To Get It Right

Author's Note: This storyline has been harrassing me for days, so I finally had to give in. It's a little more dramatic than I normally write, but I really couldn't resist.

2022

His morning begins the way they all have for the last three years. He wakes before his eyes flutter open, he feels the soft skin of the person lying beside him, and, for just a moment, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, this will be the morning he'll finally wake from this nightmare. For that one desperate moment, he imagines that the slim form lying in his arms has light brown hair instead of black. He pictures freckled arms and ivory-white skin because someone like him wouldn't spend money at a tanning bed. And that's the other thing - he hopes, for that fleeting second, that the body pressed so close to him is male.

But then there's a soft sigh by his shoulder and the fantasy vanishes.

"Dave," comes the quiet, very feminine voice. "What time is it?"

He moans, hoping she'll misread his disappoint as a residual effect of sleep, then rolls over and glances at the clock. Dammit. "8:15," he answers, and if this were any other Saturday he would gently pull away and steal a couple more hours of sleep, but not today because today. Well, today is the day Dave has been dreading since he'd learned that it was coming, and the drive to Lima isn't exactly short.

"Shit," Allison mutters, and he immediately feels the mattress shift as his girlfriend crawls out from underneath the blankets. "Babe, you gotta get up."

Dave swallows his frustration and reluctantly sits up, running his hands across his face to dispel the fogginess left over from last night's drinking binge. He had known it was a bad idea to go out, even for an hour, after his late night at the office, but Allison had been very clear about her intentions for their evening together, and he'd wanted to perform to the best of his ability. Maybe he's not in love with her, but he doesn't want her to leave either. She's his best friend, and the idea of hurting her with this secret makes him sick with worry.

He rises and heads for the shower as Ali pulls a robe around her and steps towards the kitchen, going, Dave knows, to start a pot of coffee. If he can be out in fifteen minutes she won't be back in time to join him.

So he scrubs quickly, washes his hair with his shampoo that she loves, and shuts the water off right as he hears the bedroom door swing back open.

"There's eggs on the table," she tells him, giving him a peck on the cheek as she passes. She strides over to the closet and immediately pulls out her favorite blue dress, the one he bought her for her birthday last year, and lays it across in the bed. "Ketchup's in the fridge."

"You're a freak," he teases, because Ali knows him well enough to know his aversion to ketchup on eggs, so he knows that she's joking. She grins up at him and he smiles back as genuinely as he can, because his dark mood isn't her fault at all, even if it is her name on the invitation. He's pretty sure Ali didn't choose her graduation year to vex him.

He yanks on his clothes before going to make his plate, and as he passes the fridge, his eyes stray to the thick white stationary paper and the heavy magnet in the shape of an elephant that holds it in place. He doesn't have to read the fancy cursive handwriting to know what it says. It's ingrained in his brain because of how much it horrified him when it arrived. William McKinley High requests the presence of Ms. Allison Fields on Saturday, May 28th for 2012 Class Reunion. All the other details are printed there as well, as if either one of them would forget the location of the high school.

"Shit," he whispers, for what seems like the 90th time since his girlfriend got the invitation. "Please let get me through this day."

By the time he and Allison pull up at the high school, the party is in full swing, and Dave is once again relieved that he and Ali live so far away. Thanks to a major traffic accident on the interstate they're two hours behind schedule, and if Dave is being honest with himself he has to admit that he was kinda hoping that the whole thing might be over by the time they arrived. Obviously, this isn't the case, but maybe it'll start winding down soon. Sure, it's Ali's graduation, but some of these students were Dave's classmates until he transferred for his senior year. He'd heard through the grapevine that Az is out of town this weekend, which is a relief because, even though he and Az have gotten together a handful of times over the past ten years, he doesn't think he could handle seeing his former best friend. Especially not if Hum - that is, certain other people- are here somewhere.

As Ali signs in, Dave wanders inside the room to get drinks for the pair of them. There's a table lining the wall with snacks and a clear punch bowl with some sort of red liquid inside, so he makes his way in that direction, remembering, as he draws near, that something similar had been set up for Junior Prom. A smile twitches across his lips as he wonders if Auntie Tanais here somewhere. If she was ever able to make it work with Brittany.

"Your girlfriend is just lovely."

Dave blinks, and looks down, though of course he can already identify the speaker because David Karofsky would recognize that voice anywhere. "Thanks," he answers, unsure of what else to say. He'd forgotten this part - how easily Kurt Hummel can render him speechless. Traditionally, it's been Kurt's compassion, or show-stopping vocals that have given him pause in the past, but tonight it goes further than that. There's something very akin to shame spreading through his body, though Kurt's expression is completely passive.

"Allison, right," Kurt continues, and Dave has to swallow the lump in the back of his throat so that he can at least attempt to contribute to the other boy's conversation.

Dave nods slowly. "Yeah," he replies weakly. "Allison Fields." He steals a glance at Ali, and when he catches her eye, she approaches.

"Hi," she says to Kurt brightly, before extending her hand in greeting. "I'm Allison."

"Kurt." He shakes her hand, and because Dave can't help but watch the scene with the horror of someone unable to look away from a car accident, he catches the way Kurt's eyes flicker to his girlfriend's neck.

Shiiiiit.

"That's a beautiful scarf," Kurt says, cocking his head, and narrowing his eyes at the sky blue silk. He flicks his gaze back over to Dave, and raises one eyebrow, though when he speaks, he addresses Ali. "A gift from your honey?"

She smiles, and it's apparent to Dave that she's remembering the night he'd presented her with the gift, over a year ago. Not their anniversary, not her birthday, no holiday in sight, but he had come home with a long, thin, white box, and she'd been so delighted that her boyfriend was the kind of guy who surprised his girlfriend for no other reason than love.

Except.

Except the truth was that, yes, the gift was given out of love - just not love for her.

It had happened on Dave's way home from work. He'd been fiddling with the radio, trying to find anything but Top 40s shit, and stumbled onto a station that, according to the DJ, was playing nonstop Broadway. He had immediately reached for the dial again (because, closeted gay or not, he still didn't really do the whole 'show tunes' thing) until he had heard the name that almost stopped his heart.

"And in other Broadway news, 'How to Succeed In Business Without Really Trying' lead, Kurt Hummel, launched his clothing line today, Designs By Kurt. You can find the items in Macys and Bloomingdales across the country."

He had intended to just look, to browse the different clothes and try imagine the long, slim body, bent over sketches and fabrics. But the scarf had been so fucking gorgeous, and soft, and glittering thanks to silver thread sewn in intermittently. He'd bought it without a second thought, before wandering over to the Men's side. He knew it was borderline pathetic, but he couldn't stop himself from also purchasing a blazer for himself, the same blazer that is currently hidden by the jacket that is zipped up to his collarbone.

"Dave got it for me," Ali is answering Kurt, forcing Dave to abandon his thoughts.

Kurt's silent for a moment, and Dave thinks that maybe he doesn't recognize it - the guy can't remember every single piece of clothing he's ever made, right?

"You know, I designed that."

Dave has to smother a frustrated groan, and works to keep his face free of any hint of guilt.

"You're kidding," Ali exclaims, and immediately she pulls the material from her neck, and turns the tag over. "Designs by Kurt," she reads, then her eyes move to Dave. "Did you realize that our former classmate here made clothes we're both wearing?"

"Clothes you're both wearing," Kurt repeats, and he eyes Dave's dress pants, and windbreaker.

Ali nudges him, and this time Dave does release a tiny growl, but he reaches for the zipper obediently. He hopes neither Kurt nor Ali notice that his hands tremble as he carefully unzips the windbreaker, revealing the blazer beneath. He tries to not look at Kurt, and fails miserably. "What," he snaps when Kurt says nothing.

There's a strange look on Kurt's face, like he's taking in very single detail with his too-perfect eyes, and not just the details in the blazer. It's like he can see every emotion that Dave has taken such precaution to hide, and it's more than a little disarming. But then he blinks, and the speculative stare is gone. "Nothing. It just . . ." He shrugs. "It looks good on you."

Honestly, this is really all too much for Dave. Bad enough that he has to carry on a conversation with the only person on the entire planet who really scares the shit out of him, but now he's discovering that his carefully chiseled mask that he's spent years perfecting is basically clear. One stupid conversation with Kurt, and it's like he's on fucking display. "I'm going to the bathroom," he says to neither one in particular, and quickly strides away before either can give an answer.

For several minutes he wanders aimlessly through the halls that once seemed so oppressive to him, and he tries to tell himself that things are different now. He no longer has to report to anyone, there's no homework to speak of in his new life, and he has a girlfriend, something he never had his entire four years in high school. And okay, maybe he doesn't love her with that soul-crushing adoration he felt once before, for someone else, but it's okay. She's okay. He thinks maybe he could be happy, eventually.

And that's what he's thinking when he turns down a hall he doesn't recognize, and glances around himself in confusion. What wing is this, he wonders, entering one of the classrooms. It looks just like all the others he sat in at some point or other, so he drops into one of the desks at the front, and buries his head in his hands. Unbidden, a single image comes to him. It's Kurt, that night at Scandals. God, he'd looked so fucking amazing to Dave, who had finally began learning the meaning behind sight for sore eyes because it had been months since he'd seen Kurt, and he'd kind of been thinking he'd probably never see the kid again. And when he had walked into the gay bar that Dave frequented, he hadn't even cared that he'd come with Bland and some kid that Dave had never seen before. He'd been so thrilled when the three had entered the building . . .