Kurt woke up, looked at his phone, and gave an elated fist pump right there in his pajamas. It was just the next day. He could call Blaine, they could talk, and he could get everything back on track. He was just sure of it.

He recalled the taste of Blaine on his lips and smiled. At this time the first time, they were ages away from kissing, yet. Kurt was glad he cheated a little this time around and went a little faster, and, seriously, the universe could not expect him to spend any amount of time with Blaine and not have his lips—and other stuff—all over him, right?  Technically, they had only met yesterday. Was it too early to have sex?  Kurt didnt think so.  

Then Kurt looked over at his valet, and his heart fell to his stomach. He remembered that outfit. It included a black and white Comme des Garçons Homme Plus crewneck sweater, a Trouvé drop stitch cardigan, calf-length Doc Martin boots, and red plaid shorts. It was some of his favorite items of clothing all rolled into one fantastic outfit that Kurt could never bring himself to wear again after that day—technically, today—because of all the bad memories. His eventual disposal of the crewneck was particularly heartbreaking, because he had picked up the $300 item at a liquidation shop for $5, and he had worn it a lot, but after Karofsky had kissed him, he couldn't even look at it without feeling his gross, desperate, wet lips on him. Kurt shuddered with revulsion.

Today was the day. Today was the day that Karofsky would kiss him, and it would be bewildering and surprising and depressing. Tomorrow Kurt and Blaine would confront him. The next day Karofsky would start threatening Kurt's life. By February, Karofsky would be dead.

Kurt wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. Could he change this outcome? Kurt wondered. Even if changing the future didnt terrify him, he didn't know how to change it in this particular instance. The problem was that Dave Karofsky didn't know how to come to terms with his own sexuality. He craved the respect and admiration of his fellow students, even if—like most bullies—he had to come by it through fear and intimidation. His inner turmoil was that he despised who he was deep down. He loved men, but he loathed himself for it. Kurt didn't know how to help David overcome those feelings, and yet, Kurt still felt guilty for not having paid more attention to David and what he was enduring. Maybe he could at least pay more attention this time. Maybe he could try harder to help David understand that his sexuality was something he could be proud of, or, at least, enjoy with out shame.

Kurt wasn't sure he could bring himself to allow Karofsky to kiss him again. In his whole life, Kurt had only ever been kissed by three men, and Karofsky's unwanted assault counted as one. Kurts affair with Adam after Blaine cheated on him, during a period that Kurt always referred to as Blaine's Dark Age of Insanity and Infidelity (to which Blaine would roll his eyes and say, "Kurt, let it go, already,") was brief, and the kisses were practically chaste. For all intents and purposes, Blaine was the only person Kurt had ever kissed with real passion. Maybe this time around Kurt could make sure that Blaine was his one and only, period.

Except Blaine had probably already kissed that spastic dancing, sweater boy, James.  And Kurt had probably already been violated by that agressive, macho, he-man, Matt.  

Sighing, Kurt got dressed and headed to school. Most of the day went by without incident--although Kurt had to take some longer routes to some classes to avoid Matt--and Kurt looked forward to calling Blaine after school, but as Kurt headed to his locker before fifth period, his phone chirped. He looked down at the screen. He had a text from Blaine.

Kurt smiled and was about to pull up the message when he saw a red jacket out of the corner of his eye. His protective instincts—the ones that remembered what a pain it was to replace the screen on that phone the first time around—kept him from reading the text and made him hug his phone to his chest. As a consequence, instead of feeling his phone being smacked from his hands, instead, he just felt his whole body being slammed into a locker.

Brushing himself off, Kurt stood and walked down the hall with his head held high. He didn't have to run this time. He knew where Karofsky was going, and he could easily follow.

He walked into the boys' locker room, which was deserted now except for Karofsky.

Karofsky turned his head, saw Kurt, and said, “The girls' locker room is next door.”

Instead of responding, Kurt looked around. He walked over to a door across the room and opened it. Inside was a spacious storage room. Kurt swept a hand and said to Karofsky, “Step inside. We need to talk.”

“Why?  So you can get a peek at my junk?  Im not going in there.”

Kurt exhaled a long breath. “No, David,” he said with patience he didn't quite feel, “I need to talk to you, and I don't think you want to hear what I have to say where there's a chance that other people might walk in.”

“I'm not going into a closet with you, homo.” Karofsky sniggered at his own, terrible joke.

Kurt glared at Dave, “I know you're gay, Karofsky. Now, we can talk about it, and I can try to help you, or we can ignore it, and it's going to end badly for you. It's your choice.”

In a flash, Karofsky had Kurt by the lapels, picking him up off the ground. Kurt managed to keep strong eye contact, despite the fact that his heart was racing a million miles an hour. The two boys glared at each other for a minute, then Karofsky threw Kurt away from him and stalked into the supply closet. Kurt smoothed his clothes and followed, and then he shut the closet door behind him.

“I'm not a fag,” asserted Karofsky.

“David, you're harassing me. You're pushing me, and you're hurting me. You're twice my size, and it doesn't make you look like a big man to pick on me, so there has to be another reason that I threaten you. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out. You're attracted to me. Either that, or you want to be me. I'm not sure which.”

Karofsky stepped closer to Kurt, crowding him up against a row of shelving. Kurt put up both hands, palms flat, in defense.

“If you tell anyone this bullshit,” Karofsky warned, “I will kill you.”

Kurt felt like cringing, but, instead, he put a hand on Karofsky's bicep in a calming gesture. Karofsky flinched, but he didn't move away. “David, I don't believe in outing people. But I want you to know that you can always talk to me about this. I can help you, and I can make sure that no one ever knows that you're talking to me.”

“You're crazy.”

Kurt nodded, “I might be. But I'm not wrong. Not about this.”

“Do not push me, Hummel. I should kick your ass.”

“You could, and I couldn't stop you. But, David, before you do, I need to tell you something.”

“What?” Karofsky growled in a belligerent tone.

“You should talk to your dad. He's a good guy, and he loves you, no matter what.  Hes not going to care that youre gay.  Trust me on this.”

Karofsky glared at Kurt, and Kurt braced himself for what might come next, but he was completely unprepared for Karofsky to burst into tears. He threw his arms around Kurt and sobbed, “God, Kurt, I don't want to be like this. What do I do?”

Kurt hesitated for a second, and then he put his arms around the big football player, rubbing circles in his back. “It's going to be okay,” he soothed.

After a minute, he felt something shift between them, and then Karofsky was pressing his lips into Kurt's neck. Kurt stepped back out of the embrace and said gently, “Sorry. I'm flattered, but I'm kind of saving my kisses for another guy.”

Karofsky looked like he had been slapped. Then he flashed to anger, knocked a row of athletic equipment off a shelf with a sweep of his hand, and stormed out of the supply closet. By the time Kurt recovered himself and exited the locker room, Karofsky was nowhere to be seen.

Then Kurt felt his phone in his pocket and remembered that he had a text message from Kurt. A small smile played over his lips as he remembered his first-ever text from Blaine: courage. He pulled his phone out, excited to see this same message once again.

Instead, it read: We need to talk.