The Man I Used To Know (chapter five/?)

May 15, 2012 15:41

Title: The Man I Used To Know.
Author: Pulpobsessed
Pairing: Dave Karofsky/Kurt Hummel, Dave Karofsky/OMC, Kurt Hummel/OMC
Characters: Kurt Hummel, Dave Karofsky, Mercedes Jones, OCs
Rating: R
Summary: 8 Years after the events of On My Way. Kurt begins a journey that will force him to face his past and Dave will be tested in a way he never expected.
Genre: FutureFic
Disclaimer: I own nothign associated with Glee…by my OCs are all mine.

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

A/N: After a very long absence where I had a lot of rather big changes in my life - heading back to school, buying a house, working a lot…I finally have a chapter ready to do. I actually have a couple High School chapters ready to go as well…but I wanted to stay with the future theme and will slowly release the HS chapters in the next few weeks…but I have a good idea of the story as to where I want to go…but I do hope you all like it!

Chapter Five

Feet don’t fail me now
Take me to the finish line
Oh my heart it breaks every step that I take
But I’m hoping at the gates,
They’ll tell me that you’re mine
“Born to Die”, Lana Del Rey.

*2020*

*Washington, DC*

Normally, by the time May arrives in the capital, the temperature sits in between the high 60s and mid-80s, and it’s almost always dry and sunny. Usually, by now people have forgotten their umbrellas or raincoats at home. Galoshes have been packed away deep in hall closets. And the spring, or even summer, wardrobes have started to make appearances.

Except this year.

This year, there wasn’t even a hint of the sun or warmth that May should have brought with it. Instead, there was just rain. Rain in biblical proportions.

The temperatures had not actually risen above the low 40s in weeks. And the entire city had started to have this wet and unnatural smell about it.

Umbrellas were permanently glued to people’s hands. Hoods were alway up, guarding against whatever icy onslaught Mother Nature thought to deliver up that particular day. And people had started to think of galoshes as a very necessary fashion accessory.

And yet, despite the apocalyptic downpour, Dave Karofsky found himself running across the Results Gym parking lot dressed in a active-wear t-shirt, yoga pants, running shoes, and a light weight runner’s jacket. With the amount of rain pouring into his eyes, all he could do was blindly jab at the keyless entry button for his car. The moment he reached his little Prius, he desperately yanked open the driver’s side door and threw himself inside, slamming the door shut.

Glancing at himself in the rearview mirror he was shocked by the image of the drowning victim that was staring back at him.

His hair was completely drenched and was plastered against his forehead. His face was actually shiny with water, droplets hanging onto the end of his beard bristles, slowly dripping onto his already drenched shirt.

“I’m totally going to get pneumonia.” He muttered aloud.

A second later, the passenger door opened and an equally drenched Jessica crawled in.

“You know you’re not going to melt, right?” She actually had the audacity to snicker at him.

“Jess...do you see all those people out there? All the ones wearing coats and rubber boots and carrying umbrellas?”

“Yeah...”

“They are the sane ones...they won’t die from pneumonia or some other crazy horrible illness brought on by rain...we, however, are dressed in practically nothing...nor have they just spent the last hour sweating all the moisture out of their bodies during that torture session you called exercise.”

“You are so dramatic.”

“You said zumba would be fun!”

“And it was...”

“No...nothing about that was fun.”

“God...you are such a big baby.”

“Why? Because I didn’t enjoy feeling like a total tool while I tried to keep up with those crazy women in there.”

“None of us were crazy, I’ll have you know...”

“At one point, you screamed ‘ZUMBA FOR LIFE.’ Yeah...totally not crazy.”

“Oh shut up...you told me you’d come along to whatever I wanted to do today.”

“Yeah, but I figured you’d want to hang out and have brunch...not force me into a room filled with women doing some kind of weird tribal dance.”

“Fine...what would you like to do now?”

“Eggs. Perhaps in the form of a benedict... served with coffee and fried potatoes.”

“You know...the whole reason I go to the gym is so I can lose weight. It doesn’t exactly help me to go and eat massive amounts of food right after I work out.”

“Fine...you can have a fruit salad and I’ll have eggs benedict.”

“Fuck that shit. I want some hollandaise.”

“That’s my girl. Where are we going?” Dave twisted in his seat and rooted around in the backseat to find the towel he normally kept in the car.

“What are you looking for...”

“Towel...”

“You have one in your bag...”

“That’s soaking from all the sweating I just did.” Dave righted himself, pulling a large brown towel with him. He scrubbed at his drenched hair for a good five minutes.

“Want to use it?” He held it out to Jess, who was pulling her own towel out of her bag. She shook her head.

“Fine.” He tossed it over his shoulder. “So where are we going?”

“Well, Kramer’s is like five minutes away...and they do that crab cake benny.”

“Oh fuck yeah...books and brunch. That’s my idea of a Saturday.”

Dave started the car, turning the heat on full blast and pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto Connecticut...desperate to get to a decent cup of coffee.

The car was silent for a moment...then, “Did I really scream Zumba for life?”

“Yes...yes, you really did.”

“What has my life become?”

******************

“Hey, remember how you kept telling me you wanted to lose weight?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m pretty sure that the banana french toast you just ordered is going to be pretty...anti-weight lose.”

Jess glared at Dave over the top of her coffee cup. “It would be very wise of you to keep quiet about that...”

“Yeah...whatever...also, you do know that just because you got it with the turkey sausage doesn’t exactly make it low fat.”

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll low fat you.”

“Yeah, cause that makes so much sense.”

Jess rolled her eyes and dismissed Dave’s comment. Dave watched her glance around the cozy restaurant. They were surrounded mostly by couples dressed to suit the slightly trendy, hipster sensibilities of the cafe - which meant that Dave and Jess stuck out like a sore thumbs in their workout gear.

Jess leaned over the table slightly. “Ok, do we look like total douche-bags dressed like this?”

“Yeah...I think we’re killing the vibe of the places. But that’s nothing new for us.”

“Remember that time we hung out all night at the really weird bar with the poetry reading going on...and we kept asking the poets to explain what they were talking about?”

“Didn’t one of the guys tell us we were too narrow minded to understand good art?”

“Yeah - I remember that!”

“We should do stuff like that again.”

“Yeah...so...” Dave sipped at his coffee, contemplating how to broach her divorce... “How are you holding up?” He’d been friends with the woman sitting across from him for longer than anyone else in his life, which meant he knew all of her moods, all of her tells...he knew her better than anyone. And when she’d called earlier in the week wanting to spend Saturday with him, he knew that she was not exactly ok.

“I’m fine.”

“Do you know what that means...”

“Oh god, not more therapy talk.”

“Fucked Up Inside, Nice Exterior.”

“Dave, I swear, I’m doing fi...I’m okay. Really...I’m enjoying life.”

“Jess...”

“What? What do you want to hear...that I’m crying every night? That I can’t handle the fact that I’m about to become a divorcee?”

“Well, no, I don’t actually want to hear that.”

“I’ve had a long time to get used to being without Jack. He was gone from our marriage at least a year before he filed for divorce. He realized right away he actually didn’t want to be married...which gave me a pretty good chance to get used to not having a husband. Hell, I barely got used to being married before he turned around and started sticking his dick in other women...”

“God...I’m sorry.”

“For what...mentioning it? Don’t be...please. I’m dealing with it all...”

“I just know what it’s like to try and deal with shit and find it...difficult.”

“In other words, you know what it’s like to suffer from depression. And you’re asking me if I’m depressed.”

“I didn’t exactly say that...”

“Didn’t have to. I know your brain.”

“Oh.”

“And no...I’m not depressed. I swear. I have a great lawyer who is going to kick Jack’s ass for me, a great therapist who listens to me cry twice a week in her office, and I have a best friend who drops everything to spend the day with me...so no, Dave, I promise I’m not depressed. And I even think that I might be starting to lean that way...I promise to call you right away.”

“Sometimes you find it hard to pick up the phone.”

“Dave...please, can we talk about something else?” She looked at him pleadingly.

“Okay. What about?”

“You...what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Any more mysterious behavior from Mr. Michaels?”

“No...” Dave involuntarily lowered his gaze.

“What? What’s going on?”

“I just...this is going to sound awful.”

“Tell me.”

“I just know that something’s going on that he’s not telling me about.”

“Like what?”

“I have no idea. I really don’t...and I don’t think I can just tell him that I think he’s lying to me.”

“Do you think he’s...you know?”

“What?”

“Cheating?”

Dave went silent...he stared down at his coffee. It was the one thing he was trying so hard not to think about...he just couldn’t.

“I...I just can’t imagine...I don’t want to.”

“Dave...you have to talk to him about this.”

“I know...”

“Are you.”

“No.”

“So, what are you doing?”

“Acting like nothing’s wrong.”

“Dave...that’s...Jesus. That’s going to kill your relationship.”

“I know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me - it’s like I’m nervous to talk to him. I just get this awful feeling that if I do...something very bad is going to happen.”

“Yeah, but if you don’t...something even worse will happen anyways.”

“God...” Dave muttered. “What’s wrong with me? Why the fuck am I so nervous to talk to my own boyfriend?”

“That is a very good question.” Jess sipped her coffee, glaring at him.

“I’ve never been nervous about talking to Chris before...and nothing’s really changed between us at all...except this fucking gut feeling.”

“Dave, if something is wrong...and if you love Chris...you need to figure it out. Trust me.”

“Yeah...and it seems like the last couple of weeks we’ve been walking on egg shells.”

“Then something is wrong. And ignoring it will make it even worse.”

“I guess its just easier to pretend nothing bad is happening...”

“You’ve never been like this.”

“Like what?”

“Scared about relationships.”

“You’re joking right?”

“Well..ok, you’ve always been Mr. Panic Attack when it comes to boyfriends, but with Chris, you’ve always just seemed so at ease and happy. I know you haven’t had the easiest past...but you’ve never been scared like this.”

“Yeah... suddenly, I’m questioning everything about my relationship.”

“Talk to him.”

“I will.”

“Tonight...”

“There goes my Wonder Woman marathon.”

“I’m sure Lynda Carter can wait a night. But promise me.”

“Yeah...I promise.”

“Promise!”

“I promise! I really do. I’ll talk to him tonight.”

“Good.”

Dave contemplated telling Jess his other pice of news...about Kurt. He was positive that she could actually seem him thinking about it because she got that quizzical expression on her face that usually meant he was about to be interrogated.

Thankfully, their food came, which meant she was distracted momentarily.

Five minutes later, however, his reprieve was up.

“So...spill...what else is going on in that neurotic head of yours?”

“Why do you think something is wrong?”

“You have that look.”

“What look?”

“The look that says: ‘Dave has something on his mind. Something that Jess probably won’t like or agree with...and is therefore trying to hide it from her.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. It’s all over your face! Now tell me!”

Dave sighed and put down his fork.

“Ok, I’ll tell you. But you can’t read too much into this.”

“Yeah...that’s going to make me reserve judgement.”

“Open mind...that’s all I ask.”

“Fine...now spill.”

“I found my ex-boyfriend.”

“Um...ok...which one?”

“You make it sound like I have hundreds.”

“Well...there have a been a few.”

“From high school.”

“Oh? The guy you were completely hung up over in first year?”

“Yes.”

“And define...found.”

“Um...so remember that day that I had my first little freak out about Chris being all weird.”

“The day of my lawyer appointment?”

“Yeah...before you came over, I googled him.”

“Find anything?”

“Just a blog entry about him and some show in Brooklyn. But then you got there, so I stopped...but..”

“But?”

“But the next day...when Chris was working...I spent the whole day looking Kurt up.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Just interesting that he went from ‘my ex’ to ‘Kurt’ in less than five minutes.”

“You want to hear this or not?”

“Right...sorry...”

“So I spent the whole day looking him up. I found blog entries. Reviews of shows he’s worked on. His webpage for work. His Facebook page. A twitter account. I even found online dating profiles...all nine of them...honestly, I think he spends way too much time on line.”

“So...you spent all day hunting for some guy you haven’t seen in almost a decade.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because...I’m getting to it, ok?

“Fine.”

“Anyways, I found all this stuff on line. Stuff I just wasn’t expecting...”

“Like what? Not porn, I hope...I hate it when I find porn with my exes in it.”

‘No...and when the hell has that ever happened to you!?”

“Never...but I just figure it would be something I would hate.”

“No, I didn’t find porn. But I found out that he works at The Brooklyn Academy of Music. Which means he’s still in New York...like three hours away.”

“Dave...” Jess’ voice had an edge to it. A harsh warning.

“I’m not jumping on a train ok.”

“Not yet...”

Dave chose to ignore that. “I found a blog he contributes to...he write about his job a lot. He has a Flickr page - there’s a lot of pictures of a cat, his I guess. Plus a few of him.”

“Has he changed?”

“Yes. And no. He still looks like Kurt, just older...”

“And you found dating profiles?”

“Quite a few...OkCupid, Plenty of Fish...”

“All of which you need to be a member of to look at, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Which means you still have a profile there...”

“Um...”

“You set one up, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Fucking...Dave!”

“What?! I just wanted to look...”

“At a dating website while the man you’re practically married to was working in the other room!”

“He was out...again. And I wasn’t trying to make a date...”

“And what happens when you and this Kurt guy start emailing each other...”

“I don’t know...I haven’t emailed him or even thought about emailing him. And before you ask, I’m not going to sleep with him!”

“Just...be careful, ok?”

“I’m always careful.”

“So, I have to ask...why did you look him up?”

“Um...I saw a movie on TV.”

“I’m sorry...you saw a movie on TV and suddenly decided to look up your ex-boyfriend?”

“Yeah. That’s pretty much what happened.”

“And...why, exactly would a movie make you want to find the guy?”

“It’s sort of a long story...but it was The Hunger Games. Kurt and I went to see it together, it was my ‘I survived suicide and depression’ day movie...it was also the day he told me he liked me.”

“So seeing it again made you think of him and suddenly you wanted to find out everything that he’s been up to for the last eight years?”

“Not exactly...”

“Okay...”

“I do think about him once in a while...especially the last couple months. I always think about him around Valentine’s. And then with Chris’ weird behavior, it just seemed as though Kurt was on my mind more and more.”

“So, on Valentine’s you had Kurt on your mind. Then saw the movie. And decided that...what? You’d spend an entire day on Google finding Kurt?”

“Yeah...I think there were a few other steps, but that’s about it.”

“And now that you have all this information...what are you going to do about it?”

“I have no idea.”

“Are you going to put it all in a little file on your computer and mark it as ‘Dave’s Rainy Day Internet Search’?”

“You really are not a fan of this, huh?”

“I...I don’t know what to think, Dave. I mean...after what Jack did. I guess I’m just petrified of seeing anyone else go through something similar...especially you or Chris.”

“Jess...I’m going out to pay men to have sex with me.”

“No, but you are expressing interest in another guy.”

“I’m not showing interest...I’m thinking about reconnecting with someone who was important to me at a point when I needed someone. And five minutes ago you were quizzing me on whether I thought Chris was having an affair...now you’re worried that I might be thinking about it too.”

“I don’t think you’re going to go start having sex with other people...but think about how you’ve been feeling with all this stuff about Chris, it’s an awful feeling to have your partner not want you. Even an internet search, it could be taken the wrong way.”

“I know...I’m not saying I have romantic interest in Kurt...I just wanted to look him up. That’s all.”

“Just...be careful, ok?”

“I said I would be...and I will be.”

Jess nodded. The look on her face did not exactly attest to complete faith in Dave’s promise, but it did at least suggest that she was willing to believe him - for now.

Dave took another sip of his coffee and thought about the email he had sitting in his drafts folder on his iPad. Technically, it was the fifteenth version of a letter addressed to Kurt...fifteen different drafts of the same letter, expressing the same sentiment...or at least fifteen variations of that same sentiment.

But in the end, the letter seems to boil down to the same idea: I miss you.

And Dave damn well knew that if he sent that email, all hell would break lose, mainly because he had no idea exactly why he missed Kurt.

“So...” Dave needed to change the subject, needed to get the spotlight of attention off of him. “...have you decided if you’re going to move or not?”

And suddenly, Jess was off talking about condos, apartments, townhouses...whether her settlement from Jack would help her put a downpayment on a place...

Dave sat back, stabbed a home-fry and chewed thoughtfully, all the while listening to his friend with only have of his attention.

The other half was somewhere in Brooklyn, New York.

*********************

*New York City*

As a general rule, Kurt hated coming to the Village...it was always crowded, always felt insanely superficial, and always reminded Kurt of why, when faced with the majority of gay men in New York City, he preferred being single...and not date.

Every time he stepped off the subway at Christopher Street, all he ever saw was slightly vapid and self centered gay clones. Everyone of them wearing exactly the same clothes, exactly the same over priced pair of sunglasses, the same Prada or Marc Jacob shoes, and usually the exact same shoulder bag slung over their shoulders.

There had been a time when Kurt would have given anything to be one of them. To be accepted into such an amazing community of gay men - to be welcomed and loved by every man walking around the Village. When all he wanted was to dress exactly the same...back when he coveted the pair of Marc Jacob low rise boots. Or the Dior bomber jacket. And the Cole Haan messenger bag. He’d come to New York thinking that being gay would grant him entry into some kind of fashionable gay utopia, where he would be welcomed with open arms like the prodigal son come home.

The reality had been a complete shock. Rather than finding a utopia, Kurt had discovered an eat or be eaten world where gay men strutted around like peacocks all hoping to find the perfect boyfriend or husband.

The Village had been nothing like what Kurt had expected...and right from the very start he had started to shy away from the Village, seeking out more alternative gay communities. It had been one of the reasons he’d eventually moved to Brooklyn...there had been so many down to earth, not overly cruise-y bars. He’d fallen in love with Park Slope because of that very reason. The HerStory Archives right by the park, or the very quiet Excelsior, which was a small gay bar not far from where Kurt now lived.

But even so, every once in a while he was pulled back into the world of Greenwich Village.

Kurt was on his way to the only decent coffee spot in The Village - Grounded - to have coffee with Bryan. For some reason, Bryan had to be in The Village for work that day and thought it would be a fantastic idea for them to meet up for coffee and maybe dinner afterwards. And despite Kurt’s utter abhorrence at the idea, he had found himself at a loss for arguments against making a thirty minute subway trip from Brooklyn to The Village. And so, Kurt found himself climbing off of the C train at seven o’clock at night, into the crowded Greenwich Village, when all he wanted to do was to be at home, curled up on his couch reading the biography of Walt Disney that he found at a second hand shop last week.

No...that was not quite true.

All he really wanted to be doing was sitting alone at home thinking...obsessing...over emails. Or, rather, one email to be honest.

For the last two weeks, all he’d been thinking about was that god-damn email. An email that was still sitting in his inbox. An email that he opened every single day. An email that he probably could recite off by heart.

It was an email that seemed to plague his thoughts almost every waking moment: when he was alone, when he was at work, when he was with Bryan, when he was with his other friends.

And he honestly had no idea what to do about the damn thing.

Kurt groaned loudly and stepped off the street into a doorway. Grounded was just around the corner - he could see small bench that sat outside the cafe where smokers congregated to make catty comments about people walking past. Kurt was not sure how much more of this he could take. He was now actively lying to Bryan...he was actually pretending to be interested in a relationship with the man, when all he could think about was another man...another man who lived barely four hundred miles away.

A man who seemed to be looking for Kurt, just as much as Kurt was looking for him.

The email...

That fucking email.

If it had never arrived...or if it had been filtered straight into his spam folder...than maybe Kurt would not be having these daily panic attacks.

Kurt closed his eyes and the text of the email materialized on the inside of his eye lids.

You’ve been checked out!

What an utterly ridiculous subject line. Kurt had always felt as if it was OK Cupid’s way of making fun of their users...as if to say, hey someone looked at your profile, but they deemed you unworthy of any further attention based purely on what you wrote about yourself...or even worse based on your profile picture.

Namely, you’re ugly as fuck so no one is actually going to email you.

But of course Kurt had to open the stupid thing. Why? He had no idea. And so, at eleven at night, with his boyfriend lying in his bed in the next room, Kurt had opened the damn email...

And all the breath had been sucked out of his body.

PublicPolicyDude (D_Karofsky) from Washington, DC has checked you out. To check him out, visit his profile at www.okcupid.com/D_Karofsky) or to send him a direct message, click here.

Dave was looking for him.

Dave wanted to find him.

The very first thing that went through Kurt’s mind was that Dave did not have an OkCupid profile...or at least he hadn’t the week before. Which meant that Dave had created one within the last week...maybe he’d created one purely with the intention of finding Kurt.

Kurt had stumbled backwards...his legs colliding with the cupboards next to the sink.

He’d wanted to desperately to click on the link that would take him straight to Dave’s profile...but he couldn’t. He was actually scared to death to do it. What would happen? Would Dave email him when he saw that Kurt had checked him out.

Why did Dave want to find him?

No matter what Kurt did, no matter how hard he thought, he just could not figure out why Dave would want to find him.

Maybe it had been one of those moments that happen when you’re surfing around an online dating site and you stumble upon an ex...you just have to take a look. It’s a really weird and morbid sense of curiosity...you want to know if they got fat, how desperate their profile sounds, whether they lost all their hair...Yeah, that had to be it. Dave had just stumbled across his account and had looked out of curiosity.

Because no other reason made sense.

After reading the email about a thousand times within the first day, Kurt knew he needed advice. He needed someone to help him figure this out.

Normally in that kind of situation, he would turn to one of his good friends in New York...Sarah or Mitchell...but they would simply tell him to email Dave and see if they could start something up again. Or they would tell him to delete the damn email and go home and spend the weekend screwing Bryan’s brains out. Neither of them knew about the history that colored Kurt and Dave’s past...neither of them knew the realities of what Dave and Kurt as a couple had meant.

So Kurt called in someone who had that particular kind of knowledge.

And as expected, Mercedes Jones delivered. Mercedes, who now lived in Seattle, had just finished medical school and was entrenched in the middle of her residency and was about to become one of the best pediatricians in the country - in Kurt’s opinion, anyway. He’d called her on a Friday night, in the hopes that she wasn’t working or on call.

“Kurt!? Oh my god, I haven’t talked to you in ages!”

“I know…I’m sorry I’ve been such a delinquent friend.”

“No! Don’t be stupid…we’re both busy…it happens.”

“I’m no where near as busy as you are…Dr. Jones.”

“Do you have to say it like I’m Indiana Jones?”

“Yes…I still can’t believe you’re a doctor.”

“Resident…I’m a resident…I don’t get to be a full grown-up doctor for a couple years still.”

“Well…you’re a doctor to me.”

“You’re a sweetheart.”

“Thanks…so, did I catch you in the middle of an amazing life saving act of heroism?”

“No…you caught me in the middle of a large stack of charts, a glass of wine and some Ella.”

“Sounds like a fun afternoon.”

“It’s not…well, the wine and Ella is great.”

“You’re still singing?”

“Yeah, I have my next performance at the Noc Noc on Saturday night…everybody at the hospital calls me Dr. Rhythm now.”

“I just can’t believe you manage to do both…”

“Well, if I didn’t sing, I’d go crazy.”

“I still sometimes give little performances for my cat…”

“You should do something amateur! I can totally see you doing a community theatre thing. It’s fun.”

“Cedes…there is no such thing as amateur theatre in New York…everyone here wants to make it big on Broadway…even the smallest role in this town is seen as an audition to something bigger.”

“I still…”

“Please don’t…I get enough of a guilt trip from Rachel in her monthly, ‘Why you ruined your life’ email that she sends me.”

“It’s been how many years now…?”

“Enough that she needs to stop harping on this.”

“Jeez…”

Kurt took a deep breath…rip the bandaid off.

“So, Mercedes, I need some advice.”

“Oh? Something your hip and cool New Yorker friends can’t handle huh…”

“It’s about Dave Karofsky.”

“…Dave?”

“I’ve been looking for him.”

“Define looking for.”

“On line. Googling. Just searching for him.”

“Why?”

“Because…this is going to sound stupid.”

“Well, when it comes to you and Dave, nothing really surprises me.”

“I thought I saw him on the subway the other day…turns out it wasn’t him, but since then I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“So, you started googling him?”

“Yes. I tried everything…Google, Facebook, twitter, every single dating site I can think of, Linkdin, blogs…you name it, I tired it.”

“And?”

“Nothing…”

“What do you mean nothing?”

“I mean I couldn’t find him anywhere…it was like he just didn’t exist.”

“Weird.”

“I know, right?”

“He didn’t…you know…die, did he?”

“No, I’d know if he did…and I searched an online obituaries website and his name didn’t come up.”

“Good…scared me.”

“And then…the other day…I got an email.”

“From Dave?”

“No. From OkCupid. Just one of those stupid you’ve been checked out emails.”

“Right…I hate those. ‘Hey, someone looked at your profile, but you’re not good enough to for them to message you.’ Fuckers.”

“It was Dave who checked me out.”

“But you said…”

“He must have made it in the two weeks since I looked for him on the dating sites.”

“Wow. Have you looked at his profile.”

“No.”

“I’m going to regret asking…but why?”

“What if he looked at my profile and realized that I hurt him so badly back then that he still can’t stand even to look at my picture and then when he gets one of those you’ve been checked out emails it’s like I’m doing it all over again.”

“Kurt…”

“Or what if I look and its just a profile for him and his perfect partner looking to make friends or something…or what if he’s just been dumped and he looks sad and pathetic and…”

“Why are you looking for him, Kurt?”

“I told you…”

“No, you told me what sparked the search, but not why.”

“I…”

“Do you still have feelings for him? Do you want to tell him you’re sorry…what?”

“I…I don’t know. I think I actually do miss him.”

“Then why don’t you email him?”

“He made it very clear all those years ago, Cedes, he didn’t want to see me again.”

“And yet, here he is looking at your dating profile.”

“There’s one other thing…”

“Oh?”

“Bryan.”

“Who’s Bryan?”

“I’m kind of dating him.”

“Ok…”

“He looks exactly like Dave…like they could be brothers. And he has no idea that I’m looking for Dave.”

“Oh, Kurt…”

“I need to tell him what’s going on…”

“Yes you do. Look, I don’t know this Bryan guy…but clearly you’re using him as some kind of weird stand in for Dave. And I think that if Dave is checking you out on a dating site, then he’s not going to be opposed to hearing from you. What happened was years ago. Years ago!”

“I just don’t…”

“I know. But, in the end this is Dave. And the two of you have this strange epic romance that no one really understands…I honestly think your story isn’t over yet. And maybe this little email from OkCupid is just the prologue to what’s still to come?”

“You’re always going to be a hopeless romantic, aren’t you Mercedes?”

“Well…if I can’t have romance in my life, then at least I can try and find it in everyone else’s lives.”

Kurt opened his eyes.

He’d been replaying that conversation in his head for days now. And Mercedes’ constant text messages to see if he’d emailed Dave really were not helping. But he knew he needed to tell Bryan the truth. He knew he needed to act on this email.

He couldn’t keep living in this state of limbo.

He had to act.

Just as Kurt started to steel himself for what might be one of the hardest conversations of his life, a gentle voice shook him out of his thoughts.

“Kurt?”

He looked up to see Bryan’s soft, questioning eyes.

“Why are you standing out here? What’s wrong?”

Kurt could feel the frown forming on his face. Perhaps having a personal meltdown about his conflicted feelings towards Bryan right around the corner from where they were meeting was not such an amazing idea.

Kurt lifted his head, meeting Bryan’s eyes...damn. He really wasn’t ready for this. He wanted a plan. He wanted a speech prepared or something.

“Oh, hey.”

Bryan sighed deeply and looked down at his shoes, clearly trying to compose his thoughts. Kurt had never really noticed that before...but it was yet another thing Bryan and Dave had in common...the two men really could be twin brothers.

“Kurt...” Bryan, paused carefully weighing his words. “...I’m not stupid, ok?”

“What on earth makes you think I would think that?”

“I’ve just been noticing things.”

Kurt felt his stomach twist. Maybe he hadn’t been as sly and deceptive as he thought. “What...things?”

“Like this.” Bryan waved his hand at Kurt. “You standing here...not coming inside. I just have this feeling that...well...that I’m not the only guy in your life. That’s all. Or at least, you don’t really want me to be the only guy...”

“Bryan...”

“I don’t want to pry or anything...it’s really none of my business...your personal life, that is. Well, maybe it is...but, I guess I just was kind of hoping that your personal life and my personal life...were in sync together. But then I find you standing out here, looking like you’d rather be anywhere than meeting me and I get paranoid, you know?”

“Bryan...”

“Do I have reason to be paranoid? Should I be worried?”

Bryan lifted his face to look right at Kurt. His eyes were sad, but at the same time incredibly hopeful. Kurt had seen that look on the faces of too many men...he’d been the cause of the hurt that usually followed that look. Because no matter what...that hope would eventually die out. It could happen today. Next week. A month from now. But in the end, no matter what, something bad was bound to happen.

Kurt didn’t love Bryan...he knew that. But he understood that Bryan was falling in love with him.

In the end, Bryan was just a place holder...as awful as that sounded...and even though Kurt might not have a chance of being with Dave again, it just wasn’t fair to Bryan.

Kurt sighed.

“Bryan...maybe we should talk.”

The hope began to fade.

************************

*Washington, DC*

Dave watched as the clock on his iPhone slipped over to 8:00pm. He picked it up. Stared at it for a heartbeat and then let it fall back down onto the table with a frustrated groan.

In front of him was a plate with the remains of his uneaten dinner, which had long since grown cold. And he was pretty sure that in about five minutes the garbage disposal was going to get a rather sizable donation of an entire platter of the jambalaya he’d painstakingly put together.

What a waste of a night.

This entire evening was thought out by the time Dave and Jess had left brunch, even right down to what he would make for dinner. And upon dropping Jess off at her apartment, he again swore a promise that he would talk to Chris that night...or as she had put it: “Just grow a pair, Dave.”

Dave couldn’t help but think, as he watched Jess walk into her lobby, that tonight’s conversation with Chris might very well mean his little endeavor to find Kurt could reach a premature conclusion.

Or it might not...depending on whether or not Dave could actually find a way to be all secret agent about it.

“No..Dave...no lying to Chris about anything. Tonight’s agenda includes talking about Kurt.” He mumbled to his reflection in the rearview mirror.

Sighing softly, Dave grabbed his phone off the dashboard. He had to get through the evening, get through this talk with Chris. He had to find out if his suspicions were right, and he prayed that they were not.

“Don’t be nervous. Don’t be nervous...”

He sent Chris a text.

Come home for dinner…I think we should have a date night.

That would work.

Ever since they started dating, date night had been a pretty big deal for both of them. No matter how busy they were or how much stress they were under, when one of them called for a date night, everything else was dropped so they spent the night together.

Some of Dave’s favorite moments had been on date night - when they drove for an hour to watch a movie at the last remaining drive-in theatre in Maryland. Or, when Chris had attempted to make risotto and almost burned down Dave’s old apartment. Or just quiet nights curled up together on the sofa watching a movie.

So, given the importance of date night, Dave was rather nonplussed...ok, he was downright pissed...at the lack of enthusiasm from his boyfriend.

Sure, sounds cool.

Dave actually had to pull over so he could stare at his phone.

What in the hell did that mean?

And Dave, being Dave, instantly started to analyze from every possible angle. Was Chris completely ambivalent about spending time with him? Did he just not want to have a date night? Was he so busy working on a Saturday that he just couldn’t send a more detailed reply?

Or, was Dave’s relationship dead in the water?

No...that was impossible. Just a few months before, Chris and Dave had been completely happy together. He thought back to February. There had been no ambivalence at that point. Chris seemed to be completely happy and content with Dave.

So, what had happened?

What had changed in the last two months to make Chris go from “You’re the best thing in my life.” to Sounds good…

Dave sighed and let his forehead fall onto the steering wheel.

Fuck.

In the end, he pushed it out of his mind and went to Safeway, knowing that if he dwelled on the text message too much he would either end up paralyzed with fear and anxiety, or he could be liable to explode.

And date night would certainly be ruined that way.

Safeway was completely packed, unsurprisingly given that it was a Saturday. Dave groaned loudly when a small child who had been shoved into the child seat in a shopping cart screamed at the top of his lungs right into Dave’s ear.

Out of sheer desperation to get the fuck out of that place as fast as possible, Dave revised his dinner plans and decided to make jambalaya, purely because he knew the ingredients off by heart...

Twenty minutes later, he’d conquered the line ups, screaming children, bitchy gay men and was back in his car...naturally he stressed out over that fucking text message the whole time.

As he shook the rain out of his hair, he unlocked his phone and opened the messenger app.

Safeway was horrible! Headed home. Want to come home and start date night early?

To that message...he got no response.

So, Dave drove home. Unpacked his groceries. Took a shower. Watched TV for a while. Then read political blogs for a while. And every five minutes, he checked his phone. Growing increasingly anxious every time he looked at it.

Finally, at five thirty, he flicked on iTunes, Lana Del Rey, and wandered into the kitchen to start dinner.

At six, he sent another message.

Dinner at 6:30? I even got that wine you like.

Chris knew one thing about wine. That there was Red Wine and White Wine. So, when he like a particular kind of wine, it became “That one!!” And in their three years together, Chris had discovered a number of bottles that made him go “That one!!”, all of which Dave dutifully wrote down so he could remember which one to buy again.

And so, Dave had picked up one of Chris’ favored bottles. He’s even thrown together a quick chocolate mousse for dessert...

Dave set the table - even opting to go with candles. As he put out the wine glasses that his dad gave him as a housewarming gift, he glanced at his phone again.

6:20.

He went back into the kitchen and sliced up a baguette, which he plated carefully and carried to the table. He pulled out two plates and put them next to the stove, so he could serve right out of the pot.

He was ready.

He had all the makings of a very romantic dinner...unfortunately, he did not have the person to complete the romantic scene with.

He glanced at his phone.

6:30 came and went.

Another text message.

Where are you? Are you coming home for dinner?

No reply.

So Dave ate his dinner.

He got half way through when he decided to just give up. Now he was just pushing cold rice and shrimp and chicken around on his plate.

Finally, he picked up his phone again.

Are you ok?

Dave stared at his phone for a good twenty minutes. Then, when the phone read 8:30, he pushed his chair back, grabbed the dishes from the table, walked into the kitchen and threw them in the sink.

His plate shattered.

He pulled open his cupboard of food-saver containers and emptied the left-over jambalaya into a large glass pyrex dish. Carefully he picked the shards of his plate and the remnants of the food on it out of the sink and dumped them into the garbage.

Dave yanked open the dishwasher and started loading up - being sure to pre-rinse everything.

It wasn’t until he he poured water into the pot he used to to make the jambalaya that he realized that his face was wet.

He’d probably been crying for a good thirty minutes.

“Fuck!” He slammed the pot down into the sink, hard, causing water to slosh against the sides and spill out onto the counter and floor.

He gripped the edge of the sink and let his head hang down while taking slow calming breaths.
He stood like that for a while...just breathing.

Finally, Dave pushed himself away from the sink and finished loading the dishwasher. He pulled out a handful of paper towels and wiped up the water from the floor. He opened the fridge and grabbed one of the bowls of mousse, which he ate standing in the middle of the kitchen.

Once it was empty and had been placed into the dishwasher, he grabbed the bottle of wine, and one of his large tumbler glasses and walked into the living room. He plunked the wine down onto the coffee-table and went into the bedroom to change into sweatpants.

He had just started pouring his second glass of wine when he heard the front door open. He heard the scuffling of feet in the hallway, the sound of a bag being put down on the floor, the familiar sound of Chris’ shoes being toed off and landing on the floor with a thud, the rustle of a rain coat being hung up in the hall closet.

And then the soft sound of feet walking into the living room.

Dave did bother to acknowledge Chris’ presence, nor did he bother to glance up from the Parks & Rec re-run on TV.

Dave could feel Chris’ anxiety coming off him in waves. But even so, he refused to look up.

Finally, Chris seemed unable to handle the silence between them.

“This is a great episode.”

Dave was silent for a second...debating on how he should respond.

Then...“Yeah, I know.”

They lapsed back into silence.

Until Chris again couldn’t handle it....

“How mad are you?”

Dave didn’t need to think. “Pretty fucking mad.”

“Would an apology help?”

“No. But an explanation would be nice.”

Chris walked around the coffee table and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. He glanced at the mostly empty wine bottle on the coffee table. “I like that one.”

“I know.” Dave sipped at the wine.

“You’re not going to believe me if I tell you it was work...are you?”

“No.”

“But what if it was?

“Please don’t lie to me...”

“I...”

“Are you cheating on me?” Dave practically spat it out. Those words had been the only thing on his mind for the last few hours, ever since Chris hadn’t shown up for dinner. Ever since...Sounds Nice.

Over the past three hours, Dave had grown increasingly sure that he was being cheated on. He could feel it in every fiber of his being. And it terrified him. He’d been through this shit enough...Guys cheated on Dave like it was a competitive sport, and he was tired of being the playoffs of infidelity. But Chris was different. At least he was supposed to be different.

“What?” Chris choked out.

“Are you cheating on me?” Dave asked again. He didn’t avert his gaze from the TV, sure that if he did so he would lose it. He could already fell the burning wetness of tears threatening to fall.

Chris sighed....Dave had his answer.

“Right...” Dave said. “That pretty much answers that.” He started to push himself off the couch. “I’ll go throw some stuff in a bag and go to Jess’.”

“Dave...”

“Dave, what? Dave, I’m so sorry? Dave, I didn’t want to hurt you? Dave I was drunk. Dave, sometimes this just happens. Dave, the pull of his sexual energy was just so strong I couldn’t say no? Don’t bother, Chris...I’ve heard them all.”

“Dave, will you...”

“Don’t, just don’t...I don’t want to hear it. I just don’t.” Dave’s head was spinning. His temper was rising. He could feel a headache threatening to explode...the pressure was just too much. He pressed his palms against his eyes and tried to push back the onslaught of pain that was rising like a tidal wave behind his corneas.

He suddenly erupted. He threw his half filled glass onto the coffee table - glass shards and red wine went everywhere. “I thought we were different than this...fuck! I love you...I really really do...and...”

Chris shot up and barked, loudly. “I’m not cheating on you, I’m being transferred and I just couldn’t tell you...so I just avoided you. Avoided talking to you. Avoided us.”

Dave stopped.

He wasn’t expecting that. Not at all.

He turned slowly.

Chris was standing on the other side of the coffee-table. His hands hanging loosely by his side. He had this lost and utterly hurt look on his face.

His pale blue shirt was covered in splashes of red wine.

And he was shaking.

Dave opened his mouth slowly. He tired to form words, but they wouldn’t come. Instead, he turned and walked into the kitchen. He grabbed a can of club soda from the fridge and a cloth from the sink. When he turned around, Chris was standing in the doorway. They stared at each other.

Dave opened the soda and poured some onto Chris shirt. Then slowly he worked the stain. He softly mumbled, “I ruined your shirt.”

Chris was silent.

After fifteen minutes of Dave rubbing the same spot on Chris’ shirt, Chris grabbed his wrist.

“Stop.”

Dave lifted his eyes to meet Chris’.

Dave opened his mouth again. “I...”

Chris sighed again.

Finally, Dave found his voice. “Transferred? To where?”

Chris ignored the question.

“You thought I was fucking other guys?”

“Yes.” The answer was simple. Direct.

“Why would you think that? What the fuck, Dave?”

“What would you have me think...for the last couple weeks, you’ve barely been home. We haven’t had a single dinner together. We barely talk. You’re out with ‘friends’ every night. And fucking forget about sex...”

Dave pushed away from Chris. He picked up the can of club soda and walked into the living room, aiming to pour a healthy dose on the wine splatters on the carpet and sofa.

“I would never do that...never!”

“But you would keep the news of a transfer from me, huh?”

“I didn’t know how to...”

“I’m pretty sure I called you the second I found out that I had my interview...not to mention you were the first person I told when I got my job.”

“This is different.”

“How? How is this different?”

“I just can’t believe you thought I was cheating…you know me better than that. Come on, David.”

Dave stood up and glared at Chris. “You don’t get to act like I’m the one who’s in the wrong.”

“Ok. Ok. But, why would you automatically think that I’m cheating on you?”

“I already listed my reasons. And then today…I invoked date night. And you ignored it.”

“I’ve been sitting at the Starbucks on Dupont for the last hour…scared out of my mind. Trying to figure out what I was going to say to you.”

“Scared? Of what?!”

“You.”

Dave felt his knees go out. He sank down onto the sofa. “Me?”

“Yes…This transfer, it changes everything.”

“Why? What kind of transfer is this?”

“I always figured I would end up facing something like this…I mean, you don’t get into International Law without some risk of a transfer or having to work overseas…right? And then last year, when I started working for the State Department…I knew something would come up.”

“Chris! Where are they sending you?”

Chris sat down next to Dave. He linked their fingers together. He stared down at the carpet for a moment…as if he was gathering his thoughts.

Dave reached out and lifted Chris’ chin until they locked eyes.

Chris opened his mouth and whispered a single word.

“Moscow…”
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