...I am so sorry. Contrary to popular belief, I am alive, and death would be the only viable excuse for not updating in this long. I had to scrap a chapter, and that is seriously unfun. I couldn't bring myself to type, and then I hated half of what I wrote, then I got busy all of a sudden-one thing after another. Urgh. But I'm good now! Probably. Thank you, everyone who bothered to stick with me this long! I hereby cuddle you all so hard. So, read, review, so on and so forth. -Love, Maya
He shouldn't have left the classroom, he saw that now. But he was nervous; Glee was next period, his "discretion" performance, and while he was confident that no one would realize who he was singing to or what about, anything was possible. His nerves were not doing wonders for his bladder, so he had to excuse himself to the bathroom doing class, sue him. Really, what's the worse that could plausibly happen?
Of course, as soon as Kurt stepped out of the bathroom into the empty halls, David Karofsky was there.
Kurt looked up at the sound of heavy footfalls in the silence, and cursed himself for not waiting until the in-between-classes crowds. Witnesses wouldn't do him much good, since most of McKinley High wouldn't give the respective asses of two rats if he was messily offed before their eyes, but it was better than being alone. Down the hall, Karofsky's eyes zeroed in on him before he could duck out of sight, and the jock began to advance more purposefully. Kurt damned his pride as he came to a halt and stood his ground, squarely in the center of the hallway, even as Karofsky's stride and smirk grew. He came to a stop not a foot from Kurt, gazing down his nose at him as if he had every right to. "Hey there, Kurt."
Kurt did not tremble, even as the strangest mix of fear, pity, and fury washed over him. "David," he answered, pleasantly surprised at the even coolness of his voice and tone. "Can I help you?"
Karofsky's upper lip curled in an unattractive snarl, but Kurt gave him no reaction. "Don't call me that."
"I believe I know more than enough about you now to use your first name."
Fear flashed in Karofsky's eyes at Kurt's obvious meaning, and with a growl he had Kurt against the lockers by the front of his shirt. Kurt grimaced internally at the wrinkles; this was Marc Jacobs. "You don't know me," Karofsky hissed in his face. "You don't know anything about me!"
"I know enough," Kurt retorted, expertly keeping his composure through his fear and revulsion; he'd freak out later. "I know more about you than I ever wanted or intended, and that's your fault, not mine."
"You kissed me," was Karofsky's insistent, fearfully low response.
"I did no such thing and we both know it. You're only making this harder on both of us." The pity won out momentarily over his other swirling emotions. "It doesn't have to be this difficult, David," he said gently. "Believe me."
A harsh sound, something like a sob, escaped the larger boy, his head bowing as he bit down hard on his lip in a bid for control. "Shut up," he whispered brokenly, his desperate fingers tightening in the front of Kurt's shirt.
"And what good would that do? David, I can see what this is doing to you, this useless, ridiculous fight, and the way you take it out on me. None of this will fix anything, and your nature won't just go away."
Karofsky shoved away from him then, ending up halfway across the hall, his eyes wild with fear and rage. "It would all go away if you were dead." With that, he stormed away.
For the first time since that horrible moment in the locker room, Kurt believed it was only a threat. His resolve was only strengthened.
Puck picked Kurt up from class, the days-old routine already natural to both of them. Like usual, Puck slung an arm over Kurt's shoulders, but Kurt didn't fight him. Puck lifted a brow at that; Kurt never let anyone touch him easily, and he always at least pretended to try to squirm away from Puck, or even Finn. "You okay?" he asked.
Kurt looked up and offered a smile that he knew was weak. "Of course I am. I'm just a bit jittery over my performance."
"Like hell," Puck answered succinctly. He was right, of course. Performing never made Kurt nervous, but it wasn't like he was full-on lying.
So he scowled. "Even one so fabulous as myself gets nervous, Noah."
"Not about something you consistently pwn. Unless there's something special about this performance?" He said it like a question, but Kurt heard the obvious invitation to 'fess up.
Kurt pursed his lips. Over the past few days, he had learned that Noah Puckerman was not stupid. He was very not stupid, and every time Puck got him alone Kurt could feel him chipping inexorably away at his icy façade, catching glimpses of the lonely sixteen-year-old boy he was beneath his flashy clothes, biting wit, and sexuality. It was kind of nice, having someone around who wanted to know him beyond the cold front he presented to the world, but sometimes Kurt hated it. He had secrets to guard, and Puck always seemed to recognize and subsequently call him on his bullshit.
"I actually have to dedicate this song to someone," he answered Puck.
"Bullshit. You dedicate songs all the time, and you're never shy about it." See.
Kurt thought quickly. "Yes," he said slowly, "exactly, and that's why I'm worried. I've never been very discreet." Again, strictly speaking, he wasn't lying.
Puck snorted. "Don't worry about that; no one's being anything like discreet, as usual. Seriously, everyone is completely blowing this assignment's hairy balls. It's only a matter of time before the Schue gives up."
Kurt looked up at him from under his leather-clad arm. "What about you? Do you think you have this assignment in hand?"
Puck's jaw and eyes hardened, the latter fixed on the choir room door as it came into view, but his tone remained light. "'Course I do. I'm a badass."
"Alright, guys." Will clapped his hands once and rubbed them together as if in anticipation, but his tone and eyes were full of tired resignation. "Who's ready to perform?"
Sitting in the back with his arm draped across the back of Hummel's chair, Puck cast his newest friend a sidelong glance. Hummel was staring dead ahead, his blankest ice-mask firmly in place, his legs crossed with his perfectly-manicured fingers interlaced over his top knee. Puck subtly poked at the center of Hummel's back, right on his spine between his shoulder blades, but Hummel didn't react. Damn, he was good.
Quinn was on her feet, a caustic smile on her face. "Why, yes, Mr. Schuester," she said with cavity-inducing sweetness as she shot Finn a venomous look, "I do have an appropriate song prepared." She took the floor without waiting for Will's response, her flouncy skirt swirling around her knees. As Mr. Schue gave up and took his seat, Quinn nodded to the band and the intro began.
"Oh, for—" Hummel muttered under his breath before cutting himself off and bowing his head with a sigh. Puck didn't recognize the song, but apparently Hummel did, so Puck smirked and settled in for a show.
"Who are you to be emotional?
"Who are you to play with hearts and throw away it all?
"Who are you to turn each other's heads?"
As Quinn sang, embarrassed anger showed more and more plainly on Finn and Rachel's faces, and Puck bit his lip to keep in the laughter.
"Who are you to tell yourselves that you're misunderstood?
"Oh, who is she to say she's always yours?
"Who is she to choose the boy that everyone adores?
"Oh, I don't see a reason why you can't just be apart,
"Not falling on each other like you're always in the dark."
Puck leaned over to whisper in Kurt's ear, "Discretion: check." Hummel snorted inelegantly in an effort to keep in his laughter, and Puck sat back with great satisfaction. Quinn noticed none of the exchange and sang on.
"This love is not what you want.
"Her heart will never be yours.
"This love is be and end all.
"This love will be your downfall."
The music ended, and Mr. Schue was instantly on his feet, his arms raised for peace. "Now, before anyone reacts to that!" He turned to Quinn, a reproachfully disappointed look on his face. "Quinn, that is exactly what I said not to do."
"It's not like I was singing to anyone obvious." Quinn's hard, burning stare at Finn and Rachel (which they both avoided with red cheeks) belied her innocent tone handily. "I'm sorry if some people thought I was singing about them and their widdle feelings got hurt."
Santana unabashedly burst out laughing, and Hummel whispered in Puck's ear, "I don't know why we don't sell tickets."
Song used: This Love (Will Be Your Downfall), by Ellie Goulding. I just changed some pronouns.