Chapter 10.

Kurt thoughtlessly toddles around the coffee shop while he waits for his orders. He's worried; what is happening with his poor lover at the moment? Is the athlete all right? How has his father taken the news Dave so boldly decided to give the middle-aged man?

A sudden text pops up on Kurt's phone. He brings it up and checks its sender: Blaine. It reads, 'How are things with your insufferable roomie, bb?'

Kurt snorts. He texts back, 'Perfectly fine, actually. I'm sorry for keeping you out of the loop, but… I'm actually dating him now. Well, sorta. Mostly. We don't go out much, but we're with each other a lot more now on really good terms. And he said that he loved me. (:'

There's a short pause, and then Blaine texts back, 'SHAME ON YOU, MISTER! Really, how could you keep your BFF Blaine out of the loop like that? And here I was about to ask you out on a date myself because I've always liked you and as it happens, I've discovered that Jesse St. James is actually a double-crossing bastard.'

'I could have told you that about him. But WHAAAAT? Ask me out? Blaine… I'm sorry, but you couldn't have timed this out worse. I was totally into you when I was at Dalton, but now… well, I love Dave. I'm so sorry.'

'#sigh# I know… I feel like such a fool. But at least I know now that the ballet Jesse was into wasn't for the girls, but for the guys. He's more than a little bi-curious, my young friend. Anyway, I have to go. I'll ttys. Have a good day, Kurtie.' And this is the last he hears/reads from Blaine for the rest of the day.

Startled out of his texting trance, Kurt glances upward at the sound of his order being called.

"One apple chai latte and one house blend withou' sugar?" that Irish guy, Jason, says. Kurt turns on his heel and steps over to retrieve the beverages.

"Thanks," Kurt murmurs, taking the cups into his hands. He blows on the chai latte, wanting it to cool off enough to take a sip because he really, really wants that hot-apple-cider-meets-spicy-Asian-tea flavor on his tongue right about now.

Jason eyes him. "Hey, 'ave I see ye in here before? Ya look famil'ar."

Kurt smiles politely. "I stop in here every so often. Sometimes when you've been behind the counter," he remarks, and lifts the chai to his mouth to inhale the spicy, sweet, appley-sharp steam before taking a tentative taste. It burns his tongue, and makes him jerk his head backward.

"Car'ful," Jason grins. "Yah… yah, I r'member ye. Wha' tis your name?"

The singer isn't interested in this guy anymore. He has somebody. But he can't be rude, so, non-flirtatiously, he smiles again and replies, "I'm Kurt. Kurt Hummel."

"I 'ppose me nametag might 'splain all, but tha name's Jason. I'm a transfer student at the Univarsity from Ireland." And he smiles brighter, leaning over the counter at Kurt. "Any chance ye be single, Kahrt?"

Kurt has to smile at the boy's accent. It's adorable. But Kurt's also blushing, because this is the second time within minutes that something has tried to compromise his newfound relationship with his roommate. What's the deal today? Is Fate against him or something? Kurt answers, "No, I'm not single. If you would have asked me at the beginning of the year, I would have been available, but not now. I'm terribly sorry."

Jason waves it aside. "Nah, tis nothin' to be sorry abou'. Was my mistake fer not bein' quicker. But y'know, good fer ye! Y'look like someone who should be with someone grand. I hope he treats ye well."

"How could you tell that I was gay, if you don't mind my asking?" Kurt murmurs, because he's always just a tad fearful that he might have painted a neon sign over his head during his high school years.

Jason laughs warmly. "Oh, don' be offended, please. I only could tell 'cause of the way ye talk, that's all. Ye have a soft voice, lovely, like a garl's, 'cept yers sounds so much prettier, since it's still quite mahnly."

Kurt's blushing furiously by now, raising his cup up to his face to help hide it. "Thank you."

"Ac'shully, I was wonderin': can ye sing? Ye sound like ye can sing. And I'm sorry if I sound like I'm flirtin' with ya, 'cause I know yer taken. But me curiosity gets the better of me sometimes," and he laughs a bit at himself, and his easiness makes Kurt want to smile again.

"I'm flattered, truly," Kurt remarks. "And I know you're only being friendly. So, to answer your inquiry: yes, I can sing. I was in the Glee Club – our show choir – at my school. I enjoy singing; it's one of my major passions."

"That's swell," Jason comments. He drums his hands on the side of the counter. "Well, I won't keep ya; I best be goin' back to work anyhow. Stop by anytime ye feel like some coffee er friendly convarsation, eh, Kahrt?"

The singer nods. "Um… sure. Yeah, I'll do that," and he quickly rushes out of the Starbucks to retreat to his dorm, wondering a jumble of thoughts. Wondering things like: how/why he suddenly became desirable to two other people, and why it matters what Jason thinks of his voice or how Blaine feels toward him, and thinking in general how he hopes that Dave's okay and will like the coffee.

XXX

The e-mail from Paul Karofsky simply reads:

David,

I see. That's quite the secret to bear, son.

There are a few things I'd like to address. Call me. I'll make sure your mother is out of earshot, no worries. I respect your privacy about this and I understand why you want to tell her yourself.

-Dad.

Inhaling deeply, Dave waits as the dial tone sounds in is ear, ringing only twice before his father picks up.

"Hold on one second, David," his father's calm voice answers, and it soothes Dave's nerves to the point where he no longer feels like crying. He wipes at his eyes and runs his nails through his scalp to help keep his emotions under control. Then: "All right; I'm out of the house on an errand for your mother, so she can't hear us. Please, David, tell me: how in the world did you come to the conclusion that you're homosexual?"

Dave takes in a shaky breath. "I've… never really cared for girls, Dad. I tried to, I really did, but I've always looked at other guys and felt so sick and scared because of it. But I'm in college now, and all I can think about is how I'm an adult and I should finally own up to what I've been noticing since I hit puberty. And that's that I can't help myself. I am what I hated. I'm fucking queer." And the tears threaten to return, but Dave somehow is able to ward them off.

"Shh, son. Don't say that. No matter what, I still care about you, but I need to know: do you fully understand what it is you're saying? Being gay means no wife, no children, no carrying on the Karofsky name, none of that. It's a lonelier life than the life of a straight man, David. And if you aren't careful, it can mean HIV AIDs or other STDs –"

"Don't you think I know that?" the young man growls. "I do, Dad. I know. But you know what else? I could get STDs from a girl, too. I can adopt kids if I want them, and give them the Karofsky name. And if you ask me about being confused, I swear to you, I'll prove how solid I am in this statement by kissing a guy in front of you if I have to. But Dad… it isn't that bad, right? I can tell you aren't happy with me – fuck, if I know anything about you, it's how low your voice drops when you're angry or disappointed – but come on, cut me some slack, will you?"

Paul is quite for a moment. Then, "I realize that, David. All of that. And I'm trying, I really am. It's very difficult to wrap my mind around; if I can be completely frank with you, I didn't see this coming. I'm in shock, David. You're everything I never thought a gay could be."

"If I've learned anything since high school, it's that gays come in different shapes and sizes and types because they're all just people, Dad. Kurt taught me that. He taught me that we're all human, we all sin and make mistakes, and sometimes that happens to be our sexualities. But it's not a mistake we can take back or change," Dave recites like a pro, the words sounding as though someone else is speaking through him, and that he is merely a puppet saying what his puppetmaster directs him to say. Still, the words sound akin to truth, a truth that Dave's been seeking all along.

Paul seems to nod in the silence, his voice agreeable as he remarks next, "You're right, son. I apologize. Look, I have to actually run that errand now instead of driving around the neighborhood; but know that I'm okay with this, I really am. It's a slow, steady, needs-to-be-built-upon sort of 'okay,' but 'okay' nonetheless."

There are suddenly keys in the dorm room lock, and Kurt steps in just as Dave murmurs, "Thanks, Dad. You don't know how much that means to me. Bye," and hangs up.

"What did he say?" Kurt whispers kindly as he hands Dave a coffee, Kurt's own partially drained in his other hand. To Kurt, Dave seems fairly okay, his brows mostly lax and his lips closed but his jaw loose.

Dave takes the drink and sips deeply though the hole in the carryout lid. He then states with a tiny smile, "My dad was a bit judgmental, but overall very calm about what I told him. I blew up some, but he didn't hold it against me. I think it's because an adult now, away at college and stuff." He shifts and takes another gulp of his coffee, liking how it flows down his throat with warmth, different than alcohol and feeling much, much better it as well. "Thanks for getting this. I needed it."

"I thought you might," Kurt tries to smile, choosing to take a seat beside Dave on the athlete's bed. "Is there anything else you need?"

Dave contemplates his current emotional stability and wants/needs of the moment. He chalks his feelings up to be a little numb and twitching for release of some kind to dispel of his remaining nerves and frustrations and to help express some of his relief.

Without a second's hesitation, Karofsky stands and starts getting on his jacket and stuffing his skates and a couple pucks into his duffel bag.

"Dave? Did you have practice today that you forgot about or something?" Kurt questions as he peers over the rim of his latte with a confused expression on his face.

Dave shakes his head briskly, taking a few sips of his coffee in between packing. He stands and tosses the bag over his shoulder. "No. I just need to take a breather, that's all. I'm going to go beat the shit out of these pucks at the school's ice rink. I should be back in an hour. Maybe more." And he hastily heads for the door.

Startled, Kurt can only mutter a quick, "Okay; see you later, then," before Dave is gone, the door shut behind him and his fading footsteps echoing down the hall. Apparently, Dave isn't nearly as okay as Kurt initially thought.

XXX

"I've got a lovely bunch of hockey pucks, do-dee-do-do; here they are all lined up in a row, bum-bum-bum; one smack, two smacks, all aimed for someone's head! Give 'em a whack, hit them into the sack, and that's how David scores! Yahoo!" Dave angrily sings to himself to the tune of 'Lovely Bunch of Coconuts.'

Panting, he skates fluidly over to the net and scoops up his pucks, ready to go back to the face-off line in the center when a voice distracts him.

"Like to practice alone, do you?" some guy says, and Dave turns his head to find someone in full gear (unlike Dave himself, who is lacking arm pads and his mask) standing on the edge of the ice near a parked Zamboni.

"Who the fuck are you?" Dave deadpans, spitting out the words defensively.

The guy removes his headgear and balances it on his hip. He smiles. He's strawberry blond with a sleek jaw line and the same perfectly milky-peach complexion as Kurt. And the guy's eyes are a vivid olive green, even at a distance. The guy laughs. "Oh, and you're polite, too."

Dave makes a scoffing sound and returns to tossing the pucks onto the ice. He selects one at random and starts juggling it back and forth with his stick, shuffling it across the ice, swiveling here and there as if dodging imaginary opponents.

Suddenly, another stick juts out of nowhere and snatches the red-orange hunk of plastic away. "Hey!" Dave shouts, and skids on the ice, shredding it, as he comes to a sideways halt in front of the smirking college student.

"We should practice together," the stranger suggests.

Dave violently snatches the puck back as he shoves past the strawberry-blond. "Not interested."

"Why not? It's better when you practice with somebody, since I don't know if you noticed, but during a game, you're not all by your lonesome."

"Shut the fuck up, Ginger. I was just about to leave anyway. I was getting out some issues I have and then I was planning on going back to my dorm. I have homework to do," Dave snaps back as the persistent bastard easily glides in near figure-eights around Dave's lazily skating form.

"Aw, you're no fun," the guy pouts. "And here I thought you might be my new pal."

"What's your deal?" Dave grunts as he turns and faces the weirdo. "Stop acting like a total fag and get out of my way." And the athlete suddenly bites his own tongue, because he once again slipped into his default personality from high school. He feels suddenly disgusted with himself for uttering the slur, especially since it applies to himself and the guy he's trying to return to in a minute here, as soon as this other guy gets out of the way –

"Hey, that's uncalled for!" the guy snaps. "I'm not gay, just friendly. And you're being an asshole. You could at least ask me my name before you go and insult me."

"I don't care what your fucking name is," Dave quips as he moves into the home team's booth and sits on the bench to remove his skates. "So just practice like you planned on doing and leave me the hell alone."

"Sheesh, you're so mean! Fiiiine, I'll leave you be. But I'll be seeing you on the ice, tough guy. After all, I just joined the hockey team, and judging by your jersey, you're already on it. So when the next game rolls around, I hope we can learn to be comrades at the very least." He flashes a cruel grin before waving curtly, skating right on by. "See ya, Karofsky."

And if he were stupid, Dave would yell in riposte, 'How do you know my name?' –But he isn't stupid. His last name is written on his jersey, duh. But that doesn't help shake the feeling he has as he leaves the rink that there might be some problems with this bothersome guy later.