isn't my bully anymore. He's my roomie and my friend and… well, I love him. And he said that he loves me, too. He probably thinks I didn't hear him, because I was too sleepy to respond, but I had. And it's the weirdest thing because of our history, and yet, I can't hold a grudge against him for it. He's fine, now. I mean, he has a temper, but I'm a crybaby drama-queen, so it all works out in the end.

I don't know how either of you will respond to this, but I just want you to be included in my life. I won't keep secrets, especially not something as major as my first real boyfriend, love included.

Au revoir, je vous aime tous les deux! (Goodbye, I love you both!)

Kurt.

P.S. Would you like to meet him? He's different outside of that poisonous high school atmosphere, I swear. (:

XXX

Hey Dad,

I have something important to tell you. But I don't want Mom to know. So, uh, could you not read her this e-mail? I'm putting my confidence in you that you won't tell her anything until I can tell her myself. She'd be so disappointed in me. I mean, you probably will be too, but despite your strict attitude, I know that you really care about my best interests, Dad. So… here. Let me explain.

I'm gay, Dad. I know this is probably the worst way to have that father-and-son conversation in which I state, "Guess what, Dad, I'm a faggot!" but this is the only way I can tell you. I don't think I could tell it to you over the phone, let alone to your face. I'm sorry for being spineless; but I've always been that way. Why do you think my grades slipped and I started acting out a couple years back? I was the school bully, Dad. Well, one of them. And we both know that bullies are cowards; it's, like, a proven fact. I hate it, but it's true.

…That's all I have to say to you, really. Just don't tell Mom, okay? Please? I need time to tell her myself. This is going to hurt her, but I think you can take it in better stride than she could. And her knowing I said that would probably hurt, too, but can you blame me? I mean… you married her, right? You know how she is.

David.

P.S. It's not his fault. Please don't blame my roommate, Kurt Hummel. I know you know that he was the out gay at McKinley, but it's not because of him. I think I've always sort of been this way; just meeting him made me realize that I can't contain it deep inside or else I'll only wind up wounding myself. In fact, I think I already have. Kurt's only helping me to heal.

Nervously, Dave saves this as a draft, aiming to send it later, maybe after some revision. But then his mouse lingers near the 'send' button. In a moment of sheer impulse and trepidation, Dave decides Fuck it, and presses 'send.'

And then Dave gets off of the computer and feels like he could really, really use a hot cup of coffee.

XXX

"I e-mailed my parents today," Kurt announces casually as he sits down on Dave's bed, watching the other play Mass Effect 2. "Carole e-mailed me back first. She wants to meet you." he cracks a smile. "She thinks it's adorable that we worked through our problems enough to fall out of loathing and into love."

Dave stiffens, turning to marble on his bed. His character dies, and then Dave presses 'pause' and twists his body to glance back at Kurt. "Wh-what?"

Kurt smiles. "Don't act so surprised, Dave. It was bound to happen sometime; and besides, Carole is a sweetheart, you'll love her when you meet her."

"No! I mean, yeah, but… mind running that last part by me again?" Dave mutters, emphasizing the second part with a tone that Kurt doesn't fully recognize. There's this slightly wild look in Dave's eyes, as if he were an animal backed into a corner, thrilled and terrified at the same time.

"I said that we worked through our problems enough to fall out of loathing and into love? And that Carole finds this factoid cute?" Kurt repeats, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh." Dave's jaw hangs slack, then snaps back into place. He grins suddenly. "That so?"

Kurt nods. "Yup. Amazing, isn't it?"

"That might be the understatement of the year, Captain Wisecrack."

"Captain Wisecrack?"

Dave laughs, nodding. "Yeah. Didn't you know? He's Captain Obvious's less-attractive older brother."

Kurt falters for a second before chuckling with his adorably awkward laugh. "Wow. Never heard that one before."

"I have my moments." And he turns back to his video game, opting to turn it off. His demeanor shifts subtly from humorous to serious. "Actually… I had one of them earlier today. I e-mailed my dad."

Kurt blinks, trying to read Dave's mood. "And…?"

"And… I told him that I was gay," the jock replies with evident unease. "I still haven't gotten a reply back, but it's only been a few hours. He's probably still working; he doesn't check his personal e-mail until he gets home. So I have an hour or so yet until he most likely reads it." He shakes his head despairingly. "I'm scared, Kurt. I hate to admit it, but I am. Remember what you said about abandonment and all that? Well, I doubt he'd disown me, but he might not like me very much anymore."

"You never know, Dave," Kurt replies softly. "People can surprise you. My dad did; I thought I'd be letting him down because I wasn't the son he wanted – Finn better fits that description, and for a while, it depressed me to know that – but he still loved me. Still supported me. For all we know," he says, trying to smile but feeling too close to tears to manage a very strong one, "Your dad suspected a much, like mine had, or he'll be extremely proud of you for having the courage to confess. You never know," he parrots, and touches feather-light on Dave's forearm. He leans his head against Dave's back as the boy turns around again, facing the paused game screen. "All you can do is wait."

"Why do you have such a way with words, Kurt?" Dave gripes. "Kind of pisses me off that you have that talent, but makes me feel better at the same time."

"That's what I'm here for," Kurt smiles in return, leaning his forehead off of Dave's warm back. He idly brushes his fingers over the fabric of Dave's t-shirt, causing the other boy to shiver.

"Dooon't," Dave groans in complaint, his shoulders rolling. "You're making my back itchy."

"Oh. Sorry," Kurt says with the faintest of flushes. He smiles. "Want me to scratch it for you? I would always scratch my dad's back for him in the morning. He said I have the best nails for it."

Dave pulls an odd facial expression that makes Kurt laugh. "That seems so intimate."

The singer rolls his eyes. "Oh, don't be so ridiculous! I think we've gotten intimate enough with each other already, Dave; or have you forgotten the past two consecutive nights?" He idly trails his fingers down Dave's spine, making the larger boy squirm again.

"Okay, I give, I give!" Dave laughs, and he's hunching his shoulders. "Scratch it!"

"Gladly," Kurt purrs, and lifts Dave's shirt up, bunching it at the top of his back before slipped Dave's head out of the hole to keep the shirt in place off of his back. Kurt begins with small circles, his nails pointed downward on Dave's lightly tanned skin dotted with beauty marks and freckles, and slowly makes his way up and down Dave's back, making his nails rake jaggedly but not too firmly against his skin, leaving temporary white trails.

"God, why does that feel so satisfying?" Dave hums contentedly.

Kurt shrugs as he scratches horizontally across the small of Dave's back. "It's just one of those things, I suppose: the pleasure of having one's hair played with or brushed, the pleasure of having all of one's itches scratched. It's just nice. Thoughtful when you're doing it to someone else, and wonderful when you've having it done for you. The same thing goes for massaging headaches or sore feet; it's relief, plain and simple."

"Mm, yeah, I guess that makes sense," Dave murmurs as Kurt's nails leave him and his back feels cool but no longer irritated.

He revolves his shoulders again, sits up straighter, and is about to slip his head back into his shirt and roll it down again when Kurt's hands suddenly return, his lukewarm palms smoothing over the top of Dave's back, curving down along his shoulder blades.

Dave attempts to peer over his shoulder. He quirks a brow. "Kurt? What are you doing?"

The soprano doesn't respond. Dave can't see his face, but Kurt's hands are all-telling. They are calmly gliding down Dave's sides, fingers playing a deaf tune as they weave over Dave's ribs, and Dave's breath hitches in his throat once those hands lightly grip his slight love-handles and the thumbs press on either side of his spine, sliding with careful pressure up to the base of his neck.

"Ah…" Dave gasps lowly, not expecting Kurt's hands to grip his trapezius muscles and start working them, rubbing at his shoulders and neck and all of the muscles Dave didn't know were so painfully stressed until Kurt acknowledged them.

"You really are scared," Kurt mumbles in awe. The pads of his hands roll down either side of Dave's spine, stopping halfway, before the knuckles press into the skin and glide back up again with little resistance. Dave sucks in air, because that feels better than he's ever imagined. No one has ever massaged him before, aside from his mom rubbing or squeezing his head a few times when he got a migraine. "I can feel all of your stress up here, in your back. You carry everything on your shoulders, don't you? All your worries, all your pain. No wonder you were such a jerk in high school and why you still have anger issues: you don't know how to let it out, and by bottling it up, it gets stored here, in the most important and strongest part of your body."

And honestly, Dave's never had anybody dissect him like this before (especially while simultaneously massaging him). And it makes him feel vulnerable again, an emotion/reaction that Dave has come to despise more than anything, but somehow, it's not so bad, not when it's just here, alone, with Kurt.

"You should find an outlet besides hockey. The violence is good for some stress, but others? Not so much." He pauses, thinking back to when he hear Dave sing. "You should try singing it all out. It's great for pent-up passion of any kind; why do you think we did so many exercises in Glee Club?" And he's smiling now; Dave can tell by the tone he uses.

Sighing and dropping his shoulders, Dave makes a noncommittal sound in his throat.

"Well, if you ever feel like singing, just start, and if I know the song, I'll gladly join you," Kurt says, leaving the offer open between them. He starts working a knot with his elbow (so soft and smooth, unlike Dave's rough elbows) before moving across to a different spot with the same issue. Kurt then directs, "Lay down."

And Dave gladly removes his shirt completely, shuts off his Xbox, and lays himself down on his bed, Kurt waiting patiently on the edge of it until the transition is made. He then bends down over Dave and hesitates, and Dave idly wonders what Kurt's planning.

With not much warning, Kurt's knuckles start gliding up and down along Dave's spine, working out the last of the kinks. And then, slowly, Dave feels Kurt's body head radiating off of him as the shorter male leans down and presses a kiss to Dave's shoulder, then between his shoulder blade and spine, then moving diagonally to place one on the center of his spine, and then following along the vertebrae until Kurt's mouth is pressing hotly to the base of Dave's back, and it's all Dave can do not to moan as a shudder runs through him.

One of Kurt's nails touches the middle of Dave's back as the heat coming from Kurt's face leaves Dave's skin. "Hey. Want to play a game? It's something my mom taught me when I was little."

Dave pauses. "Um, okay. Sure. What game is it?"

"I'm going to draw on your back with my nail," Kurt remarks, "And you have to guess what it is."

Dave makes a scoffing grunt and rolls onto his side, casing Kurt's finger to drop from his back. "That sounds childish."

"It is. I haven't played it since she died. But it's fun, and feels interesting. Don't you want to at least give it a try?"

"You're so weird," Dave retorts, but he's complying anyhow by rolling over onto his stomach again. "But whatever. All I know is, I'll giving you three pictures and then we have to reverse."

"Sounds fair," Kurt smiles, and he idly puts his nail back on Dave's skin. "Okay, here goes." He draws a circle, that much Dave can tell, but then it feels like bubbles around the circle, and then something long and vertical is in the middle, going down, followed by zigzags horizontally along the bottom and something oval with lines through it attached roughly to the vertical line.

Dave frowns. "God, I don't know. A daisy?"

"Correct!" Kurt smiles. "You have keen senses," he teases, and then his hands smooth down the length of Dave's back to erase the lingering sensations. "Okay, here's the next one."

And they go on like this for twenty minutes, taking turns doing bouts of three drawings on each other's backs until there are temporary pinkish-red marks all over their skin and they are laughing at some of their failed drawings. A blob with circles and rounded triangles supposed to be an airplane, a circle with ears and whiskers supposed to be a cat, and so on. It's strange when you can't see what's being drawn, but you can feel it as though you were a piece of paper being scribbled on.

They sit back-to-back on Dave's bed for a while, their shirts still missing. A light stickiness from sweat develops between their touching skins, but it isn't a bother. Kurt wraps his arms around himself to protect against the slight chill of the room in contrast to their touching spines.

"…Dave?" Kurt poses suddenly, leaning his head back against the other boy's.

"Yeah?"

"Have you checked to see if your dad replied yet?"

Dave nibbles on his bottom lip. "No, not yet. I don't want to. I'm happy right now, and I'm afraid it could dampen my good mood."

"Logical," Kurt agrees, closing his eyes and sighing. He reaches off to the side of him, backward, to locate Dave's hand. He finds it and intertwines their fingers, but the feeling of Kurt's hand in his own causes Dave to push against Kurt's back with his own to give him room to pivot and face his roommate.

Dave doesn't say a word as he takes Kurt's hand in both of his own and starts tracing the lines of Kurt's tendons and bones and veins all hidden – but felt – beneath soft, ivory skin. His pale complexion is flawless; just peachy enough to be healthy, but just pale enough to look like Porcelain. And surprisingly, while Kurt's tears are easier to trigger than Dave's, Kurt is not at all breakable. He's stronger than Dave in a lot of ways, except for physically. Dave could out-bench Kurt with weight lifting or out-play him at sports, but in everything else Kurt does, Dave doesn't compare in strength.

Even now, there are lingering sentiments of hatred and jealousy and rage and violence and fear buried deeply within Dave, some of them against Kurt, most others again himself. But Dave is able to hold himself together and not permit any of those feelings to escape him, because there's no place for them in this moment. However, they're still there. Dave can't pretend that they aren't.

Dave starts massaging Kurt's hands, feeling their tenseness born of Kurt's typing. He types a lot; texting to friends, e-mailing others, writing papers and, once, Dave caught him composing a poem or song lyric. Kurt is a writer, even if he doesn't want to pursue it as a career or use it outside of communication and class work. Even so, work is work, and his hands tell all.

Dave gently rests Kurt's hand in the boy's lap before taking the other and feeling the wrist crack and the fingers, too, as Dave starts rubbing the tension out of this appendage, too. Kurt is mesmerized the entire time, his eyes focusing and un-focusing on Dave's hands moving over his own, lightly tan on pale peach, digging in all the right places and soothing the tendons and bones.

Kurt feels himself relax as Dave stops messaging to slide his fingers in between the spaces of Kurt's finger, their palms pressed together. Dave takes the other hand and does the same, and then follows Kurt's eyes, realizing they're on Dave's lips, and the jock smiles and leans in, giving Kurt what he's hinting to have. Their lips meet halfway, and it's the sort of kiss that feels like magnets joining together, like puzzle pieces snapping into place, like water filling the cracks between rounded river stones.

Kurt pulls out of the kiss and takes his hands away from Dave's. "I think I heard your phone ping."

Tightening his jaw because he hates it when other things in life ruin moments, Dave withdraws his phone from his jeans pocket and checks the screen.

It's an e-mail alert message. From his father.

Kurt peers over and spies the sender. "Oh." He leans back, watching for a reaction, but none comes. Dave simply stares down at the device in his hands as if debating with himself on what to do. "Want me to leave? After reading, you might need to call him, and I don't think it's a conversation you'd want me to hear."

"No," Dave nods, "I wouldn't want you to hear it. It's okay if you go."

Kurt nods as well, fully comprehensive. He gets off of Dave's bed, finds his shirt, and slips it on. He grips the side of Dave's head, yanks the jock toward him, and places a thick kiss on Dave's forehead. He then grabs a light jacket and his keys. "I'm going to go to Starbucks. Do you want anything? I'll bring you back something. I'll pay for it, too."

Dave clicks the 'open' button and starts to read. "Yeah, that'd be great. Get me something hot and bitter, okay?"

"Starbucks rarely does 'bitter,' but I'll try my best," Kurt smiles minutely before exiting.

And Dave is left alone, his eyes scanning the screen. He licks his lips, glances away, and then looks back at the e-mail. He then blinks back tears prior to dialing his father's cell phone number.

They need to talk. Badly.