The Wedding Topper

By Rian

December 4, 2010

Lynchpin. Totem. Symbol. Touchstone.

A damn little figurine. That was all he had left. And even that he took by accident.

He'd walked up to Hummel…to Kurt…wanting to talk to him, to see him, to help him understand, make him understand, to see those eyes meet his own…those eyes that could stop a clock they were so dazzling. Hudson walked away and Dave took his shot. He crept up so Kurt wouldn't run or scream. But when Kurt turned and saw him, his whole body tensed and terror spread across that porcelain face. "I don't want you near me," he'd almost whispered.

Dave's face betrayed him for a split second. Crumbling, falling, failing…alone, alone, alone. But as always, his damned defense mechanism, old reliable aggression, took over. He painted a smirk over his pain and moved closer, daring Kurt to stop him almost. Yes, now he was really scared. Dave smiled at Kurt's pain, only because it made him forget his own. He wasn't alone when they were both in pain. When they had at least that much connection.

Even despite the urge to run, yell or break every locker in view, the urges were there. The desperate lonely desire for contact, for connection. He stepped even closer and poked Kurt in the chest, just above where his nipple would be. Dave ignored how firm and supple the skin felt through the designer cloth. He ignored feeling Kurt's pulse flying and the guilt and shame he felt at causing it for the wrong reasons as he slid his finger lower towards Kurt's taut abdomen. He only knew that at least he could touch him like this, at least…

His eyes snuck a look away from Kurt's face and saw the wedding topper sitting on the locker ledge. He'd heard about Hudson's mom marrying Kurt's dad. How ironic that the gay kid had a straight couple's decoration in his crowded locker. Dave avoided looking at the handsome boy's picture Kurt had taped up and snatched at the plastic bride and groom. I take what I want, he thought to himself. And I can't have him so…

"Can I have this?" he spat out, almost playfully. Kurt only trembled harder, his nervous habit betraying him as his pale hand crept up to cover his beestung lips. Dave grabbed the pair and bore his eyes into Kurt's once again. A challenge, a devil-may-care I-don't-need/want/love…you attempt. He almost succeeded but felt himself breaking looking at Kurt again. Why did he always do this? Why did he always end up hurting the one person he would die for? The one person who made him want to get up in the morning? The one boy who knew how he felt…

Instead, he pushed past Kurt with a creepy "Thanks" and pocketed it, walking away. Had he known that within two days he'd be attacked by Kurt's father, drug in front of Sue Sylvester with his own father…his father who took up for Kurt, that was a real surprise…That he'd be suspended and then reinstated thanks to his parents' benevolence or vehemence with the School Board…That'd he finally work up the nerve to fix his mistakes and try to win Kurt over…maybe get some help like he knew he needed…He had those days off to think at home, his parents ever watchful.

But Kurt was gone. Dave came back with real intentions of redemption…And Kurt was gone. He'd driven him away. He'd screwed everything up. Him. Dave…no, not Dave, Karofsky. Loser. Liar. Fat. Closet Case. Homo…

His façade came back again to try to save him. In the days that followed he resorted to his cocky ways despite the fact that he could feel the hatred radiating off the students and most of the faculty. He'd been benched in football and hockey, and only Azimio and some of the other numbskulls were still talking to him. Puckerman called him out in the locker room. He wondered if the whole damn Glee club knew. But no, he'd scared Kurt into silence. What the hell did he do that for? Was he just a cornered animal lashing out? He shuddered thinking Puck might have seen the torment dash across his face when he mentioned Kurt leaving because of Dave's presence. Even with all this going on, school was an escape, a break, a chance to forget.

Because then he would have to go home. And stare at the figurine on his nightstand, which was all he had left. In a dark moment, he'd blotted out Kurt's pictures in his yearbook, so they offered no solace. Only cruel penmarks as smirches on that angel face. He tried to throw the topper away, destroy it, forget it, but he couldn't let go of his last tie to the boy he cared for so much. The boy who changed everything, despite Dave's best stupid attempts to prevent it. Dave didn't know what to do anymore. He hadn't for a while. He had hoped, in a deep secret squishy place, that Kurt would understand, help him, put his soft little hand in Dave's big strong calloused one…

As he tried to sleep, he'd pick the topper up and smell it. Kurt's vanilla-scented memory lingered on it. It was something, just something to grasp onto. And Dave would look at the figures and flounder between wishing to die and wishing that he might still dream of standing like that with Kurt someday.