truths
title: truths
summary: they see each other's truths through glass mirrors.
rating: pg13
pairing: one-sided kurtofsky & brittana with a dash of bartie and klaine
genre: gen
warnings: none
notes: written for a prompt over at the glee_angst_meme
The truth. The. Truth. Thetruth. Two little words that mean so much. Santana wasn't stupid, and she knew people. She knew herself. The truth? Santana was a closeted gay. The truth? Dave Karofsky was one too.
As Santana prowled the hallways, the confrontation still ringing in her head, she considered how obvious it was. Hadn't Santana told Brittany that she lashed out because of all these feelings she couldn't face? Wasn't Dave way too fixated on Kurt? The stares, the touches, the obsession ... Santana could relate, and it hit her just how transparent she must be if Dave was clear as glass to her.
Was that crying? Santana flinched, eyes zeroing in on the slightly open weight room door. On one hand, a guy crying in the manly weight room after school was golden dirt. On the other hand, the whole lashing out thing. Santana bit her lip and decided to just take a peek, pushing the door open slightly wider. Who she saw crying both surprised her and didn't at the same time, because how many times had Santana cried because of Brittany and her feelings in this school?
Dave's head jerked up, and Santana realized that she had drifted into the room while staring at the crying boy. For a second Dave's face worked angrily, like he was about to yell at her, but then it crumpled again like a broken umbrella. He turned away and buried his face into his hands, desperately trying to wipe away his tears. Santana's stomach clenched. She had seen a lot of jocks cry -- during sex, after sex, before sex. Because Dave Karofsky had never screwed her and generally was the epitome of lunkhead emotionless jock jerky, Santana had never seen him cry. This was entirely new territory and considering The Truth, Santana didn't know what to do.
Yes, a few minutes ago she had threatened to bust his nuts and he had been ready to push her around but now she knew The Truth and saw how Dave and her were just glass mirrors of each other. Santana wished she had someone other than Brittany who cared, Santana wished she hadn't pushed Brittany away. Santana wished she could help Dave, because he was still crying even though she was there and that meant things weren't okay.
So, slowly, Santana moved to sit next to Dave on the barbell bench, a hand coming up to rest on his shoulder. He flinched but didn't move away, and Santana just let her hand lie there. She wasn't very used to touching guys without the intention of boning them, but this was ... nice. Just weirdly friendly, without expectations because if there was one guy in this school Santana could trust to not get handsy with her, it was Dave Karofsky.
"What's up?" Santana finally asked when Dave's tears had slowed down. In reply he groaned, looking up to meet her gaze with watery, frustrated eyes.
"I just wanted to talk to Hummel, but -- fuck. You don't care." Dave shrugged her hand off, abruptly rising to his feet and crossing over to the barbell stand. She could see in the set of his shoulders, in the hesitant look he shot her, in the mirror-like reflection, that he wanted to talk.
"If I didn't care I wouldn't be here," Santana rolled her eyes, hoping that being casual but to the point would make this a little less awkward. Part of her wanted to run out before this conversation got any heavier, but a bigger part of her was tired of running. Just earlier, Santana had stood up for Kurt and Blaine because slushies to the face hurt like a bitch and there was that sneaking suspicion that one day she would be in their place. If Santana could do that, she could handle an uncomfortably close to home talk.
"I thought you were going to bust my balls." Dave finally muttered, picking up a ten pound weight before dropping it with a clang back in the rack. Santana smirked.
"That could still happen if you keep me any longer, Captain Closeted." Dave winced at the nickname, picking up and dropping a fifteen pound weight angrily. Santana wondered if this was his bizzaro therapy, sort of like when she would take all the pictures of her and Brittany she had and reorganize them according to how much touching had gone on between them that day.
"Am I really that freaking transparent?" Dave asked, repeating the process with a twenty pound weight. Santana only arched a brow and nodded. Dave groaned in frustration, a few more tears leaking up which he swiped at angrily.
"I just wanted to talk." Dave turned away from the barbell rack and retook his seat next to Santana, staring off into the distance. "I threatened to kill him, but it's not like I wanted to. I just -- see him, and get so mad, because he's prancing around with his perfect hair and face and body and his stupid boyfriend and he's in your face about it and it's horrible." Dave sniffed, then snorted a little. "I sound jealous."
"Newsflash, you are jealous." Santana replied, stretching her legs out and knocking a foot against his. Dave made a noise that probably counted as a growl, curling his feet up under the bench. He didn't seem angry though, just even more upset. Santana frowned, biting at her lower lip in worry. She had wanted to comfort the guy, not make him more sad. "That's okay though."
"Yeah?" Dave turned to face her, eyebrows drawn together and face still splotchy and wet from his crying session. "I'm this close to being outed as the new school homo, mad bitch Lopez is the only one listening and it's okay?"
"Badass bitch Lopez," Santana corrected with a sneer, but let it drop in favour of her most understanding expression. Santana wasn't very used to those, prefering to make the other person feel alienated, but she genuinely understood Dave and she could rely on that. "I get it, 'kay. You're in love with someone who's with someone else and they're happy as fucking rainbow and kittens and you just get so mad."
Dave stared at her for several long moments, and Santana wondered if her own Truth was as obvious as she felt. Santana and Brittany weren't exactly a secret after all. Though the thing was, if Dave realized Santana was more like lesbo bitch Lopez she knew he would understand her just like she did him, and they would keep each other's secret safe. That was pretty cool.
Finally Dave looked away, thumbs fiddling unconciously as he spoke. "I don't want to hurt him, or even his stupid boyfriend. But yeah ... I get mad. Really mad. I mean, that prep school fairy is a midget with stupid hair but he's also nice or whatever. He's never pushed Hummel around."
"And he has a nice ass." Santana said, and laughed when Dave nodded in agreement. At her laugh Dave met her gaze again, looking pissed for a second before a tentative smile creeped across his lips. Then Santana was just laughing harder, and Dave started to chuckle, and before they knew it they were having a laughing fit in the middle of the weight room while the objects of the affection cuddled up with somebody else, somebody who was actually okay to them -- for them -- as much as it hurt to admit. There was an incredible release about it, like all the drama and the worries and the fear could just be forgotten for a few minutes while they actually enjoyed being gay.
After a while their laughter turned into the occasional giggle and snort, and then they fell silent. In the hush that followed Santana and Dave simply stared at each other, in complete understandings, seeing themselves in each other and cautiously thinking things could be alright. Then Santana's phone was buzzing and Dave broke their eye contact, awkwardly rising to his feet. Santana answered her phone and flashed Dave a small smile as he gathered up his gym bag, and he returned it before turning to leave. Santana let him go -- she had a feeling it wouldn't be the last time they talked.
They saw each other's Truths in themselves, and that wasn't something you just shook off.
end