043: Has He Lost His Mind?

[kurtofsky_ims]

Has He Lost His Mind?

Dave killed the engine, then got out of his mom's car, reaching over into the passenger seat to grab the grocery bags and the pizza box before kicking the door shut -- then remembering it wasn't his truck. He glanced over the door, decided there was no noticeable damage, shrugged, and walked up the the Hummels' front door, rearranging the armload of crap before knocking.

Kurt was ransacking the kitchen, trying to find where Carole had hidden the Dr. Pepper this week, when the knock sounded. Just then, he spotted the bottle in the back of a cabinet, so he pulled it out and set it on the counter before going to get the door and let David in. "What did you buy?" he asked, taking some of the items the other boy was holding and stepping aside so he could come into the house.

Dave just shrugged. "Pizza, popcorn, candy. Uh... chicken wings. I sorta smelled it on the way to checkout and, uh. Yeah."

Kurt laughed. "Can't say as I blame you. Pizza without wings is a travesty." He carried the bags into the kitchen, David trailing behind him. "Took me ten minutes to find the damn soda. I'm going to ask Carole to put a GPS tag on it next time."

Dave set the pizza on the kitchen counter, then shrugged his coat off. "She hides the soda?" he asked, snorting slightly.

"Finn's addicted," Kurt replied, shrugging. "If she leaves it out he drinks so much he starts vibrating." He pulled two glasses from the cabinet, set them down on the counter, and then turned toward the fridge -- nearly tripping over his own feet when he did. David was, surprisingly, wearing clothes that fit properly, and for the first time Kurt realized exactly how wrong he'd been in calling his friend chubby.

"You," he began, blinking, as he steadied himself on the counter. "That's a nice shirt." His gait was only very slightly faster than necessary as he walked to the fridge and buried his face in the freezer under the pretense of fetching ice for their soda glasses.

Dave glanced down at the red, checkered button up and shrugged. "My mom sort of went crazy at the mall the other day. She does it every couple weeks then bitches I don't wear anything she gets me so I figured I might as well. 'Sides, she was totally all mushy and shit over it so I got out of cleaning the kitchen." He finished with a crooked grin.

"She's got a good eye," Kurt said. He pulled the ice tray out of the freezer, looked into it, and scowled. "Dammit, Finn!" Like always, his stepbrother had put the tray back with one cube left in it. "I'll put the soda in the fridge. We'll have to go without for an hour, unless you don't mind it warm."

Kurt carefully avoided looking at David as he filled the tray with water and placed it back into the freezer. Looking at David meant seeing him in that shirt again, and despite Kurt's sudden and inexplicable desire to stare at him, David was his friend. And Kurt had just exited a seriously messed-up relationship. And David was in a relationship. And why the hell was he even thinking of David in those terms?

... soda. Right. He grabbed the bottle and stuck it in the refrigerator.

It was pathetic, Dave knew it, but he'd just gained a new Favorite Shirt. Briefly, he wondered why Kurt was, well, sort of not looking at him. And, for an even shorter span of time, he wondered if it was for a good reason. Then he realized he was probably being retarded and over-thinking something that was probably completely normal. Wishful thinking or some shit.

"Warm's fine with me," Dave responded as he pulled the lid up on the pizza box. "Mushroom and olive, right?" Of course, Dave knew it was right. He'd written it down when Kurt had first mentioned it, and had checked the AIM logs before leaving the house.

"You remembered," Kurt said, smiling. He grabbed two plates out of the cabinet and handed one to David, setting the other down on the counter and then, laughing a little, he pulled the soda back out of the refrigerator and poured two glasses, then put the bottle back again. "Should we eat first, then get our zombie on?"

"Sure, whatever you want." Dave replied as he pulled a couple of slices out of the box and put them on the plate, then held it out to Kurt to switch out for the empty one. "The DVDs are in... one of the bags. Or my jacket. Either one."

Kurt took the plate from David and then began the search for the DVDs. He poked through the grocery bags and came up empty. Then he crossed the kitchen, trying to keep his gaze from lingering too long on his friend -- and ignoring the part of him that was bemusedly trying to figure out why his gaze seemed to want to linger, when it never had before.

He picked up David's jacket from the stool he'd draped it over and reached into the left pocket. Finding nothing, he delved into the right and pulled out the DVD case. "Got it," he said, holding the case triumphantly aloft. He set it on the counter. "But first, pizza."

"Sure thing, Fancy." Dave glanced at the DVDs, still wrapped in cellophane, then over at Kurt. "Hey, you okay dude?" He asked, dropping into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

"Hmm?" Kurt asked, his mouth full of pizza. He chewed and swallowed before replying, "Oh, no. I'm fine. A little distracted -- " which was the absolute truth, " -- but fine." He waved off David's concern. "It's nothing." Well, maybe not nothing.

Dave just shrugged, eating half of his first slice in one bite. "A'right." He mumbled around his food. "W'ever 'ou say, bro."

"Really, I'm okay," Kurt insisted, although in reality he felt as though someone had torn away his equilibrium. He tried to keep his eyes from returning to the boy sitting across the table, but found himself unable to. So he dug into his pizza, eating it somewhat more sedately, astounded (as always) at how much food a boy like David could get into his mouth at once without choking.

Dave grinned suddenly around a mouthful of food, then (thankfully) swallowed before speaking. "So, my sister thinks you're, like sooo cute." He teased, doing a bad impression of Margo's voice. "Oh, my god. He's got the most beautiful eyes -- and that bone structure!" Dave waved his hand in the air, trying (and failing) to attempt his sister's girly laugh.

"I won't argue that I'm adorable," Kurt said with a false air of smugness, "but she did realize that I'm gay, right?" He set his pizza down, crossed his legs, pursed his lips, and said with an exaggerated lisp, "I mean, I'm fabulously obvious."

"Oh, totally." Dave snorted. "You make Elton John look like a fucking lumberjack." He smirked slightly, gesturing towards Kurt's face, "Hey, Mr. Fabulous, y'got food on your fabulous face." Dave managed, just barely, to not reach across the table to wipe it off for him. He was pretty sure friends didn't do that -- even if they were both gay. And, oh yeah, Dave had a fucking "boyfriend." Well, a boyfriend who didn't know he was his boyfriend, but as far as Kurt was concerned Dave was as good as taken. Not that it even mattered, he reminded himself for the millionth time.

Blushing, Kurt grabbed a napkin and dabbed around his mouth. "Did I get it?" he asked.

"Nope." Dave lied, "It's totally still there."

"Damn," Kurt muttered, unfolding the napkin and wiping it over his face. "Now?"

Dave bit back a laugh, then gave into the urge to just keep fucking with him, "Dude, you're just making it worse."

"It's pizza sauce, not grease paint," Kurt huffed. He put his napkin down next to his plate and walked to the bathroom to inspect the damage in the mirror. Then walked back ten seconds later. "David Karofsky, you're a liar."

Dave laughed, "Uh, yeah dude. Of course I am." He grinned, then shoved the rest of his slice of pizza into his mouth.

Kurt scowled and plopped down in his chair, taking a vicious bite out of his pizza slice... and then dabbing his mouth with the napkin, just to be safe. While he was chewing, he picked up the DVD case and started picking at the cellophane wrapper with the edge of a fingernail.

"Don't be mad, Princess. It's not like you got a reason to be embarrassed around me over something like that. I mean, I think there was a point where I made a total ass of myself after eating some fucking brownies some stupid fuck gave me, so you're pretty much safe from ever trumping that."

"You've clearly never seen me drunk," Kurt murmured. "I threw up on Mrs. Howell's shoes." He paused, considering. “To be fair, they were hideous shoes.”

"You? You've been drunk? Please, I don't believe you. That's fucking hilarious."

"It's not a pretty sight," Kurt admitted. "Mercedes took pictures on her phone. I was horrified."

"... how much would you hate me if I got her to show me?" Dave asked, reaching into the box for another piece of pizza.

"Remember how much I used to hate you?" Kurt asked after taking a sip of soda. "Multiply that by ten. Thousand. Anyway, she deleted the evidence. I watched her do it."

Dave rolled his eyes, "Okay, jeez. I won't ask her." He was lying, of course. Because, really, who wouldn't wanna see that? And everyone knew girls were sneaky. She probably had a back up somewhere.

"You're plotting something," Kurt said, eyes narrowed. "I can tell. You're just shy of steepling your fingers and saying 'Eeeeexcellent'." He snickered the image of David attempting a Mr. Burns impression now firmly lodged in his mind. Better than the focus on David's surprisingly well-fitting wardrobe selections.

... well, damn. "You said something about wings?" Kurt asked, pushing abruptly away from the table.

The sudden topic change threw Dave for a second and his brows drew together. "Um, yeah. On the counter -- dude, what the hell's wrong with you today? You're kind of being a spaz."

"It's nothing," Kurt said again, lying through his teeth. "I don't know. Maybe it's residual weirdness from the Blaine saga," he said after a moment, because he had been feeling off-balance before David's arrival, and if he knew just what Kurt had --

He pulled the container of wings out of the grocery bag and carried it back to the table. "I'm sorry."

At that, Dave frowned. He reached out as Kurt made his way back to the table, hand wrapping gently around the other boy's wrist. "I know I'm not 'qualified' or anything, but if you need to talk, I might as well be good for something other than trying to make you a fatass with greasy food." He half-joked, pointedly ignoring the fact that he could feel Kurt's pulse under his fingers.

Kurt's eyes darted to David's hand on his wrist, and then down to his lap as he sat down. Well. There wasn't anything he could do now but admit it. "I had nightmares again on Tuesday and Wednesday," he said quietly. "They were different both nights. The first one, I remember... running. And I never actually saw his face, but I know Blaine was the one following me. Terrifying as it was, that wasn't so bad, compared to Wednesday night."

He took a deep, shuddering breath. He'd thought he'd put those dreams behind him, and David's shirt had been such a good distraction, but... "Wednesday night... Wednesday night, I dreamed that he kidnapped me, um. Tied me up -- God, I don't know if I can say this out loud."

When Kurt moved to sit back down Dave let his hand slip away, but as soon as Kurt started talking it moved back. A heavy, twisting feeling settled in the pit of Dave's stomach with the other boy's words. Sure, they were just dreams, and it wasn't like any of it had actually happened, but he knew from experience that dreams could mess you up almost as much. "You don't have to if you don't want, but it might help..."

"He drugged me. Forced me to take -- you know, a stimulant. And..." Kurt balled his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "While he was on top of me, he made me tell him how much I loved it. Him." He swallowed hard.

The feeling in his gut hardened and it took Dave a minute to realize his loose grip on Kurt's wrist had tightened. He pulled his hand away. Then put it back. He kind of wanted to throw up. Or drive to Westerville to kick the shit out of the little cunt for something he hadn't even actually done. Or hug Kurt. Or maybe cry. He quickly ruled out the first and second options. Then put option two back on the list. Finally, Dave settled for the only option that wasn't lame or illegal and leaned over so he could hug his friend. "Why didn't you tell me before?" he muttered, because everything else he wanted to say sounded stupid.

"I thought I was over it," Kurt replied, pressing his face against David's shoulder. "I slept through the night on Thursday, and despite his antics on Friday, I was fine, mostly, but... I don't know, maybe I should bump up my appointment with Dr. Katz. I'm seeing him on Tuesday."

"Yeah, maybe..." Dave ran the heel of his hand down Kurt's spine slowly, then back up. "Is that helping at all? Seeing him, I mean."

Kurt nodded against David's shoulder, sniffing softly. "Yeah, I mean. It's better than not seeing him. He's helped me through a lot, even if his methods aren't what I'd like them to be sometimes." He slowly pulled back then, out of David's embrace. "I keep crying on you," he said, huffing a laugh. He wiped at his eyes with one hand and picked up a napkin with the other, blotting at the tear stain on David's shoulder.

"S'fine." Dave muttered, pulling Kurt's hand away from his shoulder. "Just a shirt." He smiled thinly, nodding toward the DVD case. He couldn't make it right. He didn't have the perfect thing to say, and he couldn't do any of the things he wanted to. "C'mon. You're not there and he's not here. It's just us, a crap load of really unhealthy food, and zombies."

Maybe some gratuitous violence would help snap him out of it, Kurt thought as he put the damp napkin down and reached for his soda glass again. He took a sip and set it back down. Took a deep breath. Let himself have one last look at David in his red-and-white checked shirt. "Zombies?" he asked, picking up the DVD case and removing the rest of the shrink wrap.

"Totally." Dave grinned, bracing his hand on the table so he could stand up. "Remember, dude. You can't run out like a little bitch if you get scared."

"Might cry on you some more," Kurt warned. He tossed the plastic in the trash can and opened the DVD case, then headed into the living room.

"That's fine. Your innocent tears fuel my robot parts. I live for it."

"I would've thought they'd make you rusty." Kurt turned on the DVD player and placed the first disc into the tray. "Unless you're made of a noncorrosive metal."

Dave faltered, then grinned. "Yeah. I'm... that." He replied, flopping back onto the couch.

"Too bad," Kurt commented, curling into the oversized easy chair and hitting the play button on the remote. "I always had a thing for Iron Man. I was hoping you could introduce us."

"Oh, yeah?" Dave asked, straightening up in his seat, "Well, Fancy. I've got news for you. I am Iron Man."

Kurt held it together for about five seconds after David's fairly passable Tony Stark impression. Then his eyes widened, his lips twitched into a smile, and laughter exploded out of him.

They were both still laughing five minutes into the first episode.




{ The Shirt in question is This Shirt. The Shirt is epic and should always be referred to as The Shirt and never the shirt. }