Chapter Three
He wasn't going to go. He'd call Noah. Noah would talk him out of it. He'd stay in his room the whole evening, playing Scrabble with himself or chatting to Mercedes, if he could get ahold of her. Or just sleep. Or do the special, extra-long version of his moisturizing routine – anything. It was starting to get dark outside, the sun setting over the many roofs of the campus. A bunch of art students were making their way towards the main building just in time for dinner; soon, the clock would chime six and he'd have to make a decision. There was a photo on Kurt's nightstand he'd been staring at for the last half an hour, trying to find an answer – him and Noah a week after they got together, laying on Kurt's bed and smiling cheekily, protected by a thin silver frame. He remembered they day they took it with crystal clarity – it was a Thursday, they'd just finished eating waffles and Kurt wouldn't stop bitching about all the calories. Noah kissed him to shut him up – hence the smiles. He remembered thinking 'I love him', even back then, when he barely knew anything about him and still called him Puck. They were both awkward, new at things. Noah's eyes on the photo stared at him, caught in a moment of laughter and clear happiness. He wouldn't go. He'd call Noah, tell him everything, the way it was supposed to be from the beginning, tell him they're too young to be thinking about starting a family and getting married anyway, tell him he just wants to come back and never let go again, how much he hates everything about Dalton, how much he loves him. He wouldn't go. He'd call, and explain, and let Noah's voice in his ear calm him down and make him think with his own mind again. Without even noticing, he was scrambling for his phone and hitting the speed dial in mere seconds. The phone rang three times, then three more. "Hey," Noah's voice, finally, sounded through the phone's speaker. Screw everything. This might be the one moment in his life his own happiness depends on him. "Noah, I love you. I'm sorry for this and last week and I just wanted you to know—" "…leave a message at the beep – or somethin'. Thanks." Noah wasn't there. Wasn't – or didn't want to be. On second thought, what would it hurt to go and listen to a little crazy talk again? It certainly beat sitting in his room by himself.
It was hard to figure out which way to go, how fast, which lane to choose – in the end, they just floated up a balloon and broke all the rules. Noah had promised to be faithful. Kurt had sworn not to tell anyone – not even Cedes – untill they both agreed they were ready. They behaved exactly like what they were – two lovesick teenagers.
~*~
After his first few days back home, Kurt was ready to suffocate. There was tension in the air, so thick he was almost ready to choke on it.
Of course, he'd expected his family to need some time do deal with the new him. He'd expected questions, maybe some confusion, but, in his mind, it always came back to both his Dad and Carole supporting him in his decision to make his life better.
Which was why, when things finally came breaking down on him, he wasn't prepared at all.
It was a Friday afternoon, the end of his first week back at McKinley, a week of dealing with Puck sending him strange looks, Mercedes tearing up whenever she saw him and people stopping to look after him when he passed them in the hallways. He was just about ready to change into a pair of sweats, turn on the TV and fall asleep watching the sports channel.
Of course, walking into the living room five minutes past nine, his Dad had other plans. He grabbed the remote, turned the TV off, and when Carole came in and sat with her hands in her lap, it was clear something was up.
Maybe they'd finally realized they can't keep ignoring the changes in him forever.
"We need to talk, son," Burt said, leaning his elbow on the armrest of his chair, looking a little run-down and tired. Kurt mentally scolded himself for not making sure Carole was still keeping up with his Dad's diet plan.
"What about?" he asked, deciding to play dumb just for a while, to see what they really thought. Sebastian had sat him down before he left Dalton, telling him to be careful with his friends and family, try to understand their side of things and how confusing it must be, but pull back at the first indication they're not supporting him in his decisions.
"This - the way you've…changed," Carole responded, looking nervous, a little confused and really, really sad.
"I'm a new person now."
"We've noticed." He hadn't heart that tone from his father in years; it was the one that used to mean stop playing with the neighbor's helicopter model - I know you want your Barbie.
"But…we don't really understand," Carole took his father's hand in hers. "Why such a change? What was wrong with the old Kurt?"
Kurt scoffed. "He was living in the dark."
He saw them exchange looks; didn't quite know what to make of them.
"What…exactly do you mean by that?"
"I've seen the light."
He saw the exact moment understanding dawned in Carole's eyes – they welled up with tears. His Dad blinked a few times, looked at his wife, and Kurt didn't really know – maybe they had the telepathic thing going on – but the next time he looked back, Kurt knew he understood, too.
"So, what you're trying to say is that…you're not—gay anymore?" Hid Dad looked puzzled, maybe a little angry and Kurt had no idea why. He should be happy – he finally had the son he'd always wanted, a son he could talk to about football and baseball and girls. He nodded anyway.
"I'm straight, Dad," he said, because it somehow didn't seem like they understood.
Carole let out a little sniffle, Burt's hand coming around her waist as she leaned into his shoulder. Kurt smiled; it was sweet. He really hoped that someday, hopefully soon, he could find a woman to share his life with like that, too.
"Son…what do you say you think about this a little? Don't want to be making any rushed decisions, do you?"
"I've thought about this, Dad. A lot. I spent all my time at Dalton thinking. This is who I am, who I want to be, and you're not going to change that."
It felt a little like the conversation he was preparing himself for when he came out, back when he'd thought he was gay. He remembered the speech he'd put together in his head, set on defending his rights and making Burt see there was nothing wrong with him, because, fatherly love or not, it would be a big blow to anyone.
Looking back, Kurt almost laughed at how deluded, young and naïve he'd been. His Dad would have been right to throw him out or start ignoring him. He probably should have - Kurt could have seen the light much sooner.
"I'm not asking you to change. I'm asking you to think about it one more time," his Dad repeated again; his expression was gloomy, not understanding at all – he was just one more person who wanted to make Kurt change back.
Remembering the advice – They're not worth it if they don't understand, Kurt – he stood up from the couch with as much dignity as he could muster.
"I think it's you who should think about it. To me, everything is perfectly clear." He stormed off, the blanket he wrapped around himself because of the cold trailing behind him on the floor.
Too busy stomping up the stairs, he didn't hear the hitch in Carole's breath, her quiet What about Noah? and the equally quiet Who's Noah? coming from his Dad.
~*~
Later that evening, Puck was sitting on the couch, curled underneath a blanket, rubbing at his eyes with a mug of hot chocolate in his hand; courtesy of Ruth. He didn't even know how much he'd missed it until he got his hands on it again.
Puck could feel his mother hovering behind the living room door, could sense her battling emotions from feet away. She probably didn't know what to do, now that he'd managed to collect himself.
"Ma?" he rasped, throat burning, and wasn't surprised when she stepped in not a second later.
"I'm...I just..."
Truth was, he didn't really know what to say.
What do you say to your mother after she started hating you, made you feel like a reject, screamed at you for hours straight and then let you hold on to her for dear life when your were falling to pieces?
Taking a sip of the hot chocolate and feeling it burn his tongue just a little, he finally settled on: "I'm sorry."
There were so many things he meant to say by the simple phrase: I'm sorry I didn't find a better way to tell you, and sooner. I'm sorry I smashed that plate; I didn't mean to. I'm sorry I completely lost it and probably freaked you out; I'm not sorry for loving Kurt, though.
And he knew she'd heard them all.
When she came closer and carefully sat down next to him, there was a smile on her face; small and tentative, but still a smile. She reached out a hand for him to take; he didn't hesitate for a second.
"It's okay, Noah. I'm sorry, too." Sorry I didn't make time to listen to you. Sorry for hurting you. Sorry for not seeing how much that boy meant to you.
"Could we maybe...try to go back?"
What he'd meant, of course, were waffles for breakfast again, hot chocolate, watching TV with Sarah; getting a kiss goodnight and rolling his eyes to supress the warmth in his chest.
"Absolutely," she smiled, and for a moment looked like that young, carefree woman again, even sitting on their rundown couch with a cup of coffee and having a reunion with her not-quite-lost son, trying to find words for so many things she couldn't voice.
Twenty minutes later, with Sarah sitting between them, just as the little girl's favourite show – Deadliest Catch – was about to start, the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it," Puck immediately hopped up, throwing his end of the blanket on Sarah's lap, catching her snuggle it to her chest from the corner of his eye.
It was snowing outside, Puck realized when he opened the door.
Then, focusing on the visitor's face, everything froze. The tears were immediately back in Puck's eyes again and he had to lean on the doorframe just a bit while he forced his knees to hold him up.
"What are you—doing here?" he managed to ask.
The snow was falling red painted on the streetlamp background, settling on the ground without a sound and burying secrets underneath.
Burt Hummel's face underneath his cap was sad when he clasped Puck's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, son," he said, quiet and genuine, held his gaze for a while, then walked back to his truck, snow crunching underneath the soles of his boots.
It stopped falling a few minutes after that, and his footprints stayed on their walkway for a long time.
~*~
The next day after school, going through his sister's music and completely desperate, Puck found his song.
Maybe Sarah's obsession with European everything was a good thing, after all.
~*~
Opening the door, it was clear to Kurt everybody knew, somehow, that he was going to show up. Adrian smiled at him in what he probably thought was a knowing manner, Blaine waved and a couple of others grinned in a disturbingly animalistic way. It only took a few moments for Sebastian to notice him and separate from the group he was sitting in. "Hey, Kurt! Guess what? Adrian made me your mentor!" The boy seemed incredibly excited, his eyes wide and expectant; like he was a missionary bringing food to the hungry and expected kisses and bows. "Great," Kurt murmured, taking his seat as far from the others as possible. It was still a few minutes before the meeting was supposed to start and not every chair was occupied. Adrian still clapped his hands for silence a few seconds later, though, leaving the door open for later arrivals. "Gentlemen!" he shouted, "As I'm sure you've noticed, our new member is back!" All eyes landed on Kurt and a wave of polite applause rose – to his horror, he could feel the heat of a blush burning high up on his cheeks. "You've heard all our stories, Kurt, and I'm sure that you being here means you also want to have one, something to be proud of, am I right?" Kurt kept his mouth shut. "It's always—difficult to start, you know? You shouldn't be afraid, though. Adrian here is a great leader, and all of us are here to help you—" a glance from one of the other guys stopped him. "Right, um, advice. I think, you shouldn't be too hard on yourself, y'know? You haven't chosen this lifestyle, it was your surroundings and your upbringing and it's not your fault you've fallen into the circle. So, yeah, that's it. Don't blame yourself." He was awarded with a polite wave of claps. His upbringing also had nothing to do with it – it wasn't like his Mom, when she was alive, had forced him to play with girl's toys and wear her dresses – she just let him, because she believed in freedom of choice and her son's right to be himself, no matter what. Even after she died, Kurt's Dad had done an amazing job, considering he had to combine working insane hours with taking care of a little boy. "Next one, please – Grant, how about you?" Grant was short, stocky, with brown eyes and black hair, and seemed permanently flushed. He spoke like a doctor, emotionless and disinterested. "One thing you definitely have to let go of is your friends. If they don't support you, you have to cut them loose – you can't let them divert you from your path. They don't understand. They will try to convince you to revert to your old ways, to the way you've been before, to be the person you don't want to be. Even if you still feel something for them, after how they supported you in lying to yourself, you can't keep seeing them." Kurt snorted silently. There was no way he was 'cutting anyone loose'. He worked hard to make friends who would love him the way he was. The next in the row was James, who was apparently a Bryan Adams lookalike; then Kevin, Michael, Walden and Luis, all of them basically telling him to do the same thing: become the biggest dick in the universe and ditch everyone and everything to set out on the road towards the light. He tried looking anywhere but their faces, sporting identical expressions of concern and somehow silently urging him on at the same time. Adrian's eyes were literally burning a hole through his skull and if he didn't get out and get some air – soon – he was probably going to explode. "Okay, guys, let's take a break from advice for a moment. I can see you're still not convinced, Kurt; it's okay. I know it's scary, to be brave and choose the road not travelled, but trust me, it's very well worth it in the end." And that was it. Kurt had just about had enough. "Just stop it, okay? Stop with all the bullshit arguments and soulful looks and acting like you know everything! I'm happy with who I am, I don't need to see the light, you do!" "And yet, it's you, yelling at me, not the other way around." "What?" "People who are emotionally balanced and happy with themselves don't usually feel the need to yell at others to prove their point." It was said with and air of almost deadly calm; Kurt felt the hair at he back of his neck stand. He didn't need any of this. He would damn well yell at whoever he liked, because he was frustrated, and lonely, and confused, and Noah wasn't picking up the phone— "Look, I know how you feel," Adrian continued. He let go of his writing pad, let it rest on a chair and approached Kurt, who didn't even realize he was standing, like he would approach a wild animal. "You're confused. You've been thrown into a new place, you don't know anyone and your old bullies are still haunting your nightmares." How could he possibly know that? "I used to be just like you, remember? I used to think there was nothing wrong with being just this side of feminine, that everyone who had a problem with it wasn't worth more that the dirt under my fingernails. Even when they called me names. Pushed me around. Yelled at me," he threw Kurt an unreadable look. "I had to start seeing a psychiatrist to get rid of the dreams. I saw them coming at me, every night, way too strong for me to be able to defend myself, and then I turned on my side and the pain from the bruises woke me up. You do know that feeling, don't you?" Kurt did. It was painfully familiar, a whole world of sensations and emotions only the protective circle of Noah's arms could chase away. "And then I transferred to Dalton. I found this group," he swept over the whole room in a quick gesture, "and I figured something out. Do you know what that is?" Kurt just stood, paralyzed, memories of all the restless nights and Karofsky's death threat echoing in his head. It hasn't been this bad for weeks; since the night a couple of days after his Dad's and Carole's wedding, when he told Noah everything, choking on every other word, his boyfriend holding him patiently, face buried in his hair. "I learned that if I want attention, there are normal ways to ask for it. I don't have to dress up like a drag queen parody and go shopping with girls. I don't have to kiss boys with the real me recoiling deep inside. I don't have to lie and act every day." "I'm not…I'm not lying." He hated the way his voice sounded – weak and barely there, like he wasn't sure of what he was saying. "Yes, you are, and it's not good for you. Look, Kurt, just think about it, okay? I'm sure you weren't always like this." Yes, he was – that's what his Dad had always told him, the same story about a pair of sensible heels that never got old. It was what his Mom used to say every day when she put him to bed – "It doesn't matter if the boys are sending you away. If you want to play with them, just go over there and do – if you don't, girls are nicer anyway." And then, a few years later: " We will always love you, baby. Always, whatever you'll turn out to be." She always said it with a cheeky smile that took any sting out of the words. "I bet you played with girls in kindergarten, didn't you?" Adrian was guiding him to sit with a hand on his shoulder, wildly gesturing with his other hand to make the other guys leave them alone. All his energy to fight leaving him, Kurt nodded. "I did." "Why?" "I don't know…because they boys wouldn't play with me, I guess? They had those big, shiny toy trucks, like the ones my dad took me to see in the garage and I really liked them but they thought my voice was too high—" "And so you did the only thing you could think of to get their attention." Kurt frowned. "I—I guess…I mean, I liked the girls, Dianna always smelled like cookies and she was nice, and I remember I used to like her dolls, too…" "More than the toy trucks?" Adrian's fingers dug into his shoulder. "I don't know!" "You do," the other boy smiled, "you just don't want to admit it to yourself. All you've wanted was that big, shiny truck and you knew that if you played with girls and they didn't bite you or throw sand in your eyes, all the boys would immediately start accepting you, because in kindergarten, that was an achievement, am I right?" Well, yeah, maybe…Kurt distantly remembered Jonathan, who was a year older than him, having constant eye infection, because he tried all these lines he'd heard in the movies on Santana and, apparently, she didn't take very kindly to five-year-olds reciting poems about her hair. Kurt has never had a problem talking to girls. He knew what they wanted and didn't want to hear, because it was similar to what he'd want to hear himself. He just came over, said hi, complimented the dress of one of Amber's Barbies, and he was in. That didn't mean anything, though. "What about your parents? Your Dad's been raising you since you were ten, right?" "Yeah." "Didn't he have to work a lot? I'm sure he wouldn't keep the roof over your heads with onlay putting in a couple hours a day?" That wasn't fair. His Dad did everything he could, and Kurt told Adrian that much. "I'm not saying he didn't. But you were used to the attention your Mom used to give you. When you saw all the sparkly clothes and high-heeled shoes left after her, it was fun to slip into them and watch your Dad fuss when he was getting you out. I'm sure it made him spend a little more time with you and it worked, so you just stayed that way. It was convenient, and your Dad would never get used to it, would always look at you longer, talk to you more, no matter how often he'd said he understood." Kurt shook his head. "A lovely theory you have there, but I think my instinct of survival would have won over me wanting attention when the bullying got bad." Adrian just smiled sympathetically in response. "That's the point Marcus was trying to make. It's not your fault, but your mind has already been poisoned by the way you've acted since you were a small boy. You didn't know anything else and you didn't want to, because you were proud of the illusion. That's how it was with me. My parents were both lawyers, very busy. I was way too tall for my age and all the boys thought I was weird, so I just hung around with girls instead. When I got into puberty, it stuck with me and I heard all of the gushing about pretty boys, so that was what I did." Kurt scoffed. There still wasn't a point to what Adrian was saying – there was no way his whole life had been a lie. "What about your boyfriend?" Kurt's startled eyes met a sea of calm brown. "What about him?" "You called him on Friday and asked, didn't you? Don't look at me like that, anyone would, just to prove me wrong. I don't think he'd said the right thing, though, or else you wouldn't have come today." "That's none of your business!" "I'm not asking anything, I'm just assuming. You better call him again tonight, though, just to make sure you're the one who's right." With that, he got up and crossed the room in a few long strides. "Wait!" Kurt called, not entirely sure why. There was a tiny, almost invisible speck of doubt circling his mind. Somehow, the fire he had when he first came into See the Light, the power to deny everything, had dimnished. Adrian smiled and reached for the doorknob. "Look, Kurt, I know what you're thinking. Call him tonight, ask him again if he picks up. Then ask yourself if this is really what yout want. Because, trust me, there's more to life than singing showtunes and putting up with abuse from everyone else your age. I know you're hidden in there somewhere, Kurt. Just let your light shine." He walked out, letting the door shut behind behind him with a soft snick. Kurt didn't realize he was crying until the salt of his tears started burning on his tongue.
"So, today, we'd all like to welcome you into the first steps of your new life by giving you some advice. Marcus, would you like to start?" he gestured to the guy sitting closest to him. Marcus was tall and lanky, with blue eyes and blonde, almost white hair – he looked ridiculous in the school uniform he was, for some reason, wearing.
When he spoke, his voice was soft and breathy.
And then she died.