Morning has broken all over Noah Puckerman, and a few little shards of it appear to have lodged behind his eyeballs. It is morning, right? A head emerges from the sheets, one eye blearily checking out the clock. 11.28 am. Good, still morning then. His arm reaches out, automatically searching for something to put on and for....shit. Kurt.
He only vaguely remembers the night before; thinking too hard makes the pain in his head worse but he gets some flashes if he tries - fight club, dive bar, tequila, calling Kurt for a ride home. He can't get much further than that, but the cold weight in his gut - the part that isn't occupied with not throwing up - tells him nothing that happened past that point can be good. He tells himself that Kurt isn't in bed because, hello, the day is half over already, but there's another voice in his brain saying uh-uh, asshole, and he's up and stumbling to the bathroom, hoping Kurt is at least still in the apartment.
He finds Kurt in the kitchen, pulling down mugs and pouring two cups of coffee. Kurt's back is to him, posture perfect and radiating anger. Puck's stomach drops a little more; he must have said something pretty nasty. Usually, after he's had a night out, Kurt just makes sure he's got aspirin and something greasy for the hangover.
"Welcome back to the world of the living," Kurt says, not turning around, no trace of warmth in his voice. He pulls the aspirin from the cupboard.
"Kurt, baby, I am so so-"
"Don't, Noah, just fucking don't. I am so sick of those words coming out of your mouth." Kurt finally turns to Puck and sets the coffee and drugs down in front of him. Puck stops breathing. Kurt's face is a mess; his left eye and cheek are bruised, his lip is split.
"What the fuck happened?"
"Just think about it for a few minutes, Noah. I'm sure you'll eventually remember, unless you completely blacked out this time."
"But…why would I? You know I love you, I would nev-"
"I don't even know why I'm having this conversation with you again, it's not like we haven't had the same argument over and over," Kurt choked, his usually soft voice rough and tight with tears. "The only difference this time is that you fucking hit me. Apparently this time, verbal abuse wasn't enough."
Puck sits down hard at the table, and silently tries to piece together the events of last night, while Kurt continues talking like he'll never stop.
"I've put up with 3 am phone calls, and I'd much rather come get you than have you kill yourself or some innocent person. I've put up with your random drunken manhandling. I've put up with you calling me all the names you get – we get hit with during daylight hours, because I know this is hard for you."
…you're such a fucking cocksucker
…his fist connecting with Kurt's cheekbone
…Kurt's stunning blue-green eyes filling with tears, which only makes him angrier
…Kurt's head hitting the wall from his backhand
"I've lied for you, covered for you. I've tolerated all of this," Kurt continues, tears flowing unnoticed now. "Because I love you, but I am not going to let you do this to me." All the anger Kurt feels, the anger he keeps bottled in at all times, comes out in a sudden rush, and his coffee cup suddenly finds itself exploding into a million pieces – shards again, Puck thinks – on the wall behind Puck.
"This is it, Noah. I am through with you, with us, unless you get some help and stop this. You can come home with a newcomer's chip tonight, or you can sleep by yourself, because I'll be at the garage."
"I'll go. I swear to god, Kurt, I'll go this time. I will never let this happen again, never."
And both boys think: …and I really mean it this time. Really.
