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Kurt spots the red letterman jacket from the hallway and scowls. Yes, Kurt is aware his father is romancing Finn’s mother. Yes, Kurt understands that Finn sees Burt as a father figure. Yes, Kurt knows it’s cruel to want to keep his father all to himself. None of that means Kurt is willing or able to be charitable right now.
Huffing, he steps into his father’s hospital room and snaps, “Finn, I told you to leave.”
Except, Kurt realizes a beat too late, the hulking form is broader than Finn. Not tall enough, either, though it’s close. Still a McKinley letterman jacket, still one Kurt knows quite well. But David Karofsky is the last person he ever expected to see keeping vigil at his dad’s bedside.
“Hey,” Karofsky says, voice hoarse.
Kurt can feel the tears welling and he speaks before he can think better of it. “What, tormenting me at school isn’t enough now? Are you really so cruel that you’d come do this here?” He looks around. “Where are your cronies? Where’s the slushie? Don’t act like you don’t have one.”
“I don’t.”
Kurt barely hears the protest. “Don’t lie to me, Karofsky. You show up in my father’s hospital room, why? Because you’re just so kindhearted? You can bully me day in and day out but the minute something real happens, you finally grow a heart?”
Kurt’s poking a bear and he knows it. He can’t seem to stop himself though. This whole week—all the religious bullshit in glee club, the stress of his dad still not waking up, the general misery of being someone extraordinary in an ordinary town—has been too much. He can’t say he’s exactly unhappy that his longtime bully is bearing the brunt of his anger, but in the back of his mind Kurt knows it’s not the wisest choice.
Except Karofsky isn’t getting angry. He just looks sad. Not that it stops Kurt, not yet anyway.
“Are you here to pray for me too? No, no, you’re here to recite statistics about cardiac arrest, aren’t you? Like I haven’t gone down that rabbit hole of hell myself, every night?” Kurt’s voice is so high, so distressed, he’s surprised no one’s come running yet. He’s grateful for it and annoyed all at once. “Well?” Kurt barks. “What are you doing here, Karofsky?”
His chest heaves as he stares at the other boy. The adrenaline starts to fade, replaced by grief and fear. When Karofsky shifts, Kurt instinctively startles back; it’s only the anguish on Karofsky’s face that gives Kurt pause.
“Uh, this was a bad idea,” Karofsky mumbles. “Sorry, I’ll just—?”
“No,” Kurt says despite the tremble in his voice, “tell me why you’re here.” He can’t help himself as he sneers, “Upgraded to stalking, maybe?”
Karofsky shuts his eyes tight. His hands ball into fists.
There it is, Kurt thinks, c’mon, do it. He could call hospital security. He could get a real restraining order. Maybe one good thing could come out of this nightmare of a week.
“My mom died when I was twelve,” Karofsky says, so soft Kurt almost misses it. If not for the sterile silence of the hospital, quiet except for the trill of his father’s heart monitor, Kurt would’ve. Karofsky clears his throat and the next words come out a little louder, a little stronger. “She was, uh, healthy, I guess. Like, she worked out, ate right, all that shit. Stuff. Sorry.”
Kurt shrugs. Karofsky looks just as baffled by the gesture as Kurt feels right now.
Nevertheless, the other boy continues. “She was out for a run. She wanted me to go with. I was getting kinda big. Puberty or whatever. My dad’s a big guy but my mom was super tiny. I dunno, that’s not the point.” Karofsky shakes his head like it might clear his jumbled thoughts. Kurt loathes to admit he finds the rambling almost…soothing.
Karofsky continues. “I wanted to play on the Xbox so I pretended to be sick. She totally didn’t believe me but let me get away with it anyway.”
Kurt swallows, stomach churning. “What happened?”
Karofsky’s face shutters. He looks to Burt. “She had a heart attack while she was running. Total fluke. Just bad luck.”
Kurt knows what reciting the words of a doctor sounds like; he’s done it far too often this week for his liking. “She…she didn’t make it,” he says, not a question but close.
Karofsky shakes his head. “She wasn’t found soon enough. Blood flow to her brain stopped or something.” Karofsky shrugs, a flippant hand gesturing to his own head. “She was in a coma for a while too, until dad pulled the plug.”
Kurt’s stomach sinks and he jumps again when Karofsky whips around to face him. This time, Kurt doesn’t flinch from the abrupt movement.
“Shit, that’s not—I didn’t say that to scare you.” And he looks so earnest, so genuine, that Kurt can only nod. “My mom, she was out on that trail for, like, an hour. Some other joggers found her. Your dad got here right away, right? That’s…that’s what Hudson was saying.”
Kurt nods slowly. “He was with a client at the garage. They called an ambulance.”
Karofsky offers him a hesitant smile. “That’s good then, right?” He looks back to Burt. “The doctors weren’t sure if mom would’ve survived if she’d been found sooner, but it wouldn’t have hurt, you know? So your dad is probably in a good spot or whatever.”
“Right.” Kurt looks to the door, open and leading out into a mostly empty hallway. Mercedes will probably tear him a new one for what he does next, but…it just feels right. He takes a few cautious steps forward, until he’s almost close enough to touch Karofsky. “I’m sorry you lost your mom that way,” he says honestly. “I lost mine when I was eight. Cancer. We knew it was coming, but that doesn’t make it any easier.”
Karofsky nods. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my dad.” He seems so raw when he glances at Kurt. “I just…I wanted you to know you aren’t alone.”
Kurt nods back. “Thank you,” he says despite the strangeness of this all. “I appreciate it. Everyone in glee has been trying to talk to god, or about god, or get me to do either of those things. No one really gets it. Finn never really knew his dad, neither did Puck. All the rest of them still have both parents.”
“It’s shitty,” Karofsky agrees. There’s a beat of silence as they both glance back at Burt. They’re still watching his lax face, the steady rise and fall of his chest, when Karofsky speaks again. “I’m sorry.”
Kurt swallows around the lump in his throat. “For what?”
Karofsky bristles briefly but doesn’t lash out like Kurt expects. He curls his hands until his knuckles turn white around the rail of Burt’s bed and Kurt reaches out before he can stop himself. Karofsky tenses at his touch initially, then slowly relaxes. The tension bleeds out until his shoulders droop and the tears start.
“For everything,” Karofsky rasps, “the slushies, the lockers, all of it.”
Kurt retracts his hand but otherwise doesn’t go far. “Why did you do it?”
Karofsky doesn’t answer right away and as much as Kurt wants to push, he’s tired. He’s been fighting with his friends all week, has been fighting with Karofsky for even longer. He’s so tired of fighting—so he gives Karofsky time. Even though he hardly deserves it, Kurt holds his tongue and waits.
“My grandma is kind of old fashioned,” Karofsky says, “and my dad doesn’t give a shit about church, but he goes because she asks.” Karofsky isn’t looking at Burt now, but rather the wires above his head. “And dad drags me along, because of course he does. So every week I have to sit there and listen to some wrinkly old douchebag preach about sinners and saints and how queers are ruining everything.”
Kurt ohs quietly in understanding.
“And then I get to school, and there you are.” Karofsky’s gaze cuts to him for only a second before flicking away. “So…so open and out there. Wearing skirts and shit.”
“They’re kilts,” Kurt says, “but I take your point.”
Karofsky shakes his head. “It’s like being in the middle of a defensive tackle.” He’s as earnest as ever, but…
“...I have no idea what that means,” Kurt admits, almost amused.
“Oh, uh…It’s just a lot, y’know? Getting it from all sides.” Karofsky gestures to his face and Kurt interprets the move as best he can.
“Right, continue.”
Karofsky looks embarrassed which is a new expression Kurt’s never seen on him—even more surprising is the fact he does continue. “Right…it’s just hard. Going to church or seeing my grandma and hearing all about hell and damnation and whatever the fuck else. And then seeing you.”
“So, what, just the sight of me sends you into a bible-thumping rage?”
Karofsky makes a frustrated noise, one that deepens when Kurt finally takes a step back. “It’s not you, it’s me.”
Kurt opens his mouth to make a cutting remark, but Karofsky keeps talking.
“I can’t get you out of my head, Hummel, and it makes me fucking sick. But it shouldn’t, or at least, I don’t think it should. But everyone keeps telling me that fags are fucked in the head, or demented, or whatever, and I don’t want to be any of those things. But I can’t stop thinking about you, and how fucking beautiful you are, and it’s driving me insane.”
Kurt’s glad he’s not the one hooked up to a heart monitor. That admission would have his EKG in a tailspin, surely. “Oh,” is his eloquent reply. “So you’re…”
“I don’t know what I am,” Karofsky admits, sounding purely miserable. “I’m sorry, that’s about all I know.”
Kurt nods absently. “Do you, uh, want to sit?” He nods toward the corner of the room where a deeply stiff loveseat waits. He tried sleeping on it and thought he broke his spine, but it’ll serve the needs of this conversation well enough. He moves to sit on one side of it without waiting for Karofsky’s answer, but he’s glad when footsteps follow him. “So…you think I’m beautiful?”
“Fishing for compliments?”
“It’s not like I get many of them, especially not from other boys.” Kurt gives Karofsky a grin.
Karofsky hesitantly returns it. “Well, other boys are stupid. I should know. I’m one of them.”
At that, Kurt laughs, soft and only slightly strained. “You’re…surprising.” He looks back to his father, sighing at the lack of change. “What do we do now?”
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t keep harassing me,” Kurt says, firm and sure. “It doesn’t even sound like you want to be doing it in the first place.”
“Feelings are confusing, okay?”
“So go see Ms. Pillsbury. It’s literally her job to help with confusing feelings.” Kurt’s voice comes out sharper than he intends and for a moment, he’s sure he’s screwed this up entirely.
But Karofsky just flops back against the loveseat, wincing at the unforgiving cushion. “She’s completely insane though.”
“She is,” Kurt says, “but she also, sometimes, knows what she’s talking about. I think it would be good for you to speak with her.” Kurt turns his attention back to Karofsky. “Especially if we’re going to be friends.”
He’s not emboldened by the look of fear on Karofsky’s face, but he does appreciate the fact the other boy doesn’t immediately take off running.
“You, somehow, are the only person this week who hasn’t tried to tell me how I should feel about my life,” Kurt says seriously. “You didn’t come in here preaching, or screaming, or acting like I’m somehow a villain for not alerting everyone to the fact my father is in the hospital.”
Karofsky frowns. “Your friends kinda suck, Hummel.”
Kurt sighs. “Only sometimes.” He looks down at his lap, quite literally twiddling his thumbs. “I think you can understand why I could use a nice, not-sucky friend right about now, don’t you?”
Karofsky still looks stricken by the suggestion; despite his pale face, he nods slowly. “Yeah, I get it.”
“So, how about this,” Kurt says as he sits up a little straighter, “we, tentatively, are friends. We don’t even have to talk at school yet—as long as the bullying stops immediately.”
“I don’t control the other guys,” Karofsky says somewhat desperately. “I mean, I can try, but—?”
“No, I just mean you. You stop bullying me. If you can get the other guys to lay off, then great. If not, then oh well.” Kurt waits for a nod of acknowledgement before continuing. “We can just hang out here, for now. No one at school has to know.”
“Seriously?”
“Unless you want to start sitting with glee club at lunch, then yes, seriously.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready to be around Berry that much.”
Kurt’s laugh is louder this time; he’s rewarded with a genuine smile from Karofsky. “That’s understandable. So, this will be…our safe space, I guess. No bullying, no slushies, no…no bullshit.”
Karofsky’s eyes widen. Kurt smirks at him.
“Just us, and my dad. We’ll pretend he’s chaperoning.”
At that, the tips of Karofsky’s ears go pink. “Oh, uhm.”
Kurt doesn’t linger on the teasing, though he’s hardly disappointed by the feeling of leaving another boy speechless. That kind of power is instantly addictive. He pushes the thought aside for now. “Then, maybe after my dad wakes up, and maybe after you have a couple chats with Ms. Pillsbury, we can reassess. If we want.”
“Like, me hanging out with you outside of the hospital?”
“Yes, since I don’t plan on hanging around here for fun once my dad’s released.”
“Right, makes sense.” Karofsky looks at his hands. His nail beds are absolutely disastrous though it’s hard to say if it’s from sports or a general lack of care or pure anxiety. “I don’t…I don’t know if I’m gay.” He looks embarrassed to admit it. Kurt can see the traces of hope in his hazel eyes, like he wishes he was surer of himself. Like he wants to know if he’s gay. It gives Kurt a little thrill.
“It’s fine if you’re not,” Kurt says softly. “I really could just use a friend right now, and I think you could too. So we’ll just start there and see where it goes.”
Karofsky’s quiet for a long moment. Kurt again gives him time, though his heart feels ready to beat out of his chest. “Okay,” he says eventually, “friends.” He sits up straighter too. He looks happier than Kurt’s ever seen him. Which isn’t saying much, but it’s something.
Kurt extends a hand. “I’m Kurt Hummel,” he says at Karofsky’s blank look. “We’re starting over,” he whispers, “just go with it.”
Amused and confused, Karofsky does. He shakes Kurt’s hand gently and replies, “I’m, uh, Dave Karofsky. Or, David. But most people call me Dave.”
Kurt doesn’t tease him, though the urge is certainly there. Instead, he just says, “It’s nice to meet you, Dave. I think this is the start of a very interesting friendship.”