Keysmash!!1!
Nov. 29th, 2010 11:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ciirceeHOLY CRAP IT IS BECKY.
WHAT DO I DO? WHAT DO I SAY?
HOW CAN I STOP BEING SUCH A SPAZ-TARD?
Seriously, have NEVER watched Glee. I've seen a few scenes, read a few fics--oh, that's right, you know who to blame, yes you do--and this has been in my head for a few days. I wasn't going to write it ever but a;ldfjs;ldfklsD OMG IT IS BECKY WHAT DO I DO? OMG HELP ME DO SOMETHING.
So here it is.
Reunion
When he was eighteen, Kurt believed that the worst was over. He believed that the world had opened up. He'd believed he'd get out of Lima.
And it was.
It had.
He did.
He'd also believed that he'd never go back to high school.
"Oh, what was I thinking?" he muttered as he slipped out of the McKinley gym.
If he was honest with himself—and he liked to be—he'd been thinking that thirty years was a long time. He'd been thinking that Blaine was right; going back was facing everything he'd thought he'd left behind but had in reality carried with him.
Going back for his high school reunion was…
Honestly?
It was an off-Broadway production full of bad acting, worse singing, and the most tragic wardrobe known to mankind.
He'd got the apologies everybody said he'd be getting—not as many as they'd wagered on (he'd definitely won the bet)—but they'd been pretty memorable. Azimio's had been the best.
"Hey, so, it was wrong of me to always treat you like that just because you're a fag."
Kurt loved it entirely without irony.
Well, a little irony.
Seeing Mercedes again had been fun. He had her number again and this time he wouldn't lose it. He'd keep it close.
But for now, he needed space. Breathing room. The halls still smelled like floor wax and WD-40, and slushies. He slipped into the locker room and stopped.
Karofsky was sitting there on the bench, hands clasped between his knees.
Still a little chubby, a little bit balding, and very…very Dave Karofsky.
He nearly backed up before he reminded himself that he was nearly fifty for pity's sake. "Sorry," he muttered.
He was unprepared for the way Karofsky looked at him. Just…looked. "Me too," he said.
"Oh, I am not doing this," Kurt said, mostly to himself.
Karofsky heard him and shrugged but didn't say anything.
Apparently he was doing this. "You were…you were a real asshole. You made me miserable. You terrified me. You stole my first kiss." Karofsky raised his eyebrows. "That counted," Kurt clarified.
With a puff of breath, Karofsky looked away. "Yeah. Sorry about that too." He looked back. "If it helps at all, it was bad for me too."
"It doesn't. It—no, it really doesn't."
Karofsky smiled at him, dark humor in his face. "It was my only one. Does that help?"
"Schadenfreude," Kurt told him. At his confusion he went on, "It means yes." More or less.
"Good," Karofsky said. Then, "…yeah. Good. I'm glad."
It was the stupidest thing he'd done since following Dennis to Fargo, but something in him eased and Kurt sat down on the bench beside the other man. "I met your wife. She's—" tacky, he thought, in the way only Lima could manage. "She's nice."
Karofsky twisted the wedding ring on his finger. "She puts up with me." He looked at Kurt and Kurt was struck by the sincerity in his face. "At least I don't have kids I'm fucking up, right?"
And Kurt…
Kurt had got out of Lima.
He'd been places.
He'd been himself.
He'd been himself in all of them, even Lima.
"Yeah," he told Karofsky and then he leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. Just a soft touch of lips that could almost have been nothing at all. He sat back. Stood up. "You fucked up enough kids in your life." He laughed a little, shared a smile with Dave Karofsky that he honestly meant, and when he left the locker room he left it all behind at last.
********
Oh, man. I kind of want to hide. Or die. Or delete the crap out of this.
WHAT DO I DO? WHAT DO I SAY?
HOW CAN I STOP BEING SUCH A SPAZ-TARD?
Seriously, have NEVER watched Glee. I've seen a few scenes, read a few fics--oh, that's right, you know who to blame, yes you do--and this has been in my head for a few days. I wasn't going to write it ever but a;ldfjs;ldfklsD OMG IT IS BECKY WHAT DO I DO? OMG HELP ME DO SOMETHING.
So here it is.
Reunion
When he was eighteen, Kurt believed that the worst was over. He believed that the world had opened up. He'd believed he'd get out of Lima.
And it was.
It had.
He did.
He'd also believed that he'd never go back to high school.
"Oh, what was I thinking?" he muttered as he slipped out of the McKinley gym.
If he was honest with himself—and he liked to be—he'd been thinking that thirty years was a long time. He'd been thinking that Blaine was right; going back was facing everything he'd thought he'd left behind but had in reality carried with him.
Going back for his high school reunion was…
Honestly?
It was an off-Broadway production full of bad acting, worse singing, and the most tragic wardrobe known to mankind.
He'd got the apologies everybody said he'd be getting—not as many as they'd wagered on (he'd definitely won the bet)—but they'd been pretty memorable. Azimio's had been the best.
"Hey, so, it was wrong of me to always treat you like that just because you're a fag."
Kurt loved it entirely without irony.
Well, a little irony.
Seeing Mercedes again had been fun. He had her number again and this time he wouldn't lose it. He'd keep it close.
But for now, he needed space. Breathing room. The halls still smelled like floor wax and WD-40, and slushies. He slipped into the locker room and stopped.
Karofsky was sitting there on the bench, hands clasped between his knees.
Still a little chubby, a little bit balding, and very…very Dave Karofsky.
He nearly backed up before he reminded himself that he was nearly fifty for pity's sake. "Sorry," he muttered.
He was unprepared for the way Karofsky looked at him. Just…looked. "Me too," he said.
"Oh, I am not doing this," Kurt said, mostly to himself.
Karofsky heard him and shrugged but didn't say anything.
Apparently he was doing this. "You were…you were a real asshole. You made me miserable. You terrified me. You stole my first kiss." Karofsky raised his eyebrows. "That counted," Kurt clarified.
With a puff of breath, Karofsky looked away. "Yeah. Sorry about that too." He looked back. "If it helps at all, it was bad for me too."
"It doesn't. It—no, it really doesn't."
Karofsky smiled at him, dark humor in his face. "It was my only one. Does that help?"
"Schadenfreude," Kurt told him. At his confusion he went on, "It means yes." More or less.
"Good," Karofsky said. Then, "…yeah. Good. I'm glad."
It was the stupidest thing he'd done since following Dennis to Fargo, but something in him eased and Kurt sat down on the bench beside the other man. "I met your wife. She's—" tacky, he thought, in the way only Lima could manage. "She's nice."
Karofsky twisted the wedding ring on his finger. "She puts up with me." He looked at Kurt and Kurt was struck by the sincerity in his face. "At least I don't have kids I'm fucking up, right?"
And Kurt…
Kurt had got out of Lima.
He'd been places.
He'd been himself.
He'd been himself in all of them, even Lima.
"Yeah," he told Karofsky and then he leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. Just a soft touch of lips that could almost have been nothing at all. He sat back. Stood up. "You fucked up enough kids in your life." He laughed a little, shared a smile with Dave Karofsky that he honestly meant, and when he left the locker room he left it all behind at last.
********
Oh, man. I kind of want to hide. Or die. Or delete the crap out of this.