Erase

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.


Dave Karofsky doesn't cry.

He doesn't fucking cry. Crying is for pussies. Crying is the kind of thing Hummel does, and he's not, and never will be, anything like Hummel. The thought of it disgusts him, digs deep into the folds of his stomach, and then there's just the queasiness. The never-ending feeling, buried under mounds and mounds of everything that he is.

He clenches his jacket more securely, running his hands through his hair. Who the fuck is Hummel to tell anyone anything about what happened? It was a momentary lapse of judgement. He can't help it if sometimes Hummel just looks so much like a girl. He can't help it that Hummel makes him feel that way. He can't...he just can't...

His rough nails cut into his skin, not even noticing the pain. He can't stand all of this shit. This all consuming, always fucking there in the back of his mind, crap. It occupies every portion of his brain until sometimes he even dreams about it. His mind is clouded, bombarded, by these...these images, and they're always so palpable. He can see everything, feel, taste, and it's like nothing fucking matters in these dreams. All the scenes, the sensations, Hummel, it all meshes together in this perfect incandescent moment. And then there's always this part of him that swells up. That wants to reach out and touch, that needs, and just when he does it, it's over just like that.

He opens his eyes and everything comes rushing back. The vivid intensity of it all is always still there, but then there's the shame, the hate, and it's always hits him like a torrent. What he's thinking is wrong. How can it be right? Not when it goes against everything he believes in. Everything he hates and stands against.

So then, always, he finds himself under yet another cold shower. Standing in there, one hand pressed against the wall, body doused with the icy stream of water, trying to forget the dreams that never truly disappear. He can keep them in check though, most of the time. But then he sees Hummel, and it all hits him like a ton of bricks, the feelings, that fire in his insides, and he has to put it out. So he does that the only way he knows how to. He hurts Hummel the way that Hummel hurts him, because he's sick of fucking keeping everything in all the damn time. He's sick of these dreams, these fantasies, every time he closes his eyes. And every time he sees Hummel it's like another reminder of everything that he's trying to forget.

So he pushes him harder and harder every time, waiting for the satisfaction to finally kick in. His anger feeds of Hummel because Hummel always takes it, and he hates how fucking ok the other boy is with all of this. He hates how Hummel flounces around with his fancy clothes and up-turned nose, when he has to know that none of this is right. The way Hummel floats around school, like he owns the goddamn place, creeps under his skin. It gets to him, because Hummel has no fucking idea. He really doesn't. And every time Dave sees him, there's that white, hot flash of anger, resentment, something else, and all he wants to do is destroy the smaller boy. Knock him down a peg. Make Hummel feel the way that he feels because he always looks like he has it so fucking easy, what with all his confidence and the people he hangs around with.

He shakes his head, resting it back on to the cold metal of the locker he's leaning against. He can feel the prick in his eyes, the heat, and he blinks it all away ferociously. He doesn't cry. And he definitely doesn't cry over Hummel of all people.

But when he closes his eyes, Hummel's is the only face he sees through the black. And he can't help but want that, crave that, because Hummel is everything that he's not and everything that he is at the same time. That's the thing that always slips back into that hole in his mind. The one where he tries to stuff everything he's trying not to remember.

Hummel is everything he is and everything he wants to be.

And no amount of pushing him into lockers, punching people until his knuckles are raw; no amount of hating himself or denial is ever going to change that.

Because nothing can erase the incredible feeling of Kurt's soft, stunned lips pressed up against his own no matter how hard he tries to make himself forget.


A/N: Yeah, so this just needed to be done. I know that there are heaps of Karofsky POVs, but I couldn't resist...there's just so much to work with. I'm back to my shorter style, which is a nice break from my long story ones, but I might have another Kurt&Kurofsky in the works. Done quickly, but I like it :) enjoy, and please review. They honestly make my day.