...and I knew you, pigtails and all,
girls when they fall...

Kurt Hummel lay motionless on his back, arms bent upward and hands behind his head. His heart was thudding in his ears as if he'd just run a marathon, even though he had long ago lost track of how much time he'd spent just laying there, staring at the ceiling.

He had looked everywhere the first day of school. For more of his summer than he cared to admit, he'd been imagining this moment. He kept gazing down the hall expecting to see a red letterman jacket coming towards him, or even—a small part of him had foolishly hoped—an awful polyester Bullywhips jacket and a red beret. He even sought out Azimio Adams, but when he found him in a group of jocks loudly high-fiving one another over some (no doubt idiotic) joke or other, he didn't see the face he was looking for among them. By lunchtime he had been a little frantic, and against his better judgment he'd pulled Santana aside to ask if she had seen him.

"What am I, my ex's keeper?" she said defensively, not looking Kurt in the eye. "I haven't heard from Karofsky since he ditched me at prom."

This did absolutely nothing to help Kurt's nerves.

He was able to forget, for just a little while. He lost himself in purple pianos and the scandal of Quinn's disastrous personality transplant and equally disastrous new look. He went for coffee with Blaine after school and focused on his perfect boyfriend with his big eyes, his gorgeous smile, and the way Kurt's stomach filled with butterflies at just the touch of his hand. But then Blaine left for Westerville, and Kurt was left on the drive home to think about what on earth had happened to Dave Karofsky.

As soon as he got home that first day, he went to his computer and pulled up facebook. He searched for "Karofsky" and found...nothing. There were a few David Karofskys, but none of them were his David. He tried Azimio's friends list and then Santana's, Finn's, and a few other members of the hockey and football teams. He tried doing a search for Paul Karofsky—who knew why, but some parents had facebook—and found Dave's dad, but no Dave, anywhere. No evidence that he existed. There wasn't even a number for a Paul Karofsky in the phone book. As a last resort, he braved the incredibly funny look Finn gave him when he asked if he had Dave Karofsky's phone number, and called it only to get a woman's polite, mechanized voice saying "We're sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service."

Dave Karofsky had vanished into thin air.

…and they said Marianne killed herself
and I said, "not a chance, not a chance."

The rumors started around the beginning of the second week of school.

Apparently it had not gone unnoticed that a member of the championship-winning football team—last year's junior class prom king, no less—had disappeared. Kurt first heard the whispers in the lunchroom on Tuesday, when he was sitting picking unenthusiastically at his slightly wilted salad and only half-listening to whatever Rachel was talking about.

"—I think I'd disappear too. You heard what happened at prom, right?"

"Yeah, but I thought the joke was just on the other dude."

"Are you kidding? Didja see the way he looked at Hummel before he ran outta there? I think he actually wanted to dance with him."

"No shit. Karofsky? Dave Karofsky, a homo?"

"Gay as a rainbow. I mean c'mon. He was practically Hummel's bodyguard at the end of last year. After prom everyone was bound to find out. I bet that's why he transferred schools."

"Maybe. I heard he and Hummel were secretly dating, and he transferred schools when Santana found out and threatened to cut off his balls."

"I heard it was 'cause Hummel dumped him for the new kid."

"Who says he transferred at all? I heard he..."

"Shut up, man," said a harsh new voice. Kurt recognized it: Azimio. "Let's talk about somethin' else."

Kurt didn't need them to finish the sentence, though. It was practically written in the air in front of him; it had been in the back of his mind for the last week. He had refused to acknowledge it, but the conversation at the table behind him brought it screaming to the forefront of his thoughts and gave that nameless dread he felt every time he saw all the places where Dave Karofsky wasn't, a definite shape.

Maybe he killed himself.

Kurt stood up abruptly, nearly knocking his salad over in the process. Blaine and Rachel stared up at him, alarmed.

"Kurt?" Blaine looked concerned, and made as if to rise and follow him, but Kurt shook his head.

"I need to...I'll be right back," he said, taking a couple of steps back from the table before turning on his heel and forcing himself to walk, briskly but still just walking, out of the lunchroom. He moved aimlessly down the hallway, not realizing where his feet were carrying him until he was already standing in one of the last places he thought he'd ever consciously, willingly go again. It was a place he'd managed, somehow, to avoid since last November. He stared at the fifth locker from the right, just the same as all the others, painted that horrifying, garish McKinley red The way it drew his eyes, you'd think it was neon green and covered in flashing light bulbs.

Someone came in the door behind him, and Kurt spun around, hoping for one bizarre, wild moment that Dave Karofsky had found him here again. Here, of all places, the last place he should have wanted to see his former tormenter.

It wasn't Dave, of course it wasn't Dave; it was Azimio Adams. Kurt stiffened with apprehension; he had never had an encounter with Azimio that ended well. But the other boy held up his hands, fists uncurled and palms flat: a gesture of peace.

"'Sup, Hummel?"

"Hello," he replied warily. "Did you want something?"

"I should be asking you the same question, man. This ain't exactly your turf." Kurt fought the urge to roll his eyes at the attempt at asserting dominance. Azimio must have sensed his irritation, because he backpedalled immediately.

"Shit, what I mean is, you don't normally hang out in the locker room. I saw you run out when those guys were talkin' about Dave. Everything all right?"

Kurt was truly surprised now. He had never known Azimio Adams to be concerned about another human being, least of all Kurt. He looked suspiciously up into the other boy's face, searching for any hint that this was some kind of joke, or trap. Azimio sighed and dropped his hands to his sides.

"Dave said you wouldn't trust me. Guess I can't blame you." Kurt's eyes widened.

"When did you talk to him? You know what happened to him? Where he went?" Azimio shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah, he told me. Those guys were just being assholes, Hummel."

"So..."

"Dave didn't kill himself."

"Then where the hell is he?" Kurt said. Under the wash of relief, he felt a prickling of anger. He and Dave Karofsky had never become friends, but they had still been through one hell of a crazy year together. They'd shared a lot of pain, humiliation, and…they also had other things in common. He'd thought Dave might at least let him know he was okay if he decided to leave McKinley. Maybe he didn't think you'd care, a voice in the back of his mind chided him.

"Shit, Hummel, what do you care?" Azimio echoed his thoughts.

"Because...I just..."

"Look, Dave's happier where he is, okay? I know he made your life hell last year, but he had a shitty year, too, and he just wanted to get away from all of it and not have to worry about that crap his senior year. Can't say I blame him, after prom-"

"Funny, I didn't think David was the one who had anything to be mortified about," Kurt muttered bitterly. Azimio fixed him with a piercing stare that seemed far too intelligent for the giant dolt Kurt had always assumed him to be.

"You and I both know that ain't true, Hummel. I know you covered for him but things get out anyway. He just couldn't believe that practical joke wasn't meant for him too, and he couldn't deal."

Kurt stared at Azimio like he had just sprouted a second head. Is he saying?...

"Listen, Dave…he asked me to look out for you this year, make sure the football and hockey team lay off you and your boyfriend. I'm gonna do that, for him. But don't go around tellin' anyone, a'ight? He told me not to tell you, but I reckon you oughta know. You won't get anymore shit from me. Just…don't try to get in touch with Dave. He just wanted to leave McKinley behind him. Can't say I blame him. I can't wait to get my ass outta this hell hole."

Kurt just nodded numbly to show Azimio he understood. Satisfied that his message had been delivered, Azimio turned and left Kurt standing there trying to process all of the new information he had just received.

Dave Karofsky was alive and well, and had transferred schools.

Azimio Adams knew that his best friend was gay, and had apparently decided to be supportive.

Dave had asked Azimio to look out for him, and for Blaine.

Dave didn't want to see him or talk to him.

That last one hurt. It hurt a lot more than it should, and Kurt felt the strange mix of relief—that Dave was okay, and a guilty sort of relief/regret mixture at the thought that he might never see his former bully again and have to deal with all these complicated thoughts—gratitude, anger, and rejection welling up in his eyes. Before he could have a meltdown, he slipped out of the locker room and down the hall to the girls' bathroom, where he knew he could cry uninterrupted and un-harassed until the bell rang for next period.

...watching my every sound,
I said, "They're watching my every sound."

Kurt watched morosely as Blaine twirled and wiggled around that loathsome pestilence by the name of Sebastian on the dance floor. He had no idea what he was doing here, in Lima's exceedingly sad and seedy gay bar—who knew Lima even had a gay bar?—nursing a watered-down virgin Shirley Temple (he almost had to congratulate Sebastian on the many layers of mocking and insult in that particular drink choice) and watching his boyfriend dance with someone else. He felt positively gross. He wanted to jump up, strut across that dance floor, and spin Blaine—innocent, oblivious Blaine, who was too nice to see what a sleaze this guy really was—out of Sebastian's reach. He was Kurt freaking Hummel, and nobody pushed him around, especially not some over-privileged, smug little private school bastard with an after school special haircut who didn't know how to open his mouth without bragging about himself.

But this nasty little voice in his head kept repeating these thoughts that kept him glued to the barstool.

You looked like you were having gas pains.

You kinda have one move, Kurt. It's this sashay, and it's super distracting.

I want a Tony that excites my ladyparts, and Kurt is just too delicate.

You sing like Dianna Ross and you dress like you own a magic chocolate factory.

You in a sequin gown and a feather boa is exactly what you'd expect.

"Better watch your boyfriend."

Kurt turned, disbelieving, to see the owner of that familiar voice sliding nonchalantly into the seat next to him. He watched as Dave asked for a beer as if it were totally natural, taking in the other boy's head-to-toe denim outfit, his relaxed posture, and the hesitant smile he was shooting at Kurt as he took a swig of his drink. Kurt had never thought of beer as sophisticated, but he had to admire the way Dave looked so natural and relaxed about it…not furtive like Kurt knew he would have, or over-the-top conscious of the fact that this is real life grown-up beer, with alcohol and everything like Sebastian and Blaine. He felt himself relax just watching Dave look so at ease, and wondered if his moods had always been this contagious.

Kurt couldn't help but smile back at him, and even laugh a little. Dave Karofsky, in a gay bar. Wonders never ceased.

"Do you come here a lot?"

He wanted to grimace at how...flirty that sounded. It was literally just one word away from being the clichéd opener to a cheesy pick-up routine, but Dave didn't seem to notice. He just kept smiling as he explained to Kurt that he felt accepted here, of all places. Kurt was astonished just how much seeing Dave smile changed him. He was almost...handsome.

He asked Dave about his school, and learned that the other boy was genuinely happy there, just as Azimio had said. They talked in a carefully guarded but amiable way, and as they did Kurt felt something shifting beneath the surface of their conversation. Against all odds, the two of them had come to be a lot of things to one another in the past year: bully and victim, secret and secret-keeper, remorse and forgiveness…prom king and prom queen. Now though, in the least likely place Kurt could think of, he felt them sliding into something entirely new: understanding.

Finally, after all this time, he and Dave Karofsky could really look at one another, and understand what they were seeing. Kurt saw Dave, a lonely kid with a surprisingly beautiful smile who was just trying to get through high school. And Dave…Kurt wasn't sure what exactly Dave saw when he looked at Kurt, but whatever it was made his smile wider and his eyes gleam with just a touch more green than Kurt had ever noticed in them before. There was honest-to-goodness camaraderie in the gesture when Kurt returned his toast to "baby steps."

And just like that, the voices in his head stopped chattering at him.

...just having thoughts of Marianne...

When Kurt Hummel slept with Blaine Anderson for the first time, he did not think of Dave Karofsky. Those moments were for Kurt and Blaine only, and they were perfect. There was warmth, and excitement, nerves and love...more things at once than Kurt had ever imagined he could feel for another person. He only had to look into Blaine's eyes to know that the feeling was mutual. Blaine Anderson looked at him like he was the most perfect thing in the entire world.

But when Kurt thought of the days and events leading up to his first time, those memories would always include Dave. Dave and his warm smile, looking at Kurt in a way that made him feel good right down to his toes, like he was something clean and pure and better than a pale, sulky teenager watching his boyfriend dance with somebody else in a bar. Less than five minutes in Dave Karofsky's presence, and all of the hurtful, belittling things his friends, his boyfriend, and his father had ever said to him—well-intentioned and otherwise—just faded right away, and he was Kurt Hummel again. Kurt Hummel, who didn't let anybody push him around. When he had waltzed onto that dance floor to show Sebastian just exactly who Blaine Anderson would be leaving with that night, he had done so with the glow of hazel eyes fresh in his mind.

Even years later, whenever he would flip past a picture of Dave Karofsky in his old high school yearbooks, or whenever he watched a hockey or football game with his family on visits home, or even, sometimes, when Blaine had a little too much to drink and launched into one of his bouts of spastic, rhythm-less dancing...he couldn't help but smile, and think to himself, "Yes...I remember you."

Author's Note: This short little piece is for Professional Widow. I was rereading some of my reviews today, and I came across one very sweet and beautiful, encouraging review where you suggested this idea to me. I listened to the song and this just sort of fell out of my head while I was at work.

I just finished with my first term at grad school, so this will hopefully be the start of a lot more updates. For those wondering, no I have not abandoned any of my stories. If I ever decide to abandon a story I will give you a post with a detailed reason. Until you see such a post, please just assume I'm either super busy with IRL stuff or slaving away trying to make the next chapter of one of my fics worthy of posting. I expect to update The Ugly Duckling and/or FML in the next couple of weeks. Wish me luck, and thanks so much for all your support and kind words.

Love,
The Raisin Girl