Prompt Post #7

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Linemen (3a/?)

[anonymous]

Lunch. It was almost hard to believe it was once one of Dave's favorite times of day. Not for the food - God knew that not a single crumb had passed his lips at any school that he would've called "good" - "edible" was as far as he'd go. But the chance to let loose some steam after a long morning of classes, catch up with friends, laugh a little. But now... as the room seemed to go still upon his entrance, just as the hall had, he wondered if he could just find some quiet corner with a sandwich next time. But no, he had to not think about this until he was just about to enter the cafeteria, so if he was gonna eat, it was going to have to be here.

He snatched up a tray and chose his lunch practically at random. So it was time for phase two: sitting down somewhere. This was going to be, to put it mildly, difficult. He could already see the table he used to sit with: the football team. They were glaring and closing ranks even though Dave was several feet away. Still no Azimio. The hockey table didn't look much friendlier; in fact, they seemed even more hostile - Dave wasn't sure that had been possible.

There was still outside, but it was still kind of cold, and fuck, he hadn't wanted to be one of those guys who sat by themselves somewhere out of the way because there was nowhere else. Shit, what happened to my fucking life?

The fact that he knew exactly what happened, and whose fault it ultimately was, only sank his spirits even further.

Then he saw it: the trace of movement out of the corner of his eye. He followed it; there it was again. Dave blinked, as if closing his eyes for that brief second would clear up the illusion and prove that it really wasn't happening. But it only showed the same image, all too clearly: Artie Abrams waving him over. Him.

He wasn't the only one staring in disbelief; the rest of the table (mostly Glee Club guys, Kurt and Blaine not among them, thank God) was doing the same. Dave was just about to conclude that the gesture was meant for someone else nearby when Abrams glared impatiently and unmistakably at him and waved him over again. His forehead creased in puzzlement, Dave approached, sliding silently into the empty space next to Abrams. "Hey," he said. "How're things going?"

Dave shrugged. "Still alive." He sipped at his milk.

Abrams nodded. "Good. Being left alone?"

"Mostly. For now."

The rest of the table was still staring at the two. Finn shook his head and actually left. Sam and Puck seemed rooted to their chairs. Only Mike seemed to have gotten over his surprise, regarding Dave and Artie as if interested in seeing what happened next.