A/N: Random idea is random. XD

Obviously Kurtofsky, and obviously set after NBK. Duhh. X3

The pressure is too much. Wherever he looks, he feels as though he is being accused. He feels so guilty. He's lying to them all, a mask on his face. A mask of masculine, bullying fury and athletic skill and natural intimidation from size. But he doesn't feel like this mask any longer. He feels small and afraid and wounded; he is a dog with its tail between its legs, cowering in a corner.

Frustrated with and spiteful toward himself, Dave Karofsky looks for a means of punishment. He feels as though he deserves a little bit in order to balance out his wrongs, his pains, his lies. And so he grabs the nerdiest freshman he can get his hands on and openly assaults the kid in front of a teacher.

"Hey, you!" the teacher says, the surprise wearing off as she turns pink with rage. "Why did you just do that to him?"

Dave looks between the floored nerd and the teacher, his eyes finally settling on those obnoxious librarian glasses nestled at the tip of her nose. "Because I felt like it. What'ya gonna do, give me detention?"

"I believe a little work during an in-school suspension would do better than that," the woman states sternly, her hands on her hips. She whips out a little sheet from the clipboard in the crook of her arm and jots some things down. She asks for his name and guidance counselor's name (so that they may work his schedule around his new punishment). Then, ultimately, she escorts him to the vice principal's office to finalize it.

Dave secretly takes it with pride. It feels good, getting his just desserts. After all those times he's pummeled kids and thrown slushies at them and tossed them into dumpsters… After all those times he's hurt one particular homo whom he certainly does not have feelings for, karma is finally whipping him back. He's finally been caught. And on purpose, no less.

"In-school suspensions can't be given at this time. Our district-wide grades are too low for that, I'm afraid. Instead, he'll serve janitorial detention. That should give him the work you were looking for," the VP says, speaking to the teacher who caught Dave harassing another student. The woman nods, and takes it upon herself to call and inform Dave's parents.

His punishment begins tomorrow after school.

.o0o.

"You can start by cleaning up this confetti mess we found the other day in the auditorium. We haven't got any idea how it got there, only that Mr. Shuester informed us of it, and we just haven't gotten 'round to cleaning it yet since no one's usin' the theatre for anythin' right now," the head janitor explains to Dave.

Karofsky snorts and shrugs off his letterman jacket as he's handed some supplies: a vacuum, a broom and dustpan, and some polish with a few rags.

"And when ya finish, if you got time, you can start polishin' the front of the stage. You don't have to get it done today, but gettin' that confetti crap clean shouldn't take too long if you use the vacuum on the floor and the broom to sweep it off the stage."

The janitor then chuckles a 'good luck' and leaves the jock standing with the supplies outside of the janitorial closet in the hallway.

Sighing to himself through his nose, Dave collects the cleaning objects and hauls them down the too-empty hall and to the right, toward the auditorium. He never did like being in school after-hours; somehow, it feels… eerie.

As soon as he slips in through the side doors of the large assembly room, Dave's eyes scan the place to survey the mess. But during his scan, he notices something a little off.

There's a figure lying in the center of the stage, away from the mysterious confetti fiasco. The figure is non-moving, and at a distance – judging by the clothing – it looks to be a girl.

Dave carefully sets aside the cleaning supplies and hops as softly as possible up onto the stage. The figure comes into a clearer view.

The person is sleeping. Utterly asleep, curled up on one side, their back facing the athlete. But the hair it too short to be a girl, and the lack of hips is evidence enough to confirm that no, this person isn't female. And even at this angle, the face obstructed from view, Dave knows that this sleeping student is none other than Kurt Hummel, the previously referred to homosexual.

Dave covers his mouth with his hand. Hs eyes dart back and forth momentarily, his mind racing. What should he do? He has to work, and the vacuum will be loud, and isn't Hummel supposed to be somewhere right now, like that geeky singing club or, you know, at home? Should he wake Hummel up himself? What sort of reaction will that bring about?

A little nervous, Karofsky clenches his lightly trembling hands into fists and paces across the short distance to kneel on one knee beside the sleeping male.

In his sleep, Kurt's face is completely relaxed, lacking all hints of over-confidence and hatred and giddiness and sorrow and pain and shock and fear. All of the emotions Dave has ever seen on the flamboyant boy's face is gone, wiped clean with the lovely blanket of unconsciousness.

Idly, Karofsky wonders how deep of a sleeper Kurt is. Maybe he can use the vacuum without Kurt noticing? How loud is that particular machine, anyhow? And, he wonders distantly, what does Kurt dream about? What is he dreaming at this very second? Does he ever mumble in his sleep?

Dave knows the answers to these things about himself. When the jock sleeps, he sleeps deeply and without interruption (unless he has to pee so badly that he's stirred awake, of course). He dreams of hockey, mostly, and football, and school life, and the occasional flying or high, far jumping, or of elation in general (he once dreamt of an air balloon ride, and he's never been on one in his life). But then…

Then, there are sometimes the dreams he has about the particular individual before him, dreams of dates and of having more classes together and of making out beneath the stars. Dreams that, quite honestly, helped lead to that stupid-mistake-of-a-kiss last week that he hasn't gotten out of his mind since.

Shaking his head to rid himself of his trivial thoughts, Karofsky leans forward to test how deeply Kurt sleeps. If he's lucky, he won't have to face a conscious Kurt.

He first touches the boy's shoulder lightly, barely a brush against the fabric of his pea coat. Without warning, Kurt rolls over onto his back, causing Dave to stumble backwards, nearly unable to soften his fall. But he manages somehow, and Kurt remains asleep. How he fell asleep in such a place in the first place is beyond Dave at this point; he understands the quiet seclusion of the auditorium, but it's damn cold here, and like Dave already thought, shouldn't Hummel be somewhere right now?

He notices all too quickly that Kurt's eyelashes are wet, and there are thin, nearly dried tear trails arcing over the bridge of his nose and slipping down toward the side he had been curled up on, disappearing into his perfect hairline.

"You'd been crying?" Dave breathes, and something aches in his chest, a little tug on his heart. He ignores it and reaches for Hummel's iPhone; scuffed on the bottom, now, from when Dave knocked it out of the boy's hands last week, and thankfully, he finds, the password to unlock the device is as easy as pie. It's Kurt's birthday day and month (don't ask how Dave knows Hummel's birthday; it's merely useless information he picked up over the years, noticing when people like that chubby black chick and that Asian girl would decorate the front of the homo's locker).

There is a text message chain on the screen as soon as Dave unlocks the phone. The messages are between Kurt – obviously – and some guy named Blaine. Karofsky scoffs at the name; it must be that guy he saw last week on the stairwell, the preppy private school jerk.

The messages aren't pretty. They start off cutesy and happy and friendly, but they slowly turn into a little argument that evolves into what sounds like a break-up. But it's not a, "let's-not-see-each-other" kind of break-up; it sounds like the sort you have when you lose a friend, not a lover. And for that, Dave is honestly a little relieved even if he won't admit as to why.

Feeling suddenly bad for the smaller male, Dave respectfully returns the iPhone to where he found it and gently strokes the length of Kurt's face. Kurt must be crushed; he must have liked that Blaine guy, because, if Dave remembers correctly, he saw a photo of the guy in Kurt's locker before.

On contact, Kurt murmurs something in his sleep, but the words are indistinguishable whispers.

The word 'adorable' flashes across Dave's mind, and as hard as he tries, he can't shake it. It's like that dreadful moment in the locker room: while Kurt was pitching insults, part of all Dave was thinking was how sexy Kurt is when he's flushed with rage, and how conflicted he was about possibly daring to blow his cover, shatter his mask and his lie, and kiss the person of his dreams (and wet dreams) –

Similar to what he's thinking now.

Except Karofsky isn't that stupid. He knows another kiss would solve nothing, and worse than that, most likely wake the boy up.

And so, begrudgingly, Dave turns and leaps down from the stage to get started on his work. If the vacuum wakes Hummel up, it's as easy to explain himself as a shrug and a brief, "guess I didn't see you there" excuse. Yeah, that sounds about right.

Sure enough, as soon as the vacuum starts sucking up the silver and fuchsia sparkly strips of confetti, Kurt stirs with a yawn.

And as soon as he sits up and glances around, the pair lock eyes, and immediately Kurt's relaxed face hardens. "What are you doing in here?" Kurt glares, his tone callous.

Dave adverts his gaze and pretends not to care (even though he cares a whole lot). He keeps his own voice collected and mild. "I could ask you the same thing, Hummel."

Kurt looks taken aback in Dave's peripheral vision. "Well. That's none of your business; it's mine." He looks Dave up and down, examining his actions. "You're cleaning? What, did the big ham-hawk finally get caught doing something naughty, and get detention for it?"

"That about sums it up," Karofsky replies with the same cool tone. He doesn't want to lose his temper any more. It's too tiring (and really, does Dave want to make Kurt hate him even more?).

"Oh," Kurt says mostly to himself. Over the roar on the vacuum, Dave can't even hear him murmur this.

You'd think he would be happy about this little fact, though. Dave getting what he deserves? Hell yes! – And yet, Kurt seems to be a little perturbed about it. It doesn't sound right. Why is Dave only getting caught now?

The athlete, on the other hand, is trying his hardest to focus on his task at hand and ignore the fact that Hummel hasn't made an exit yet.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Dave grumbles aloud as he shifts from the vacuum to the broom, taking one giant step onto the stage and turning his back on Kurt while he sweeps confetti off its wooden surface.

Kurt tightens his jaw and stares at Dave's broad shoulders. Without his dumb letterman jacket on, his figure is actually visible, and he's not half as thick as Kurt initially thought. It's mostly muscle beneath Karofsky's clothing, and his legs look longer without the rim of the jacket to cover where they connect to the jock's middle.

Quickly looking away, Kurt stands up. "No, not really. My father has a check-up appointment with the doctor today, and Glee Club got canceled. So I came here for a while for some quiet time." He snorts. "Not that you care."

"Actually, I do," Dave counters with a bristly slam on the broom on the wood. He cocks his head to peer over his shoulder. "I care since, y'know, I've got work here to do."

"I don't seem to be in the way, so that's no excuse for wanting me to leave," Kurt returns just as bristly as the broom. He's like a cute little hedgehog on its guard.

Karofsky barks a laugh and returns to his work. He doesn't say anything. Technically, the singer has a valid point. There's nothing to argue with that.

So the jock says instead as he jumps down again, his finger on the vacuum but hesitating to turn it on again: "True, but shouldn't you want to leave, Lady Face? I'm Mr. Big-Bad-Bully, remember? No one's here, and I'm already in trouble. I could beat the shit out of you and you wouldn't be ale to do a thing."

"We both know that's a lie, considering what happened the last time we were alone," Kurt retorts with a rolls of his eyes and the folding of his arms over his lean chest. "Isn't that right, Kissy Face?" he adds, stealing Dave's usual nickname of him and replacing the adjective.

Karofsky turns a noticeable shade of red and jabs his finger at the 'on' button, the vacuum roaring into life and drowning out the silence.

The soprano blinks. He… hadn't expected that. He expected yelling, denial, another grumpy punch or even a kick at something, but… no. In pace of any violence, verbal or physical, Karofsky appears to be… embarrassed.

Weird. That's not something you see every day.

Finding it safe and letting his curiosity get the better of him, Kurt sits on the edge of the stage and slides off, his ankles tingling from shock absorption as soon as he lands on the carpeted floor. He walks around Karofsky just as the taller boy finishes cleaning the confetti mess on the floor and moves to get the remaining bits littered around the first row of seats. He pauses, however, when he finds Hummel standing there instead. Since when did he get there? Dave hadn't even seen or heard the guy move –

"I asked you before what you were so scared of," Kurt says, voice tense, and loud as he tries to speak over the vacuum. But his tone soon melts into something else. "But I see now that you're still afraid, aren't you?"

And he sounds as though he knows precisely what he's talking about. Dave prays to the God he stopped believing in that Hummel has it all wrong, but he knows that's incorrect. Hummel is too damn intuitive.

Part of Karofsky wants to avoid and ultimately ignore the question. But he knows he can't, because Hummel is fully capable of verbally beating the answer out of him. So Dave sighs, indisposed, and shuts off the vacuum.

"Do you have to keep nagging me like this? God, you're worse than my mother," Dave returns hotly. He scrapes his nails through his hair and exhales again, another reluctant sigh. "Okay, fine. I'll say it, since no one will believe you if you repeat it: yeah, I'm scared. I'm fucking scared shitless. I don't want this, Hummel. I don't."

"You don't want… what?" Kurt asks for clarification, his hands falling to the planes of his hips. "You don't want to be gay? You don't want anyone to find out? You don't want the consequences of when they all do?" He pauses, and then tacks onto his rant in a softer voice, "You don't want to like me?"

Dave winces. He unmistakably winces. His eyes fall to his feet, then off to the side at the seats in front of the theatre, and then return to Kurt. His face tightens and Kurt knows that the jock's defenses have been activated. Dave hisses sarcastically, "Ding-ding-ding, we have a winner. It's all of the above, Hummel."

Oddly, the glee club member is a little proud of himself for figuring the great Karofsky out. But in the same token, he feels sorry that he said anything, forced the actually pleasant Dave to return to his temper-mental self.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Kurt says quietly. He glances down at his hands twisting in front of him.

Karofsky scowls. "Well I'm sorry to disappoint, bud, but you always upset me. I'm not sane when I'm around you. I swear to God you drive me crazy for just being you, since you're so damn sure of yourself and comfortable in your skin no matter what me or anybody else does to you, and for just being around me, I feel like I might lose it because I want you so bad!" he practically yells, and it's Kurt's turn to wince, mainly at the volume. A little quieter, but still tensely, Dave pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. "Why can't you just get out of my fucking head?"

Kurt is at a loss at what to do. As soon as Karofsky looks at him again – Kurt's light blue eyes connecting with the other's deep brown – he feels like he needs to fix this (it's flattering, hearing something like that), but he doesn't know how and most definitely isn't sure if he wants to. What if, by breaking the athlete's heart, Kurt never gets picked on again? But what if it goes the opposite way, and Dave comes to hate him and make his life even more of a living Hell?

Kurt's hands hand long since dropped to his sides, and now his fingers are curling, his hands balling into fists. He keeps his voice level down, but his seriousness is not lost on the lack of volume. "Just what do you want from me, then? You already took my first real kiss. You already have bruised me from shoving me so many times into the lockers. You've already sabotaged a decent portion of my wardrobe from all the slushie attacks. So what more do you want me to do? I've taken it all in stride, I've stood up to you, and now it's come to this tête à tête."

Karofsky hates French words. They kind of piss him off. But he knows this one, and it is a great way to describe this scene. Still, that doesn't stop the jock from taking a step closer, his hand gripping the lapel of Hummel's jacket. He brings them closer, and stares into Kurt's eyes. Conflict flickers over Dave's face. In a near-whisper, he tells Kurt: "I'm sorry, okay? But if you have to do something, then either make me stop liking you or hurry up and date me. Either way I'm screwed, so I really don't care which you choose."

And as the internally tormented closet-case releases Kurt and steps back, Kurt is left searching for a response.

However, Karofsky has reached is limit. He can't do this any longer; the pressure is too great. The pain and fear of rejection and the fear of what everyone else will say if Kurt accepts is too much for the poor brute to handle. He shakes his head fiercely, keeps his gaze off of the shorter male, and gathers up his detention gear. He exits the auditorium without a word, knowing full well he's going to be reamed for not completing today's work. But enough is enough. No one could have guessed that this was going to happen today. Least of all poor Dave.

As soon as the jock is gone, Kurt exhales sharply. He hangs his head and shoves his hands in the pockets of his pea coat. "Funny," he says to himself, his voice echoing in the lonely theatre, "I was actually considering saying 'yes' to the second option."