(no subject)
Part Two
"What was that about?"
Finn's question echoed and bounced around the spacious locker room. They were all three of them crowded around the counter with the inset sinks against the far wall, around the huge mirror that hung above the counter. Kurt was bent over one sink, hands grasping its edge and face dripping wet with cold water.
"Kurt?"
He had washed his face hoping it would help calm his nerves and hoping it would give him a chance to catch his breath and to bring the minute shaking of his hands under control. "I'm okay," he finally answered. "It's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal?" That was Puck. Puck. Kurt couldn't wrap his head around why the teenager with the questionable hairstyle had followed him back into the locker room in the first place, never mind why he was offering his input.
"I think I just...scraped it or something," he insisted. Then he headed for the paper towels, pulled one from the dispenser and dabbed his face dry.
"Let's see it then." Finn. The quarterback still looked furious. He gestured at Kurt. "Your shoulder. Coach said check it out, so check it out. See if it's bad."
The soprano launched the now crumpled up paper towel into the trash and thought about protesting. He thought about telling the two teenagers in front of him to get out and leave him alone. That with all the bullying they had done in the past they were almost as bad as that Hernandez kid themselves. But...
He couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to argue and spew insults. Not with Finn standing there, looking enraged on Kurt's behalf and rubbing absently at the fist he had punched Hernandez in the face with.
Kurt looked at Puck, then Finn again. They weren't budging. Which meant he was going to have an audience for this whether he liked it or not.
Relenting, he grabbed the bottom edge of his shirt and pulled it up and off. He couldn't help the warm blush that spread from his face all the way down to his neck and shoulders. Because. Yeah. Standing half naked in front of two attentive football players, one his biggest crush and the other undeniably hot (a hot jerk...but still) was embarrassing. He swung his t-shirt so it hung over his good shoulder, held his injured arm with his free hand and twisted his neck at an awkward angle in an attempt to see the damage.
His shoulder was scraped pretty badly. In some places so deep it had bled a little.
Probably onto my shirt, thought Kurt. And he frowned, had started running through stain removal techniques in his head when both Finn and Puck bent closer for a look.
"It looks... really red." Finn.
"Thank you, stater of the obvious," quipped Puck. That earned him a glare from Finn. "It looks like it's going to bruise. Like, a bad bruise."
Kurt pursed his lips and nodded. He hated the thought of an ugly bruise marring his skin, but it could have been worse. At least a bruise would fade. At least he hadn't broken anything or split his head open or...something.
"Yeah," came Coach Tanaka's gruff voice and both Finn and Puck jumped back from Kurt like they had been burned. Puzzled, Kurt eyed them both for a few seconds then turned away when Coach continued. "You'll live. You'll be sore and bruised for a little while, but you'll live. Here."
The man was holding a Ziploc bag filled with cubes of ice out in offering. "Thanks," said Kurt before taking it. He placed the bag next to the sink he had been using for safe keeping, pulled his shirt back on.
"The bus guy...the mechanic is here. He says it's an easy fix. We'll be leaving in about fifteen minutes so have your shit together. Let me know if you need more ice before we leave, Hummel." Coach Tanaka nodded decisively, gave Kurt one last look over as if to assure himself one of his charges wasn't going to keel over anytime soon, then turned and left the locker room.
"You good?" asked Finn as Kurt picked up the bag of ice, pulled up his sleeve a little and then pressed it to his shoulder. "I mean. You're sure you're okay?"
The towering football player still looked anxious and worried and a little angry. Kurt managed a smile. Because getting pushed around by some random jerk from another school wasn't any fun. But the heroic and hovering figure of his secret love interest that had unexpectedly resulted from it kind of was. "Like I said. It's not a big deal. Thanks, though." The words felt strange as he said them. "Both of you. For...helping me out."
Finn smiled back. The smile didn't reach his eyes.
Puck snorted and mumbled something under his breath -- something about 'not a big deal' and 'bullshit' -- before turning and heading for the exit.
Kurt glanced at himself in the mirror, took a deep breath and then trailed after him.
-----
"That's disgusting." Mercedes frowned and squinted her eyes as she examined the offending splotch of color. "That looks really bad, Kurt. And it's only gonna' get worse as it heals." She shook her head once in a dismissive or possibly disappointed manner before turning back to her lunch tray. Then she shoveled up some tuna surprise with her fork and popped it into her mouth.
Kurt tugged at his sleeve so it fell back into place, covered his bruised shoulder. "Thank you," he started in what he thought of as his best bitch voice. "That made me feel a whole lot better. I knew there was a reason we're best friends. It's like-" He caught sight of his friend's piercing stare and his mouth snapped shut.
He grabbed for his can of diet Coke and took a sip.
"I told you to quit the team, didn't I? After you told your dad...that. I told you I thought you should quit the team. That you might get hurt and you didn't really like it anyway and it wasn't a good idea to stay on any longer."
"Yes. You did. I know." His reply came out sounding meek.
Mercedes was right, of course. She had encouraged him to quit the football team. And she had every reason to be irked at his tone. Because he hadn't told her that the injury was actually the result of being shoved down some bleachers by a neanderthal and not technically a sports related accident. He wasn't going to tell her.
So she thought her I told you so attitude was completely justified. And that his cattiness and his bid for more sympathy were uncalled for because he had been hurt doing something she had heatedly advised him against.
Kurt thumbed at the soda can's pop top. "You know," he said. "Your outfit today is fabulous." It was. He had been meaning to tell her since before the first bell but was glad he had saved it until now; it served as the perfect peace offering.
Slowly, Mercedes broke into a smile. "Boy..." She trailed off before letting loose a surprised sounding laugh. "What were you guys doing at a game yesterday, anyway? I thought high school football games all took place on Friday nights. Not late Thursday afternoons."
"Not always," came a deep voice. It was Puck. He slid into the vacant seat next to Kurt and ran a hand over his head as if to smooth down his mohawk. "There are always a few games on Thursdays. Which is awesome because those are the games we get pulled out of our last few classes for." He paused and shot a pointed look at Mercedes across the table, another at Kurt. "Not that you two would know anything about awesome."
"What do you want, Puck?" Mercedes was glaring at the intruding teenager. "Is this about glee club? Or have your jock friends finally come to their senses and forced you out of their clique?"
"Mercedes. Hello. Charming as always, I see." The football player flashed his teeth at them in a parody of a friendly grin. He glanced away from the table for a second and then did a double take.
Curious, Kurt followed his gaze. Cheerleaders. The guy was checking out cheerleaders. Quinn Fabray and a few of her minions were standing in a huddle next to the gaping double doors that led out to the hallway, giggling and whispering to each other.
Still distracted, Puck shifted a little and bumped shoulders with Kurt. Kurt frowned, shot the taller football player a disapproving look that went unnoticed and scooted farther over in his seat.
"Kurt. What are you doing Saturday?" Apparently Mercedes had decided to ignore Noah Puckerman's hulking presence. "I'm taking my little cousin to the mall, she wants to see one of those 3-D movies. We could go shopping afterwards if you want to come with."
"I can't," answered Kurt immediately. "My dad's shop got a lot of work in this week and the mechanic that worked for him for years quit a few weeks ago." He shrugged. "So I promised my dad I would go with him this weekend to the garage to help him out."
"That sucks," said Mercedes.
And then, "Hummel. Your dad is a mechanic? He owns a place?" Puck seemed only vaguely interested in the questions he had asked. He was still looking at the group of uniformed girls.
"Really," said Kurt and his slightly sharp tone finally seemed to snap the other boy out of his Cheerios induced daze. "Why are you here, Puck?"
Puck stared at him for a second. He seemed a little out of it, had an expression on his face like someone had knocked the wind out of him. Then he blinked, shook his head as if to clear it and reached into his letterman jacket's left pocket.
Oh, thought Kurt, pleased and more than a little shocked as soon as he spotted the object in Puck's hand.
"Here's your phone, princess." Puck placed the phone on the table and slid it over to Kurt before turning toward the cluster of cheerleaders again (they were still engrossed in conversation but had moved out into the hallway). "You forgot it yesterday."
Then the football player stood up, reached over and casually pulled Kurt's plaid newsboy hat down over his forehead and eyes.
"I'll catch you geeks later," said Puck and walked away while the soprano was still sputtering.
Kurt pulled the hat completely off of his head. "My hair. And my poor hat. This hat matches my slacks." He inspected his hat for damage, looked up when he realized Mercedes had said nothing in response to his complaints.
She was staring at Kurt's phone.
A moment beat by before she looked up and met his eyes. But Kurt didn't volunteer information. Mercedes leaned back in her seat.
"I'm going to have to comb my hair again, get my hair stuff from my locker. I'll be crazy the rest of the day if I don't." He pulled the hat back onto his head, fussed with it a little and stood. Then he stuffed his phone into his pocket (he was still bemused about Puck having retrieved his phone the day before after he had dropped it, decided he would dwell on that strange thought later when he wasn't in such a hurry) and grabbed the empty soda can before shrugging his leather satchel's strap onto his uninjured shoulder. "See you in English?"
Mercedes was poking at the remainder of her tuna surprise with her fork. "Yeah. I'll meet you there," she agreed. She said it nicely enough. Normally enough. She even smiled. But Kurt thought he detected a suspicious note in her voice, a strange glint in her eye. He hoped he was wrong because he really didn't want to tell her about Hernandez.
His friend would only insist he should have done something about it. Would tell him he should have told Coach Tanaka and his father all about the incident. She would be angry and upset in that worried best friend way that he hadn't told them.
He waved, tossed the can into a nearby trash can and made his way across the cafeteria. As soon as he stepped out into the hallway he spotted Puck and Quinn next to a water fountain. Puck was saying something in a low but urgent voice and Quinn wasn't meeting his eyes. She looked furious and sad all at the same time.
Kurt bypassed the pair. He turned a corner and-
BAM. A shoulder caught him in the chest and slammed him into the edge of a locker. Slammed his already sore and bruised shoulder into the edge of a locker. He barely managed to keep himself from crying out in pain (he was sure that would only invite more bullying); bit at his bottom lip and closed his eyes for a second before opening them again and breathing deeply.
When he spun to see who had done it he caught sight of a tall figure wearing a midnight blue hoodie. The figure was pushing its way hastily through the crowded hallway. But...Kurt wasn't sure if the mystery figure had done it. He hadn't actually seen the culprit. The soprano took in his surroundings; there were a few jocks loitering nearby but none of them looked particularly pleased with themselves, none of them were guffawing or gloating.
Kurt pushed away from the lockers he had landed against and walked quickly to his own locker. His hand automatically went for the lock. He was already running through the combination in his head when he noticed it and stopped cold.
"Whoa. What happened to your locker, man?" Finn had come up behind him.
"I..." Kurt trailed off. The bottom edge of the smallish locker door was bent slightly upward. It was as if someone had taken a screw driver or something like a screwdriver and forced it between the seems of the door. As if someone had tried to pop the thin metal door off with force. And the lock...was scratched up. Thin, crisscrossing lines were gouged into the metal and plastic of the little lock.
"What happened?" The taller teenager had moved closer, probably for a better look at the damaged locker.
"I don't know," admitted the soprano.
"Looks like someone tried to screw it up."
No. Looks like someone tried to break in, thought Kurt.
The warning bell rang out and Kurt groaned, let go of the little combination lock. So much for fixing his hair before class.
That Puck. He was such a jerk.
Part Three
"What was that about?"
Finn's question echoed and bounced around the spacious locker room. They were all three of them crowded around the counter with the inset sinks against the far wall, around the huge mirror that hung above the counter. Kurt was bent over one sink, hands grasping its edge and face dripping wet with cold water.
"Kurt?"
He had washed his face hoping it would help calm his nerves and hoping it would give him a chance to catch his breath and to bring the minute shaking of his hands under control. "I'm okay," he finally answered. "It's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal?" That was Puck. Puck. Kurt couldn't wrap his head around why the teenager with the questionable hairstyle had followed him back into the locker room in the first place, never mind why he was offering his input.
"I think I just...scraped it or something," he insisted. Then he headed for the paper towels, pulled one from the dispenser and dabbed his face dry.
"Let's see it then." Finn. The quarterback still looked furious. He gestured at Kurt. "Your shoulder. Coach said check it out, so check it out. See if it's bad."
The soprano launched the now crumpled up paper towel into the trash and thought about protesting. He thought about telling the two teenagers in front of him to get out and leave him alone. That with all the bullying they had done in the past they were almost as bad as that Hernandez kid themselves. But...
He couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to argue and spew insults. Not with Finn standing there, looking enraged on Kurt's behalf and rubbing absently at the fist he had punched Hernandez in the face with.
Kurt looked at Puck, then Finn again. They weren't budging. Which meant he was going to have an audience for this whether he liked it or not.
Relenting, he grabbed the bottom edge of his shirt and pulled it up and off. He couldn't help the warm blush that spread from his face all the way down to his neck and shoulders. Because. Yeah. Standing half naked in front of two attentive football players, one his biggest crush and the other undeniably hot (a hot jerk...but still) was embarrassing. He swung his t-shirt so it hung over his good shoulder, held his injured arm with his free hand and twisted his neck at an awkward angle in an attempt to see the damage.
His shoulder was scraped pretty badly. In some places so deep it had bled a little.
Probably onto my shirt, thought Kurt. And he frowned, had started running through stain removal techniques in his head when both Finn and Puck bent closer for a look.
"It looks... really red." Finn.
"Thank you, stater of the obvious," quipped Puck. That earned him a glare from Finn. "It looks like it's going to bruise. Like, a bad bruise."
Kurt pursed his lips and nodded. He hated the thought of an ugly bruise marring his skin, but it could have been worse. At least a bruise would fade. At least he hadn't broken anything or split his head open or...something.
"Yeah," came Coach Tanaka's gruff voice and both Finn and Puck jumped back from Kurt like they had been burned. Puzzled, Kurt eyed them both for a few seconds then turned away when Coach continued. "You'll live. You'll be sore and bruised for a little while, but you'll live. Here."
The man was holding a Ziploc bag filled with cubes of ice out in offering. "Thanks," said Kurt before taking it. He placed the bag next to the sink he had been using for safe keeping, pulled his shirt back on.
"The bus guy...the mechanic is here. He says it's an easy fix. We'll be leaving in about fifteen minutes so have your shit together. Let me know if you need more ice before we leave, Hummel." Coach Tanaka nodded decisively, gave Kurt one last look over as if to assure himself one of his charges wasn't going to keel over anytime soon, then turned and left the locker room.
"You good?" asked Finn as Kurt picked up the bag of ice, pulled up his sleeve a little and then pressed it to his shoulder. "I mean. You're sure you're okay?"
The towering football player still looked anxious and worried and a little angry. Kurt managed a smile. Because getting pushed around by some random jerk from another school wasn't any fun. But the heroic and hovering figure of his secret love interest that had unexpectedly resulted from it kind of was. "Like I said. It's not a big deal. Thanks, though." The words felt strange as he said them. "Both of you. For...helping me out."
Finn smiled back. The smile didn't reach his eyes.
Puck snorted and mumbled something under his breath -- something about 'not a big deal' and 'bullshit' -- before turning and heading for the exit.
Kurt glanced at himself in the mirror, took a deep breath and then trailed after him.
-----
"That's disgusting." Mercedes frowned and squinted her eyes as she examined the offending splotch of color. "That looks really bad, Kurt. And it's only gonna' get worse as it heals." She shook her head once in a dismissive or possibly disappointed manner before turning back to her lunch tray. Then she shoveled up some tuna surprise with her fork and popped it into her mouth.
Kurt tugged at his sleeve so it fell back into place, covered his bruised shoulder. "Thank you," he started in what he thought of as his best bitch voice. "That made me feel a whole lot better. I knew there was a reason we're best friends. It's like-" He caught sight of his friend's piercing stare and his mouth snapped shut.
He grabbed for his can of diet Coke and took a sip.
"I told you to quit the team, didn't I? After you told your dad...that. I told you I thought you should quit the team. That you might get hurt and you didn't really like it anyway and it wasn't a good idea to stay on any longer."
"Yes. You did. I know." His reply came out sounding meek.
Mercedes was right, of course. She had encouraged him to quit the football team. And she had every reason to be irked at his tone. Because he hadn't told her that the injury was actually the result of being shoved down some bleachers by a neanderthal and not technically a sports related accident. He wasn't going to tell her.
So she thought her I told you so attitude was completely justified. And that his cattiness and his bid for more sympathy were uncalled for because he had been hurt doing something she had heatedly advised him against.
Kurt thumbed at the soda can's pop top. "You know," he said. "Your outfit today is fabulous." It was. He had been meaning to tell her since before the first bell but was glad he had saved it until now; it served as the perfect peace offering.
Slowly, Mercedes broke into a smile. "Boy..." She trailed off before letting loose a surprised sounding laugh. "What were you guys doing at a game yesterday, anyway? I thought high school football games all took place on Friday nights. Not late Thursday afternoons."
"Not always," came a deep voice. It was Puck. He slid into the vacant seat next to Kurt and ran a hand over his head as if to smooth down his mohawk. "There are always a few games on Thursdays. Which is awesome because those are the games we get pulled out of our last few classes for." He paused and shot a pointed look at Mercedes across the table, another at Kurt. "Not that you two would know anything about awesome."
"What do you want, Puck?" Mercedes was glaring at the intruding teenager. "Is this about glee club? Or have your jock friends finally come to their senses and forced you out of their clique?"
"Mercedes. Hello. Charming as always, I see." The football player flashed his teeth at them in a parody of a friendly grin. He glanced away from the table for a second and then did a double take.
Curious, Kurt followed his gaze. Cheerleaders. The guy was checking out cheerleaders. Quinn Fabray and a few of her minions were standing in a huddle next to the gaping double doors that led out to the hallway, giggling and whispering to each other.
Still distracted, Puck shifted a little and bumped shoulders with Kurt. Kurt frowned, shot the taller football player a disapproving look that went unnoticed and scooted farther over in his seat.
"Kurt. What are you doing Saturday?" Apparently Mercedes had decided to ignore Noah Puckerman's hulking presence. "I'm taking my little cousin to the mall, she wants to see one of those 3-D movies. We could go shopping afterwards if you want to come with."
"I can't," answered Kurt immediately. "My dad's shop got a lot of work in this week and the mechanic that worked for him for years quit a few weeks ago." He shrugged. "So I promised my dad I would go with him this weekend to the garage to help him out."
"That sucks," said Mercedes.
And then, "Hummel. Your dad is a mechanic? He owns a place?" Puck seemed only vaguely interested in the questions he had asked. He was still looking at the group of uniformed girls.
"Really," said Kurt and his slightly sharp tone finally seemed to snap the other boy out of his Cheerios induced daze. "Why are you here, Puck?"
Puck stared at him for a second. He seemed a little out of it, had an expression on his face like someone had knocked the wind out of him. Then he blinked, shook his head as if to clear it and reached into his letterman jacket's left pocket.
Oh, thought Kurt, pleased and more than a little shocked as soon as he spotted the object in Puck's hand.
"Here's your phone, princess." Puck placed the phone on the table and slid it over to Kurt before turning toward the cluster of cheerleaders again (they were still engrossed in conversation but had moved out into the hallway). "You forgot it yesterday."
Then the football player stood up, reached over and casually pulled Kurt's plaid newsboy hat down over his forehead and eyes.
"I'll catch you geeks later," said Puck and walked away while the soprano was still sputtering.
Kurt pulled the hat completely off of his head. "My hair. And my poor hat. This hat matches my slacks." He inspected his hat for damage, looked up when he realized Mercedes had said nothing in response to his complaints.
She was staring at Kurt's phone.
A moment beat by before she looked up and met his eyes. But Kurt didn't volunteer information. Mercedes leaned back in her seat.
"I'm going to have to comb my hair again, get my hair stuff from my locker. I'll be crazy the rest of the day if I don't." He pulled the hat back onto his head, fussed with it a little and stood. Then he stuffed his phone into his pocket (he was still bemused about Puck having retrieved his phone the day before after he had dropped it, decided he would dwell on that strange thought later when he wasn't in such a hurry) and grabbed the empty soda can before shrugging his leather satchel's strap onto his uninjured shoulder. "See you in English?"
Mercedes was poking at the remainder of her tuna surprise with her fork. "Yeah. I'll meet you there," she agreed. She said it nicely enough. Normally enough. She even smiled. But Kurt thought he detected a suspicious note in her voice, a strange glint in her eye. He hoped he was wrong because he really didn't want to tell her about Hernandez.
His friend would only insist he should have done something about it. Would tell him he should have told Coach Tanaka and his father all about the incident. She would be angry and upset in that worried best friend way that he hadn't told them.
He waved, tossed the can into a nearby trash can and made his way across the cafeteria. As soon as he stepped out into the hallway he spotted Puck and Quinn next to a water fountain. Puck was saying something in a low but urgent voice and Quinn wasn't meeting his eyes. She looked furious and sad all at the same time.
Kurt bypassed the pair. He turned a corner and-
BAM. A shoulder caught him in the chest and slammed him into the edge of a locker. Slammed his already sore and bruised shoulder into the edge of a locker. He barely managed to keep himself from crying out in pain (he was sure that would only invite more bullying); bit at his bottom lip and closed his eyes for a second before opening them again and breathing deeply.
When he spun to see who had done it he caught sight of a tall figure wearing a midnight blue hoodie. The figure was pushing its way hastily through the crowded hallway. But...Kurt wasn't sure if the mystery figure had done it. He hadn't actually seen the culprit. The soprano took in his surroundings; there were a few jocks loitering nearby but none of them looked particularly pleased with themselves, none of them were guffawing or gloating.
Kurt pushed away from the lockers he had landed against and walked quickly to his own locker. His hand automatically went for the lock. He was already running through the combination in his head when he noticed it and stopped cold.
"Whoa. What happened to your locker, man?" Finn had come up behind him.
"I..." Kurt trailed off. The bottom edge of the smallish locker door was bent slightly upward. It was as if someone had taken a screw driver or something like a screwdriver and forced it between the seems of the door. As if someone had tried to pop the thin metal door off with force. And the lock...was scratched up. Thin, crisscrossing lines were gouged into the metal and plastic of the little lock.
"What happened?" The taller teenager had moved closer, probably for a better look at the damaged locker.
"I don't know," admitted the soprano.
"Looks like someone tried to screw it up."
No. Looks like someone tried to break in, thought Kurt.
The warning bell rang out and Kurt groaned, let go of the little combination lock. So much for fixing his hair before class.
That Puck. He was such a jerk.
Part Three