Disclaimer: Glee isn't mine at all forever and ever into perpetuity. Amen. And women.

A/N: Thank you to all the new readers, especially DylanDahl, who went back and read this from the beginning and reviewed every chapter. It's wonderful enough that people take the time to read this, but when they go the extra step to leave a review, it is always a welcome surprise. So thank you to all my latest reviewers: FroggerJane, Loulitophe, SharkBacon, HinaLuvLuvChan, Utena-Puchiko-nyu, paiji15, Hackthecatboy, AngelOfVengeance8, CanAnyoneHearMe for all your great in-depth reviews, Iloveyaoi2much, SweetTormentedAngel, MidnightLeAnn, Jessy, Linalyna, Sask, SweetPorcelain, Angelwahalla and Spazwahalla, randomhosp123, DivaWester, and of course JasonDragon 64 and MischievousGleek, who are prolific reviewers and whom I admire greatly. So thank you all for reviewing and giving this story a chance.

As always, lyrics are in italics.

The song Kurt sings is "Nothing Compares 2 U" by Sinéad O'Connor.

Chapter Twenty One:

Fractured

The week dragged on and Kurt and Puck kept their distance. Which isn't to say Kurt stayed away from Puck; he followed Puck around school like a lost puppy, eagerly waiting for him as he left his classes or got in line at the lunchroom. He was always there, making sure he blended in the crowd so Puck couldn't see him. It wouldn't have made a difference anyway; Puck wasn't looking for him. He was caught up in his blossoming relationship with Quinn. Overnight the couple had become the talk of McKinley: the captain of the Cheerios and the running back of the Titans hooking up while she was still with the star quarterback was a sure recipe for gossip. Nonetheless Quinn came out on top, and Finn was written off as the chump who didn't even realize his girlfriend was stepping out on him.

The dynamics of the Glee Club shifted as well. Whereas before the three Cheerios kept close together, now it was Santana and Rachel against Quinn, with only the clueless Mercedes and Tina talking to her every now and then. Brittany could never really be upset with anybody, so though she was mad at Quinn for breaking up Puck and Kurt she didn't let it interfere with their friendship. Quinn and Rachel never got along, so there was no love lost there. Santana was the biggest surprise. Quinn had no idea why Santana suddenly became a cold bitch to her; she assumed it was because she took away her fuck buddy, Puck. She couldn't have known that Santana was being loyal to Kurt by making sure the blonde cheerleader felt the brunt of her bitchiness.

The boys were a completely different story. Finn and Puck, who were just on the cusp of rekindling their friendship, were once again not speaking; in fact Mr. Schue and Coach Bieste had to break up three separate arguments the boys had before they erupted into fights. Sam and Puck were never particularly close, so it seemed almost natural that Finn and Sam grew closer as bros. Artie was helping Puck in his math class so the two became semi-friends, especially as they spent more time together. And though Mike and Puck had been friends since elementary school, he was becoming closer with Sam, a fact that irked his once good friend Artie. Kurt and Sam seemed to be spending more time together as well, a fact that wasn't lost on any of the girls.

Mr. Schue walked into the choir room one day for Glee practice seeing the odd seating arrangement his students had chosen. Never before had he seen such wide gaps between the Glee clubbers: Santana and Kurt were sitting on the top row with an empty seat between them; sitting directly below Kurt was Sam, leaning as far back as possible so that his head was practically in Kurt's lap without Kurt even realizing it; Tina and Mike were sitting a few seats over from him in the same row with Mercedes sitting alone in the row in front; Puck and Quinn were sitting in the front row, a respectable amount of chairs between them and everyone else; the closest person to them was Artie, who's wheelchair was parked front and center as always, with Brittany seated a row above him so she could pet his hair happily; and to the far left of Artie was Rachel and Finn. The students weren't talking animatedly, joking and laughing as was usual when Mr. Schue came into the room. Instead they were silent, looking to him expectantly as his footsteps echoed in the silent room. He set his briefcase down and walked up to them.

"Guys," Mr. Schue greeted, looking at his students uncertainly. "You all picked some…interesting seating arrangements."

"It's nothing personal, Mr. Schue," Rachel said solemnly, "it's just that the acoustics are much better on this side of the room."

"Yeah and from way up here I don't have to smell the rotting stench of skank," Santana said, crossing her arms as she eyed Quinn evilly.

"Puck and I are much more comfortable here," Quinn said to no one in particular, rubbing Puck's leg possessively. Kurt saw this and he steeled himself, crossing his legs as he raised his nose haughtily.

"This Glee Club is so messed up," Mercedes commented, her bracelets jangling as she flicked her hair back. "How are we supposed to perform together if we aren't even that close anymore?"

"How close were we really?" Santana asked. "I mean, seriously, right now I can only stand about two of you."

"That's two more people than I can stand," Kurt muttered under his breath.

"It's no secret that we've become fractured these past few days," Tina said, addressing the elephant in the room, "but we'll come out of it stronger. We always do."

"Not this time," Finn pouted, looking over at Quinn and Puck angrily. "Some things never change."

"You got something to say, Hudson?" Puck barked.

"Not to you, shit hole," Finn muttered.

"Fuck you!" Puck shot back. Finn pushed his chair back and launched himself at Puck, the two grappling as they fell to the floor. Quinn and Rachel tried to separate them, but soon they were fighting as well. Santana jumped down and landed a few kicks at Puck before tugging Quinn by the ponytail off Rachel. Kurt yelled at her to stop before coming between her and Quinn, the two yelling angrily at each other: Kurt telling her to mind her own business, Santana telling him to man up and deal with it. Sam began yelling at her for yelling at Kurt, and Santana pushed the blond back so he fell into the fight with Puck and Finn. Mike and Mr. Schue separated the boys while Mercedes, Tina, and Kurt took Rachel, Quinn, and Santana to separate sides of the room. Artie and Brittany simply looked on helplessly as their friends fought.

"Forget this!" Finn said, throwing his hands in the air. "I can't deal with this shit right now." With that he stalked out of the room. Puck wordlessly agreed; he too left, walking in the opposite direction Finn had gone. Quinn and Rachel left to follow them. Santana huffed before leaving as well, Kurt clenching his jaw before deciding he couldn't concentrate in Glee anyway. With half the club gone Mr. Schue dismissed the rest of them, burying his head in his hands as he wondered how he could possibly remedy the deep fissures that had sprung up between his once tight Glee Club.

glee

The next day Kurt holed himself up in Home Ec, skipping most of his classes in favor of cooking. Their decrepit Home Ec teacher, Mrs. Bechamel, had fallen ill that day ('ill' no doubt being code for hungover) and as budget cuts had left them without substitutes for the semester, the students who normally had her were given a free period to study in the library. Normally Kurt wouldn't have dreamt of missing his classes for fear of falling behind, but something had happened that morning right after first period that sent him running towards the quiet sanctuary of the Home Ec kitchen.

The bell had just rung and Kurt had raced from his American History class down the hall to the English department, knowing Puck had it first period. He had meant to time it just right so that he could casually bump into Puck as he was exiting his class, making the mohawked teen acknowledge his presence. He waited there over two minutes, self-consciously running his hand through his hair and checking his teeth and complexion in his compact mirror, when Puck finally left the classroom. Kurt's breath hitched; he sometimes forgot just how marvelous Puck looked, from his form fitting shirt that hugged his enviable torso and made his pecs stand out, to the way his pants clung to his full bulge and especially rounded ass. Drawing his eyes up Kurt almost lost himself in the golden flecks of light that sparkled in Puck's hazel eyes. Kurt found himself drawn to Puck like a magnet when he froze. Puck was looking directly at Kurt…and he was smiling. Kurt blushed; he bit his lip as he walked slowly yet confidently towards Puck. He hadn't expected to be received so warmly. Suddenly, just as he was a few yards away, a tall blur of white, red, and yellow cut past him, launching itself into Puck's eager embrace. Quinn had been directly behind him, and the smile and sparkle that Kurt saw in Puck's face hadn't been for him, it had been for her. Puck lifted her up in his arms and sealed her lips with a kiss, smiling as he'd never seen him smile before. Without even a backwards glance he led Quinn away to the other end of the hall, leaving a devastated Kurt in their wake.

There was no way he hadn't seen him. He was standing right there, right in front of Quinn, so Puck had to have looked right at him. Still, he hadn't acknowledged him. Kurt felt suddenly foolish, as if a giant spotlight were pointed directly at him in this his greatest hour of embarrassment. He'd raced from his previous class to be here, and grinned like an idiot at the thought that Puck was smiling at him, all in the vain hope Puck would take him back. Instead the smile and the laughter he'd witnessed wasn't for him; it was for someone else. Kurt didn't think there was a word in the dictionary that adequately defined how low he felt at that moment.

Wiping back tears he blindly made his way to his next class when he passed the Home Ec kitchens. Seeing the note on the doorway directing all students to the library he threw caution to the wind and bravely entered the quiet classroom, figuring no one would miss him. He felt odd in the large room, surrounded by stovetops and ovens and large amounts of counter space. When he took this class the previous year he was lucky if he had enough room to place a bowl; now he could spread himself out on the countertops if he chose. He would have liked to do that, to lay his weary head down and retreat once again into sleep; but he was far from tired, and he knew he'd do nothing but lie away and go over his relationship with Puck, and be forced to face the realization that things with Puck were really and truly over. That wasn't something he was ready to accept yet.

So, after setting his bag down he walked to the fridge and looked at what ingredients it contained. He was elated to find it was fully stocked; Mrs. Bechamel must have refilled it before she left. He greedily grabbed whatever he could: eggs; milk; cheeses ranging from Parmesan to Gruyere and even simple cream cheese; butter; tomatoes; various fruits and berries. He then went to the back pantry and raided all the dry ingredients as well as vegetables that didn't need refrigeration, loading his arms with flour and baking powder, sugar, salt, onions, shallots, mushrooms, and peppers. He filled up an entire station with nothing but ingredients and then at another station he set about prepping the food. He wasn't sure what he wanted to make, but he knew more than enough recipes by heart to be sure that he wouldn't have to think for at least the rest of the day.

He started on the baked goods, figuring once they were in the oven you could basically forget about them. He began with cookies, which were relatively simple; all he had to do was cream the butter and sugar and then add eggs and the dry ingredients and they were ready to be baked off. The same went for the cupcakes and muffins he churned out. He got started on some dinner rolls, letting them rise in the back countertops as he refilled the baking trays with another batch of cupcakes. He threw together a quick short crust for tarts, par-baking them as he whipped up some lemon curd, chocolate mousse, and pastry cream to fill them with. He washed and cut the berries, sprinkling sugar on them as he put them off to the side to sweeten. Dusting the flour off his hands he looked around at the many baked goods he'd made when his eye caught on one of the muffins cooling in the corner. He didn't know if he was going crazy or what, but that muffin had the exact same face as Puck: the crooked smile, the arched eyebrow, the pug nose and expressive eyes. He brought the muffin closer to his face, examining the visage of Puck laid inside it. He sighed as he crumpled the muffin, feeling the tears rise up in his eyes. Summoning them back he angrily threw all the dirty pots and pans in the sink as he decided he was through with baking and would instead start cooking.

He sharpened a few knives; there was nothing worse than a dull knife. He scored a few tomatoes and blanched them, shocking them in an ice bath as he pulled them from the boiling water, and skinned them. He chopped them up before feeding them through a food mill, his arm turning the crank angrily as if he were twisting Puck's head off. He chopped up some onions and sautéed them with a bit of garlic, throwing in the pureed tomatoes and letting it boil together. He added a bay leaf and some rosemary and oregano and let it simmer on a back burner. He sautéed some ground beef and added it to the Bolognese sauce, letting the flavors mellow. He then started work on the pasta.

Making pasta was one of the last things he and his mother did before she got too sick to do anything. It was a spur of the moment type thing; one day when Kurt was eight he stayed home because he was in a mood and didn't want to go to school. His mother reluctantly let him stay back, promising him to secrecy from his father. The two had spent the day in their bathrobes, watching bad daytime TV and eating chocolates on the couch. Flicking through the channels his mother stumbled upon Martha Stewart making fresh pasta and, deciding she wanted to do it too, she scribbled down a few sloppy notes before she and Kurt pulled out their Kitchen-Aid mixer and slapped on the pasta roller attachment they paid an extra seventy dollars for but never used. To say it was a disaster was an understatement; his mother's notes were a poor guide, and it went sour from the beginning. The flour and egg mixture was uneven, and when they added another yolk it wouldn't incorporate as they'd added too much olive oil. They didn't let it rest so rolling it out was a sticky job, and it tore every time it came from the machine as they used the tips of their fingers and not the back of their hands to guide it out. In the end they were left with torn, uneven pasta shapes that wouldn't boil. It was too much fun for them though. Halfway through the failed pasta making they got in a food fight, and the usually neat and proper Kurt was covered in flour and didn't even care. His mother smashed an egg on his head for good measure and he giggled as she scooped him up in her arms and carried him to the tub.

His eyes glazed over as he remembered this, one of his last memories of his mother that didn't involve cold hospital rooms or tubes running out of her frail body. Since then he'd become an expert at making pasta from scratch; he figured he owed it to her to get it right. He deftly scooped some flour out, no need for a measuring cup as he'd become so used to simply eyeing it. He flattened the mound of flour in the center, making a well; into the well he cracked three eggs and an egg yolk before drizzling in some olive oil. Using a fork he beat the eggs and oil together before using his hands to mix in the flour, damning his manicure to sticky hell. The mixture now a ball, he flattened it into a disc before wrapping it in plastic wrap and setting it inside the fridge. Waiting for it to rest he drummed his fingers before going over his mental checklist of things to be done. He opened a tub of ricotta cheese before cracking an egg in it; he then sprinkled some parmesan cheese and some chopped parsley in it as well, mixing it all together and setting it aside. In a small sauce pan he boiled some milk while in a sauté pan he formed a roux of butter and flour; when it was frothing he whisked in the milk and then some grated Parmesan and mozzarella cheese. He sprinkled some nutmeg and cayenne into the Mornay sauce before setting it aside. He then pulled out the pasta and flattened it out with a rolling pin. He attached a pasta roller to the end of a stand mixer and fed the flattened dough in, careful to use the back of his hands to catch it as it came out. He then sprinkled some flour on it before folding it over and feeding it back into the machine. He repeated this until it was the desired thickness. Using a fluted cutter he cut the pasta into wide slabs, perfect for lasagna. He then boiled the noodles and began assembling the lasagna. He ladled some Bolognese on the bottom of a pan, then topped it with some noodles, which he then topped with the ricotta mix he'd made, followed by more Bolognese and then the Mornay sauce. He repeated this until the lasagna was well stacked. He sprinkled the top with mozzarella cheese and set it inside an oven, sighing in relief when he was able to sit down. But as soon as he relaxed all his weight onto a nearby stool it seemed thoughts of Puck flooded his mind, from what Puck said when they broke up to what he witnessed this morning with Quinn. He rose to his feet, flicking back his bangs with his floury hands and setting about making a frosting for his cupcakes.

Just as he began creaming together some butter and cream cheese the door to the classroom opened. He looked up alarmed, but was relieved to see it was just Sam that had poked his head inside. Sam smiled as he walked into the classroom, Kurt now concentrating intently on making the frosting. Sam peered around at the table tops literally covered with muffins, cookies, cupcakes, breads, dinner rolls, fruit tarts, pies, dirty pots, pans, half cut vegetables and empty food containers. He eyed Kurt curiously as the countertenor sifted some powdered sugar into the bowl.

"Hey Kurt," Sam said cautiously, wondering what had possessed Kurt to go on a cooking spree like this. "What you up to?"

"Nothing," Kurt said monotonously. "I'm simply making a cream cheese frosting."

"Getting ready for a bake sale?" Sam asked.

"No," Kurt said, adding a teaspoon of vanilla and a dash of salt. "I just felt like baking."

"Okay," Sam said, accepting Kurt's explanation without judgment. "You mind if I try one?" Kurt politely nodded, so Sam walked around the counter to get a muffin. Peeling back the wrapper he took a large bite, the kind only hungry teenage boys can take. He smiled as he swallowed the moist cake. "Dude, that's delicious. You should do this professionally."

"Thank you," Kurt said, still not meeting Sam's discerning eye. "What are you doing here, Samuel?" he huffed as his arm began to ache from whipping the frosting.

"I could ask you the same thing," Sam said playfully. Seeing Kurt wasn't exactly in the mood to join in he said, "I have Mrs. Bechamel this period. I saw the note outside, but when I smelled something awesome I peeked inside and there you were." Sam took another bite from his muffin and licked his lips appreciatively.

"I shouldn't be here," Kurt said, filling a pastry bag with the frosting and pulling a tray of cupcakes near to him. He began to decorate the cupcakes with swirls of white frosting. "I just…I needed to do something that would occupy my time and get my mind off things."

"Well looks like you found a good distraction," Sam said, chewing his food and looking at the crowded counter space around them. "How long you been cooking for anyway?"

"Since second period. What time is it now?" Kurt asked, still not looking Sam in the eye.

"There's about half an hour until seventh," Sam said, looking at his watch. "Did you even stop to eat lunch?"

"No," Kurt said, piping the cupcakes furiously. "I'm not hungry." Sam saw the determined look in Kurt's eyes. When he messed up on a cupcake he cried out, smashing it down with his fist before shoving it aside and working on a new one.

"Kurt," Sam said softly, reaching over and patting him comfortingly, "you okay?"

"I'm fine," Kurt lied, messing up once again. He cried out once more, running his sticky hand through his unruly hair as tears of frustration clouded his eyes. "God, why won't these cupcakes cooperate?" he screamed, throwing the pastry bag down as he turned around and crossed his arms angrily. A few tears ran down his face as he looked away from Sam, embarrassed. He sniffled, combing his hair back as he said, "I'm sorry. I just - I just like things to be perfect."

"It's alright," Sam said. He walked forward and wiped the tears from Kurt's face, pushing back his floury bangs with a smile. "I know you like things a certain way, but dude, we can't control everything." His hands were still cupped around Kurt's cheeks, and Kurt let out a reluctant smile as he felt Sam's warm embrace bring him from the brink of madness. Sam couldn't help but stare at Kurt's lips, at how close they were and how inviting they looked and how they were just begging to be kissed.

"No, I suppose we can't," he conceded. He let out a half-smile, peeking quickly at Sam's deep blue eyes before tearing himself away. Sam dropped his hands to his side, his eyes still glued to Kurt's angelic lips. Kurt looked around at the mess he created in the Home Ec kitchen. "Oh my," he sighed, seeing the cluttered workspace he'd created, "I caused quite a catastrophe in here, didn't I?"

"It's not all bad," Sam said, leaning against the countertops. "The muffins were a homerun."

Kurt bit his thumb anxiously as he looked around at the mess he made. "It's going to take me all afternoon to clean this up."

"I could help," Sam said brightly, standing erect and tying an apron on. "I mean, I can't cook, but I'm pretty handy around the house."

"No, Sam," Kurt said as the blond gathered up all the dishes and began running them under hot water, "you really don't have to do that."

"It's cool," Sam shrugged, "I have study hall next period anyway, so it's not like I'll be missing out on anything." Sam began scrubbing away at the pots and loading up the dishwasher, smiling happily as he did so. His smile was infectious, and soon enough Kurt was biting back a grin at the odd sight of the muscled jock doing housework. When Sam bent over to load up the bottom rack Kurt found himself staring at the curve of his buttocks through his jeans and, blushing, he turned away and began clearing the many baked goods he'd made, filling the fridge with the tarts and pies and setting the muffins and unfrosted cupcakes in the many glass cake stands decorating the room. He wiped the counter clean and at the sink next to Sam's began washing the other pans he'd used. Loading up the dishwasher he met Sam's gaze, and the blond looked away shyly as he realized he'd been staring at Kurt. Kurt didn't read too much into it and continued working.

Soon enough the kitchen was clean, the only sound cutting through the quiet was the soft whirring of the four dishwashers they'd loaded up with dirty dishes. Sam and Kurt relaxed on a pair of kitchen stools, sharing a couple of cupcakes over glasses of milk. Sam wanted to laugh out loud at Kurt's disheveled appearance: his hair was strewn about as if he'd been in a tornado, and it was caked with frosting and batter, while floured fingerprints were all over the exposed parts of his black turtleneck. Kurt too wanted to laugh at Sam's athletic frame stuffed inside an apron, but he didn't want to hurt the blond's feelings, especially when he just finished helping him clean.

Through their easy conversation the acrid smell of burning food reached their nostrils and Kurt leapt up, suddenly remembering his lasagna. With a heavy heart he opened the stove, smoke tearing his eyes as he withdrew the burnt dish. He let out a heavy sigh as he threw it on the stovetop. It was beyond saving.

"Sorry, bud," Sam said, using the situation as an excuse to rub Kurt's arm affectionately.

"I forgot to set the stupid timer," Kurt said, looking down on the blackened dish. "It's ruined."

"It's not all – oh yeah, man, that's bad," Sam said as he took a whiff. "But if it makes you feel any better it smelled really good while it was baking."

"Thanks, Sam," Kurt sighed. Turning his head toward Sam he saw a copious amount of foam spewing forth from a dishwasher. Next to it, another dishwasher was also spitting out suds as if it were ready to explode. "Sweet Chanel!" Kurt cried, rushing over to the machines. He ran hurriedly, but when he got near the devices he slid on the soapy ground and glided across the room. Sam raced to help him, but when he got close he suffered the same fate. He collided into Kurt just as he was getting to his feet, the two tumbling to the ground underneath the heavy foam of the dishwasher. Kurt giggled at the sight of Sam nearly covered in white foam, and Sam joined in because Kurt's laugh was just infectious like that, and Sam loved hearing it. Soon Sam and Kurt were playing in the foam, Kurt blowing handfuls of bubbles away, while Sam gave himself a beard and began doing Sean Connery impressions. Kurt laughed heartily at this, while Sam blushed at causing Kurt to laugh so beautifully. Kurt fashioned himself a foam hat, and as he made one for Sam their eyes locked. Kurt's hands were perched on top of Sam's silken blond head, smoothing down the foam hat as Sam stared longingly at Kurt. He pulled Kurt's hands from his head and held them in his own, caressing them lovingly and delicately as if they would break. Kurt's breathing became labored as Sam rubbed circles in Kurt's palm with his thumbs. Sam smiled as he leaned ever so slowly towards Kurt. His lips came dangerously close, and just as they were about to touch Kurt pulled away.

He pulled his hands from Sam and got to his feet. His eyes shone with sorrow as he looked down on the confused expression splashed across Sam's face. "Sam…oh Sam, I'm so sorry," Kurt choked out. He turned and ran out of the room, the foam flying off his body as if he were breaking into a million pieces.

He ran down the hall, not stopping until he was sure Sam wasn't following him. He leaned against a wall and caught his breath, the wall pressing his wet shirt uncomfortably into his back. He bit back a sob as he untied his apron, throwing it to the ground in frustration. Sam was a good guy…no, he was a great guy. He was sweet and kind and a complete dork, but in an adorable way. He was great, and he seemed to show interest in Kurt…so why was he so hesitant to let Sam in? Why had he been a millimeter away from kissing Sam and just as they were about to touch the only thing Kurt could think of was Puck? He let out a deep breath as he brushed the remaining foam from his hair, his face no doubt a mess of flour and soap and tracks from where his tears fell. He self-consciously wiped his eyes just as the bell rang, signaling the end of the current period.

As luck would have it the door Kurt was leaning near flew open and who should exit but Puck. Puck looked down at Kurt, staring at him for a second before turning his gaze away uninterestingly. That one act was like a stab to the heart, and the logical, reasonable part of Kurt was screaming in his head that it was over, that there was no denying it now, that Sam was the clear winner and Puck was nothing but bad news. But his heart…his heart thumped for Noah, and try as he might Kurt couldn't tear his eyes away from Puck. He followed him as if Puck had him on a leash, Kurt unable to pull away no matter how wrong he knew it was. His mouth parted as words formed on his lips, a simple melody churning out of the bustling hallway as he sang directly to Puck.

"It's been seven hours and four whole days, since you took your love away." Puck walked on, Kurt singing the pain and hurt he felt to Puck's retreating form. "I go out every night and sleep all day, since you took your love away. Since you've been gone I can do whatever I want," Kurt laughed, "I can see whomever I choose."

"I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant, but nothing, I said nothing can take away this blues, cause nothing compares, nothing compares to you." It was true. Kurt may have tunnel vision when it came to Puck, and he may have been afraid to put his heart out there again, but he knew deep down that nothing would match up to how happy he'd been with Puck.

"It's been so lonely without you here. I'm like a bird without a song. Nothing can stop these lonely tears from falling. Tell me baby, where did I go wrong? I could put my arms around every boy I see; they'd only remind me of you. I went to the doctor and guess what he told me, guess what he told me? He said, "Boy, you better try to have fun no matter what you do." But he's a fool. Cause nothing compares, nothing compares to you." Kurt saw enviously how Puck fist-bumped and high fived all his friends as he walked on, not even giving a glance back to where he knew he'd left Kurt. Kurt still pathetically followed on, singing to Puck how much he missed him.

"All the flowers that you planted, mama, in the backyard all died when you went away. I know that living with you baby was sometimes hard, but I'm willing to give it another try. Nothing compares, nothing compares to you."

"Nothing compares, nothing compares to you," Kurt said softly as Puck gave Quinn a quick pat on the ass, licking his lips deviously as he gave her a knowing smirk.

"Nothing compares, nothing compares to you," he whispered, his own ears barely able to hear the soft refrain. Kurt was left standing there as Puck disappeared, his pathetic form cold and alone as he tried to rectify the impossible feelings swirling around in his head of how to get over Puck and move on, even when he was still hopelessly in love with him.

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