Work Text:
🎶Ah, push it! push it good
Ah, push it! p-push it real good
Ow! Push it good 🎶
“For god’s sake, must they listen to that?” Kurt mutters under his breath.
🎶Now push it
Push it good
Push it real good
Push it good
P-push it real good🎶
The speakers on the far end of the field are struggling to keep up with the bass, but Coach doesn't care. He’s pacing up and down the line of tackling sleds, barking orders.
The sun catches the dew on the bleachers in the morning light. They're mostly empty save for a few friends observing, but Kurt is alone, sipping on a blueberry and banana smoothie, a notebook in his lap. The morning smells like freshly mown grass.
At the moment, Dave’s at the front of the line, bracing his legs, crouched and coiled. The muscles in his thighs flex beneath his shorts, calves braced, cleats dug in. Then boom, he launches into the sled with a force that makes Kurt’s teeth ache in sympathy.
Brace. Push. Reset. Repeat.
Again, and again.
Kurt tells himself it’s just physics, the way watching Dave practice is kind of hypnotic. That’s all it is, right? The repetitive rhythm. The way Dave resets his stance each time, shoulders rolling. How he spits into the turf, and that should be disgusting, shouldn’t it? But it’s not. And he wipes the sweat from his brow with the bottom of his shirt, exposing a thin line of soft flesh and hard muscle. He’s got mud on his face.
Kurt realizes he’s brushing his fingers over his own heart, his notebook long forgotten, watching Dave drive himself into steel like it insulted his mother, and Kurt swallows hard.
Brace. Push. Reset.
This is the third time in less than two weeks he’s come to watch morning practice, like he’s not already sleep deprived with a heavy course load. He tells himself it’s because of their math class; surprisingly, they’ve made really good study partners. They each have different strengths, and they work hard to figure out the stuff they don’t quite grasp. And Dave is always bringing him little treasures. Last time, Dave brought him a bag of chocolate almonds; before that, a clicky pen that wrote in four different colors he saw in the campus bookstore; and the time before that, a package of sticky notes shaped like footballs. They laughed until they cried on that one when Kurt was trying but failing to come up with a sincere thank-you, and Dave burst out laughing before Kurt realized it was a joke. Kurt playfully “punched him” in the arm, and Dave grabbed his hand, and… Oh god. We’d stayed that way for a few seconds, hadn’t we?
Why am I here?
It's not like anyone talks to him; he doesn’t really know any of the other guys on the team. No one waves, or really glances his way. Just Dave, sometimes, when he has a second to breathe.
Today is the same as the other times he’s been here. When practice ends, Coach shouts at them for a few minutes before the players break apart, ripping off helmets, shaking out limbs, and stretching.
And just like he has the other times, Dave jogs (the madman!) over to the bleachers, all flushed and grinning. Soaked with sweat.
Kurt watches a drop fall from his temple, down his jaw, and then down his neck, and clears his throat.
“Hey!” Dave says. “Didn’t know you were coming. Fun surprise.”
“Hi. Yeah… I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d come critique your performance.” Kurt arches an eyebrow when Dave smirks. "Actually, I’m conducting a study on hubris in collegiate athletes."
Dave laughs and shakes his head, hair sticking to his forehead. "Thanks for coming. Even if it’s for... research."
Kurt just hums, not knowing what to say as they sort of stupidly stare at each other.
“I’m gonna hit the showers real quick. If you wanna wait?” Dave shrugs, taking a deep breath, still trying to catch up from practice. “We could grab some breakfast and do some cramming for our math test.” Dave’s eyes scrunch together, studying Kurt for a second. “Kurt?”
“What? Sorry! Nothing.” Kurt isn’t going to say Sorry… You look like hell, and it’s confusing what it’s doing to my body, and somehow, you’re charming like this, all sweaty. And this isn’t a date because we’re just friends, but you didn’t make it sound otherwise, so why am I spinning this a thousand ways in my head? “Yes! Let’s do it!”
“Ten minutes,” Dave says, already backing up, jogging backward toward the locker rooms. “Don’t vanish.”
Kurt watches him go, noticing the way his shirt clings to his back, and the way he laughs at something a teammate says. The way he makes space in every room he enters, and how he never lets Kurt feel like he’s on the outside looking in, even when sometimes it feels like they’re from different planets.
He drums his fingers on his notebook.
Why do I keep coming here?
He already knows the answer.
It’s Dave’s laugh.
And the way he listens without interrupting.
It’s how he always smells like laundry soap and root beer candy.
And how he noticed Kurt got a haircut and complimented it.
It’s that absurd, earnest way he’s self-conscious and confident all at once.
And the text yesterday that just said: Don’t forget to eat lunch!
It’s this moment, right now, with his heart beating faster for no reason he’s ready to say aloud.
And mostly it’s because they truly are becoming the best of friends.
Kurt laughs and shakes his head. There are essays to write, projects to outline, and a costume to finish before fall auditions. But for now, he watches Dave smile at him as he disappears into the locker rooms and knows that this matters, too.