Kurt watches Puck take a step, pushing the kitchen chair out of his way. He sees the strong muscles of his boyfriend's arms flex and he can't help wrapping his arms around himself.
Puck raises his head and comes closer. He's almost there, almost breaching Kurt's personal space, and it's too much, too soon, too close.
Kurt can still remember the way it felt, Puck's rough hands gripping his hips so tight it hurt, Puck's cock ripping him open, the way the pain snapped him out of the alcohol haze he'd been in.
It wasn't Puck's fault, and it wasn't his. It was just the way life went.
It sucked.
And it still sucks now, when Kurt feels the edge of the kitchen counter pressing into the small of his back, when his eyes dart toward the door. It's too far – he's trapped.
He shouldn't feel like that with only Puck in the room; he used to feel safe and loved in the bigger boy's arms – before.
Now, there's just fear; paralyzing him, making his eyes widen, and he's pretty sure he's trembling. He wraps his arms around his torso tighter, willing them to stop shaking, stop showing the rush of wild emotions he really feels inside.
There used to be love; hell, there still is love, it's still the same Noah with his goofiness and insecurities and silly little declarations of love whispered in the dead of night into Kurt's hair – except he isn't.
Not when he left bruises on Kurt's hips, on his lips, on his soul. They were drunk, too drunk to care, to think, and it's completely unfair to be blaming Puck, but Kurt supposes that's the way his brain works.
And because he knows himself, he knows it's over.
Despite the fact that Noah is clearly more sorry than anything else. Despite the obivious love he still has for Kurt.
Kurt knows. He will never forgive Puck the tears he cried, that night and a thousand other times when no one was looking. He will never forgive the blood he found on the sheets afterwards, and he will never forgive himself for not forgiving.
But it's over. He knows it, and he sniffles.
And then Puck takes the final step.
Kurt flinches.
He can't help it, his body acts instinctively, trying to escape the muscled arms and tanned skin that brings back memories.
Puck notices.
The change in his eyes is so instant, so heartbreaking, that Kurt stops trembling and just stares. There's more sadness he's ever seen in anyone – except for maybe his father after Mom died, but that's a fuzzy memory, and one he doesn't like revisiting at all – and it looks, it feels like something is breaking somewhere inside Puck. When he opens his mouth, Kurt needs a few seconds to realize there are words coming out.
"You're…you're scared of me, aren't you?" he asks, stepping back and hanging his head to hide the tears.
Kurt is pretty sure his averted gaze is answer enough.