Chapter Two

"Hey, babe." Noah's tinny voice came through the phone's speaker; familiar, reassuring, and painful in a way.

With the mood he was in, broken heating and a storm raging outside, all Kurt wanted was his boyfriend's arms around him, maybe some Project Runway, junk food and long hours of talking about trivial things, like how to force Finn and Rachel to make out in Finn's room instead of the couch where all passersby could see them.

"Noah," he replied and recognized the way his face pulled into a sad half-smile without even looking into a mirror. "I miss you."

He did.

There was nothing like the excitement of hearing the engine of Noah's truck purring outside his window in a random hour of late night or early morning; nothing like Noah's smell (cinnamon - because cinnamon rolls were his sister's favourite food and baked in their house at least twice a week - sweat and cologne and warmth that made Kurt want to curl up in a ball and sigh) or waking up next to him on a chilly morning.

He missed Thursdays and dancing next to each other at afternoon glee practices that stretched out into evenings because none of them really wanted to leave. If he was honest with himself, he even missed Noah's 'Princess' he sometimes blurted out in the middle of a heated makeout session (or just anytime, really) and his obnoxiously loud opinions on everything from the mushroom pizza in the cafeteria to the color of Kurt's ceiling (there was nothing wrong with cream, thank you very much).

"Hey, I miss you too – we all do," Noah replied. The smile in his voice was easily heard.

"How long was Rachel happy about her biggest competition leaving and letting her have all the solos?"

This was good. This was familiar, safe ground and something he actually wanted to know. No reason he should bother with asking anything...strange.

At the other end of the line, Noah chuckled. "For, like, five minutes. Then she realized you're probably gonna audition for the Garglers, or whatever their name is – you should've seen her face, man, it was priceless."

"Did she make let her sing I Will Survive?"

"How'd you know?"

"That's what she hums every time we go on stage," Kurt said, recalling an image of Rachel in her Regionals costume, the night Beth was born, sitting in the corner of the greenroom and singing silently under her breath, rolling what looked like voodoo dolls between her fingers.

"Speaking of, how was the audition? I'm just asking to be nice or whatever, you know, I'm pretty sure you nailed it."

"I did."

No need to mention any 'inappropriate' gestures he might've used, or the fact that he was probably just going to be swinging in the background all year.

"We're still gonna crush you the next time there's a competiton," Noah smirked, Kurt was sure he did.

"Regionals," he supplied, smiling.

"That. It's in, like, a month or something, right?"

"Yep. It's still a long time, I can't imagine not seeing you untill then..." Not when he missed him like he would miss a limb after only two weeks.

"Well, you know, Burt's finally finished fixing my truck." Silence. "So, um, I was thinking..." Silence. It was pretty clear what was he trying to imply, though.

Kurt couldn't help the wild smile that spread warmth into the tips of his fingers like a wildfire.

"Please do." And really, who gave a shit if he sounded clingy? He just needed a break from the See the Light lunatics, two-faced Blaine, chirping with The Warblers and generally being cold and miserable because he had no friends closer than a hundred miles.

"I will, Princess. Promise," Noah was smiling, too. And he called him 'Princess', which he usually reserved for special occassions.

Kurt might or might not have felt the sting of tears behind his eyelids for a second. He was away from the bullying, from Karofsky and all the other kids at McKinley making his life a hell, but for what price?

No time to think about that. His boyfriend was on the phone.

"Noah?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you planning to do after graduation?" What?

"What?" Noah sounded confused and really, who could blame him?

"Sorry, I'm just...forget it," Kurt rubbed at his forehead. He could feel a headache starting, his thoughts running mile a minute. He was just so damn confused, Adrian's words echoing in his head, settling over his brain like a fog.

He should tell Noah about the meeting.
He should tell Noah he loved him, that was what he promised himself he'd do, right? Even if it was over the phone – it might help set his mind at ease.

Or make everything worse.

"S'okay, I just...wasn't expecting that." Yeah, that makes two of us, Kurt thought with dry amusement. "I guess I haven't thought about it that much, you know? Hell, I don't even know if I will graduate."

Of course. It was fine. No problem at all. It was Noah's life and the last thing he said, despite Kurt tutoring him in several subjects, might easily come true.
It was fine.

"Yeah, sure. Sorry for asking, it's none of my business anyway."

"Told you, it's nothing. You okay, babe?" Great. Now he got him worried.

"I'm fine. It's just the new timetable, lots of studying, and we've got a lot of afternoon courses – home ec, that sort of thing, it's exhausting."

A chuckle. "They teach you how to change diapers and cook soup or somethin'?"

Kurt pouted. "No."

Actually, it was more or less cooking and sewing and generally being a good wife and there were several times he'd wondered about the existence of such a subject in an all-boys school; especially with groups like See the Light in function.

"Okay, yes, but I'm going to need it. If I ever decide to stop being fabulous and have kids instead, or, you know."

"You want kids?" Noah sounded genuinely surprised.

"Well, yeah, someday in the far, far future. You don't?" Kurt asked, his heart beating in his throat. He couldn't stop Adrian's shout from echoing in his head.

"I already screwed it up once, Kurt. I'd rather not risk it again."

Just ask him if he'd marry you, or start a family with you!

"So you don't want to have a family?"

Kurt's throat was completely closed, a lump forming somewhere deep in his stomach. It didn't mean anything. He didn't even know if they were on the same page, if Noah realized Kurt was talking about a family for the two of them.

"Man, I don't know! I'm barely eighteen, I'm too young for marriage and picket fences and apple pies and shi...stuff." He souded just this side of too breathy, too soft, the way he corrected himslef was way too carefree; he was lying.

Maybe he just didn't want to have anything to do with Kurt after highschool. Maybe it was that simple.

"Why are we talking about this?" Noah continued, nervously. Kurt could just imagine him fidgeting and scratching his head.

Because I don't want kids with anyone else, you idiot. Because I'm confused as hell and I miss you and I just want this damn year to be over and come back to McKinley and be with you and now you lie about a future that should be ours and I don't even know what to think anymore.

Just ask him if he'd marry you, or start a family with you...

"I don't know, let's just...forget about it, okay?"

Noah let out a relieved breath. "Okay."

They talked for a while more; strange and stilted.

Kurt hung up with tears in his eyes, an 'I love you' burning on his tongue and Noah's lie setting his body on fire like poison.

~*~

In the next few days, the change was apparent to everyone who knew Kurt: Puck found Mercedes and Tina crying in the choir room over one of Kurt's old shirts, was walking around the school scowling and snapping at random students, and Rachel, apparently, couldn't decide whether to be happy or sad.

Then there was Finn. The day Kurt came back, almost everyone saw him enter the school, since he tripped and managed to take Mr. Stinson, the janitor, down with him - and almost everyone saw how wide his smile was anyway. He could deny all he wanted, but Kurt's return made him just a little bit happier.

Everyone also saw Finn break down, right after the third period. He appeared to have finally caught up with Kurt and tried to talk to him, only for the other boy to blow him off.

Puck wasn't there and he heard the story from Brittany, so he was pretty sure it didn't exactly go down that way, but according to the cheerleader, Finn started sobbing in the middle of the corridor, ran out of the school and attempted to throw himself under a bus, but was luckily saved by Santana in the last moment.

Puck just couldn't believe the dude hadn't noticed anything during the weekend Kurt spent at home.

Then again, it was Finn.

First glee practice with Kurt back, but not back, was nothing more than terribly depressing; as if Puck didn't have enough to deal with on his own. He couldn't tell anyone about them now, obviously – they worked hard to keep everything a secret from as many people as possible, and no one would believe him anyway.

"Guys," walked in, ten minutes late, "I'm sure by now, all of you have tried to talk to Kurt."

Everyone nodded sadly in reply.

"Unfortunately, he'd made it very clear that he wasn't returning to New Directions. I understand you probably want to help him." Probably? Seriously, what was wrong with the guy? "But, please, don't try. He's suffering from a serious psychological problem, but he agreed to talk to Miss Pilsberry, who's qualified enough to deal with everything."

Oh, wow. Just wow.

"Now, the principal wants us to perform on the upcoming assembly and it's obligatory, which means if you have anything to say to Kurt, say it in a song and he's going to hear it. I expect at least three of you to be ready to present next Thursday."

Puck didn't think he'd let himself seriously consider it - until he did. He was pretty sure Kurt broke his heart and he was still in denial, but once the protective bubble burst, he'll probably have a lot to say.

Looking around, he saw Rachel already scribbling what were probably song ideas into her notebook, biting her lip. Finn was siting next to her, empty expression on his face, and Puck actually pondered over the truthfulness of the bus story for a while.

Mr. Schue clapped, snapping him out of thought.

"Let's get back to writing our Regionals songs for now!" The stupid smile was back on his face; Puck's fists clenched involuntarily and he shot up from his seat to grab a guitar and keep from killing anybody.

~*~

As it turned out, choosing a song to sing (indirectly, but anyway) to your ex-turned-psycho was not as easy a task as one would thing – especially when your mother was screaming at you through the door to clean up after your little sister. And wash the dishes. And clean your room. And stop lazing around and start looking for a job.

Puck's Ma, Ruth, wasn't a very typical parent. Puck's Dad left them when she was still pregnant with Sarah, landed them in a very financially tight situation; she had had to put in extra hours at work with a huge seven-month belly and go back three months after her daughter was born, which didn't exactly help her psychological stability.
She'd always looked at Puck in a certain way since he started pulling shit in high school; like she wasn't quite sure if this was his way of following in his father's footsteps or rebelling against them. She'd raise an eyebrow every time the phone rang and Mr. Figgins' voice sounded on the other end, make Puck watch Sarah when she got called in and never tell him how dissapointed she was, although he could always see it in her eyes.

But underneath all the crap that had piled up over the years, Puck had always been sure his Ma loved him, no matter what kind of a deadbeat he grew up to become; it was his only reason to not let himself go completely.

That was, until she found out about him and Kurt.

It was an accident; Puck had been sitting in the living room, halfheartedly surfing the channels and talking to Kurt on the phone, no doubt smiling like a loon. He didn't hear Ma come in and throw her keys into the bowl by the door, didn't even hear her lose the shopping bags in the kitchen and start putting things away, banging cupboards closed.

Therefore, he wasn't aware of her standing in the doorway and bemusedly looking at him saying "I'll see you soon, babe" while grinning. Talking to Kurt, most of the outside world somehow floated away and it was just the two of them – it didn't matter if they talked in person or not.

"Noah? What are you doing?" Ruth had asked and Puck dropped his phone in surprise. His Ma was slowly walking over to the couch, blinking.

And, yeah. Puck. Was. Screwed.

He still remembered his mother's looks after he came home from 'cleaning pools', forehead glistening with sweat and stinking of sex. Remebered how she pressured him to date some nice, Jewish girl, how glad she was when he told her he'd made friends with Rachel.

Telling her that the person he was, for the first time in his life, seriously dating, was a guy with a German family name was pretty much a recipe for disaster.

But when they'd gotten together with Kurt, Puck had made several promises – no cheating, no convincing Kurt to get waffles more than two times a week, no more fights with Finn, and, also, no more lies.

Which was probably why, without preparing for any of it or talking it over with Kurt, Puck blurted out:

"I'm dating someone."

And then it was too late to take it back and sweep everything under the carpet.

"Someone?" Ma frowned, and Puck knew it didn't even start off well and was about to get much, much worse.

"Yeah, someone. I think I'm pretty serious this time."

She tilted her head, blinking a few times. Her hair got caught in a ray of sunlight and he had to blink back a sudden memory of her, young and careless, sitting on the porch with her husband and smiling at him.

"Do I know her?" she asked, and, okay, Puck was maybe a little surprised. He'd expected the first question to be "is she Jewish".

This was the last chance. He could play it cool, make up a random chick his Ma would be satisfied with, pretend to date her for a few months and then mope because it didn't work out; he could save himself a lot of trouble.

Drawing in a breath, a perfect friend of Rachel's named Mariah with a whole Jewish family tree, beautiful, nice and good with children made up in his head, when he heard Kurt's voice in his ears and felt a ghost of a touch on his face; no lies.

Shoulders sagging, Puck prepared himself for the worst. "It's not a girl, Ma."

There was silence, just as he'd expected. His mother's nostrils were flaring and her breath was getting steadily louder and louder, but she didn't say anything for a good five minutes, and if he fidgeted with the edge of the blanket some more, he'd probably turn it back into a sheep.

"What do you mean 'it's not a girl'?" she finally bit out, and now, it was getting bad.

"It's a guy. Kurt Hummel. Burt Hummel's son?" he added hopefully, because Ma knew Burt; he'd fixed her car more than once.

When a vein on her temple started pulsing and she stood up, opening her mouth several times with no sound coming out, he knew Ma knowing his boyfriend's Dad would not help him. It was probably to be expected – he was his boyfriend's Dad.

After an incredibly tense minute of looming over him and probably trying to yell, she gave up and pointed towards the stairs.

"To your room. We'll talk about this later."

It was about as good as he was going to get, but Puck couldn't help flinching when he raised his gaze; the brown eyes that met his were stone cold.

True to her usual coping method, she'd never brought it up again.

Which was how he ended up in his room, going over endless songs about heartbreak and betrayal and not really feeling any of it, with her banging on his door.

When he had Kurt, it was easier to get used to Ma suddendly hating him; at least it seemed like that's what she was doing. Their conversations, while brief before, were reduced to about twenty words a week – the rest was her, screaming at him because he hadn't done this and forgotten about that.

Now, though, with him and Kurt broken up, Puck was in this alone and had nobody to talk to about it. Sarah wouldn't understand; even if she did, he had no intention of dumping his shit on her.

"For the last time, I'm not paying for everything forever! I've got your sister to think about, and myself!" Her words were a little bit muffled by the door, but, even strumming his guitar constantly, Puck could hear everything.

It stung, more than a little.

Despite them not really ever having money for anything, he'd always felt a little bit spoiled. His mother had bought him anyhing he wanted as a child, even if it meant spending half a night working overtime. She'd bought Puck a guitar just because he wanted to try to play, the entire Star Wars movie collection, because he thought it could be cool after overhearing his kindergarten teachers talking about it, a doctor toy set because he wanted to become a nurse like her.

Now, looking back, it was clear she was trying to compensate for his Dad taking off – but the point was, even after he became a teenager and stopped obsessing over every shiny new thing he saw in a TV commercial, she never refused to give him money, as long as she had a brief idea of what was he using it for.

Until, of course, she found out about him and Kurt and started insisting he needs to pull his own weight.

One thing was for sure: he wasn't going back to pool cleaning.

"Open the door, Noah!" her voice went even higher, if that was possible, and Puck seriously started worrying about her having a stroke. Putting the guitar carefully aside, he stood up, let out a deep breath and opened the door.

For a second, Ruth looked stunned, like she didn't really expect him to obey. Her gaze running over him from head to toe, she took in his rumpled appearance and red eyes from staring at the computer screen for too long.

"Where've you been all afternoon?" she launched into a new attack. Puck opened his mouth to answer, say he was locked in his room looking for a song, but she wouldn't let him.

"You were sneaking around with that—that boyfriend of yours, weren't you!" Something in her eyes changed; she went from furious to angry and sad in the blink of an eye.

"N-no, I wasn't," he replied. "Kurt and I broke up."

She couldn't have heard him; the words were way too quiet for her to catch, but she leaned over and caught his arm when he was turning away anyway.

Puck had to remind himself not to flinch; it was the first time she'd touched him in three months.

"Noah," she said, low and concerned and unfamiliar, and, just like that, it happened - the wall Puck put around himself tumbled to the ground.

He could hear the tears coming before he felt them; a steady rush in his ears, deafening, like standing under a waterfall.

He stumbled back, sat on the bed. Tried to breathe through the pain in his chest.

Kurt and him were over. Finished, done, no sequel, no happyending. For the second time in his life, Puck put his heart on the line; for the second time, it was torn right out of his chest, stomped on and torn to shreds. He wasn't sure how much more it could take.

Even Quinn, so long ago, didn't make him change. He'd tried, for the girl he loved, for his daughter, but even back then, he realized he could never really keep her. Somehow, it made no sense to be faithful, stop beating people up, straighten himself out, find a job; not when Quinn wouldn't really care.

Falling in love for the second time, everything was different. In almost no time at all, Hummel changed to Kurt and Puck changed to Noah. Out of nowhere, for a minute, he was allowed to feel like he wasn't the biggest fuck-up in the universe – when Kurt wound his arms around his neck and returned the kiss Puck had been mustering up the courage for for days.

That alone should have been a warning, or at least an important point – Noah Puckerman never needed courage to kiss somebody.

Not until Kurt Hummel came along.

One time, when Kurt made him slowdance in the choir room, Puck expected to feel like the biggest pussy in the world, but in reality, it was just...amazing. A quiet, private moment in the whirlwind that were their high school lives; a moment that made him feel like he mattered, made him feel so many things he'd promised himself to never feel again.

When Kurt and him talked seriously for the first time, decided what they had could be considered a relationship and agreed to hide it from everyone, at least for a while, Kurt brought up promises. He'd promised to find time, to be faithful and always honest, to end it before any of them got hurt if he felt like it wasn't working out.

"I'll promise you whatever you want," Puck had said in return.

Kurt had just grinned; he knew Puck too well already, knew it was his way of avoiding finding the right words. He stood up, walked over, smoothed his hand along Puck's face, kissed him, smiled.

"First of all, we're not eating waffles more often than twice a week – not if you want me to keep this figure."

"Fine with me," Puck had smirked, wound his arms around Kurt's waist.

"Then, no more fighting with Finn. You don't have to get along or anything, but please, don't try to bite each other's heads off whenever you're over at our place."

And yeah, Kurt had a point there, so Puck had agreed again.

"Promise to be faithful to me, even if I might need to take it slow for a while?" he'd asked next, his smile dimming a little, pausing like he expected Puck to think about it for a while or something.

"Promise," Puck had immediately replied, and he meant it, even if the only thing he ever got from Kurt was that brilliant smile of his and a shy brush of his lips on Puck's temple.

"And never, ever lie to me, okay? Be honest. No more lies."

Puck was good with honesty. "Of course, babe," he'd smirked. They haven't done much talking for a while after that.

It hurt more than Puck ever imagined it could, remembering that day and the few perfect weeks that followed. He knew he was in love the minute Kurt said "I don't mind watching football with you" and fell asleep on Puck's lap four minutes into the game.

Puck's throat was constricting; it hurt, and he kept trying to swallow, but the only thing he was getting instead were tears. He could feel them burn and writhe their way out of his eyes, leaving a fire-hot trail on his face, sliding down his neck and underneath the collar of his jumper.

He grit his teeth and willed them to stop. When he tried to clench his hands into fists, he discovered them trembling and barely under his control on the bedspread. The pain in his chest flared and he struggled to take another breath, barely wheezing and making black spots dance in front of his eyes.

It felt like the same thing that happened to him the day before in the music room, except stronger; and this time, he didn't have anger to channel it and keep it in check.

He shouldn't need anger. He should have Kurt, always ready to help and solve any problem with that freakishly huge brain of his.

Kurt, who was way too far gone to ever come back – Kurt, who broke his heart in a way that could hardly be undone. And suddendly, trying to breathe wasn't enough anymore.

His vision blurring and blackening around the edges, Puck dug his nails sharp into his thighs, willing the pain away, and finally letting the sobs break free. He was fully aware of how desperate, loud and shaky they were; fully aware of his mother in the doorway, probably hating what he'd become – not that he'd blame her.

The crying didn't seem to calm down and panic was gripping his chest when he felt a warm arm slide around his shoulders. It was lean but firm and for a moment, Puck was back in the choir room when everything was okay.

"Shh," a voice whispered next to his ear; his Ma.

The illusion was shattered, and he almost expected to wake up from the reality as well, but his mother was still there, awkward arm around his shoulder, and it wasn't like he had anything more to lose. He curled into her chest; the same way he used to when he was a boy and Daddy wouldn't come home every night after work. He clung to his mother's waist, taking in the familiar smell of soap and dust and coconut shampoo.

"Mom," he forced out with a sob, willing himself to stop, to get his shit together, because he was being pathetic, but he got lost in her hand on the back of his head and a whisper of it's going to be alright, darling.

~*~

Weekend mornings at Dalton felt good, despite them being mornings. At Dalton. The light from the obnoxiously tall windows usually woke everyone up early and the cafeteria, smelling of coffee and fresh pastries was full of students from seven in the morning. Kurt knew, because he was always one of the first ones waiting in the line.

One thing about Dalton he absolutely loved was breakfast; croissants falling apart on his tongue, fruit salad, scrambled eggs with no salt and light like clouds, all that complemented with coffee or an occassional English breakfast tea with soy milk; when it came to food, the students always got their money's worth.

That Saturday, while being completely the same, was also completely different. The morning was bright, but rainy; Kurt woke up at six to the sound of raindrops drumming on his windowsill - watched them blend into tiny waterfalls and disappear below for a while, desperately trying to go back to sleep, or at least turn off his mind.

At half past, he got up, brushed his teeth, grimaced at himself in the mirror and let his hair be, knowing the school would be a lot emptier – many of the students travelled home, wherever that was, on every or every other weekend.

He ended up in the library, right next to the cafeteria, trying to study for a French test and failing miserably.

At seven, he pushed through the large doors and inhaled the comforting scent of breakfast.

He completely ignored Adrian and one of the other See the Light guys – Caleb or Cory or Christian or something – sitting near his favourite spot, instead opting for a chair in the furthest corner, half-hidden by the shadows of the old building and a huge potted plant. He felt Adrian's eyes on him the whole time – it made croissants turn to dust in his mouth and coffee taste sour.

Kurt managed to stay in denial almost half a day. Around two, after he'd eaten lunch and the sun broke free from the clouds, he was sitting on the grass in the yard, sunglasses perched high on his nose, soaking up the warmth. He thouroughly enjoyed not having to wear a uniform – it was just a pair of jeans, a shirt and a tank top, nothing fancy or even too expensive, but it was his and there's wasn't a speck of blue in the outfit.
He'd feel great - if he wasn't so damn uncomfortable.
Sebastian was sitting just a few feet away, leaning back on a tree, reading a book that was either very complicated or written in hieroglyphics, seeing as he hadn't turned a page for over fifteen minutes. His eyes darted to Kurt from time to time, just for a split second, a smile ghosted over his face and then he went back to pretending to read. Adrian was nowhere in sight, but Kurt would bet he had more than just two eyes in the school.

The bad thing about sitting in a yard and sunning is, you have a lot of time to think. Needless to say, the only thing on Kurt's mind was yesterday's meeting and the following phonecall – he still felt a pang in his chest at the mere memory. This was not how his life at Dalton was supposed to go – a bunch of crazy people making him doubt his relationship, his sexuality, his choices.
Not that they made him doubt. But if they didn't stop chasing him, sooner or later, they'd wear him out.

As it turned out, it was sooner. The same day, Adrian and Blaine, of all people, caught up with him at dinner, both looking strangely flushed and starry-eyed. It only took them ten minutes of combined effort over a Ceasar salad to get him to agree – the next meeting was on Tuesday and he'll be 'most welcome'.

By the time they left, Kurt was sure he threw up in his mouth just a little.