Chapter Seven

After the horrendous fifteen minutes Puck spent with , he'd just thought fuck it and gave up. Let Kurt have all the fucking girls he wants. Let him be the king of the straight universe, for all Puck cared.

It just…hurt too much.

Puck, in many aspects of his personality, had very much taken after his old man. He didn't really think much about most women, wanted everyone to respect him for being a badasss and, most importantly, the best remedy for anything was alcohol and music. That was probably why, on a completely normal, ordinary Tuesday, Puck found himself dazing on a chair in the choir room, half-drunk from the night before, loose fingers barely holding a guitar he'd been playing for the last three hours. He couldn't really remember much of how'd he get to school or managed to convince the school nurse to excuse him from all the classes.

Come to think of it, he didn't really even know why he was in school - until the reason walked right through the hallway, dressed in a ridiculous gray jumper and faded jeans, surrounded by a bunch of hockey players.

Puck had to laugh at himself. There he was, drowned in cheap whiskey, playing pining country songs and barely holding his eyes open; as pathetic as they get.

What did it matter, though? He'd better get used to it, at least until Figgins kicked him out – he was probably gonna see the little shit every day, looking like nothing even happened and everything was alright with the world.

On Wednesday, there was an assembly – they probably accidentally baked a rat into yesterday's lunch casserole, of something – and, of course, it wouldn't be fucking fair if Kurt wasn't there, sitting two rows above Puck.

The latter walked into the gym five minutes late, swaying from side to side, and, he was pretty sure, drooling just a little. It had been a rough night the day before – just him, some beer and a bottle of Jack, and they've had a lot of fun (which, really, consisted of uninterrupted cursing for about half an hour, composing a few horrible drunken anthems and spending five hours talking to the ceiling about global warming and stupid little divas).

When he sat down next to Finn – probably reeking of alcohol, judging by the way everyone subtly moved a little further away – Puck could feel Kurt's eyes burning holes in the back of his head.

He clenched his teeth and refused to look back.

On Thursday, the dude was actually sitting right there in the choir room when Puck came in for a free period to play. Kurt was running his fingers over the keys of the piano, looking as lost as Puck felt, actual, real emotions playing on his face.

Puck was pretty sure it wasn't a hallucination; he didn't even touch anything more than a bottle of beer the night before; he'd run out of money.

"Hummel," he acknowledged, voice tight, and crossed the room pick out a guitar from the rack. He could feel the eyes burning into his back, again.

"Puck," came the response, equally cold, then a loud sound as the cover of the piano was snapped shut. "What are you doing here?"

Puck's eyebrows flew up. "I was about to ask the same question. Aren't you supposed to be hanging out with your awesome new friends somewhere and smoking pot, or whatever it is that you do these days?"

"Stop it," Kurt clenched his jaw.

"I'm not doing anything."

There was a frustrated sigh, a scraping of a chair, silence. From the corner of his eye, Puck saw Kurt just standing, gaze darting between the piano, Puck, and the door. Something flickered through his face, too brief and transparent to catch, and then he was gone.

On Friday, Kurt wasn't in school. Puck got drunk anyway.

And the day after that.

And through the next two weeks.

~*~

What made him stop weren't his mother's worried-slash-pissed looks, Sarah squeaking whenever she ventured out of her room and saw him, Miss Pilsberry stopping him on the corridor and reminding him the door to her office was always open – it wasn't even Mr. Schue, who threatened to kick him out of glee.

It was a guy; a really short one, with eyebrows like triangles, dopey smile and a bowtie. From what Puck had heard so far, and judging by the loathing looks Kurt kept sending the dude, it was, surprise surprise, Blaine.

After Puck saw him walk in through the main entrance on his first day at McKinley and get a dozen slushies thrown into his smile within five seconds, something in him purred with silent satisfaction. And it also helped to see Kurt irritable as hell and totally out of his newly discovered straight depth; with enough music, Puck didn't really need that much whiskey in the end.

~*~

He would have expected anyone to walk into the choir room during fourth period; anyone but Blaine.

He cut off the song he was playing and fidgeted in his chair. Leaning back and hiding his face in the shadow, he hoped the tiny Warbler wouldn't notice him, which is why, naturally, he did.

"Puck?" he asked, soudning nervous, one of his feet still out of the room, like he was prepared to run if he had to.

"What do you want, Hobbit?" Puck growled and stood up, letting the guitar take his place on the chair. Blaine swallowed visibly and paled a little.

"I just…um, I wanted to talk to you, but if now isn't a good time…"

"Stop it. What do you want?"

By Blaine's downcast eyes, Puck knew he wasn't gonna like this. "It's…about Kurt."

And yeah, he didn't like that one bit. "What about him?"

"I want to help him."

"You can't."

"I have to," Blaine sighed, his shoulders sagging, and finally stepped into the room. "It's all my fault."

And okay, the dude might be some sort of a saint or something, according to Kurt, but he was making absolutely no fucking sense.

"Hold up, what are you talking about?"

Throwing his bag on the ground and falling dejectedly into a chair, Blaine heaved out a huge sigh.

"Kurt turning into what he is, it's my fault. I took him to the first See the Light meeting."

Silence. Honestly, Puck had no idea what to say to that, and succesfully managed to ignore the ideas his right fist gave him.

"I don't need to hear that, Hobbit," he settled for, instead. Blaine shook his head, finally looking him in the eye.

"No, it's important. You can't give up on him, he's not that far gone."

Puck scoffed. "He made it pretty fucking clear he doesn't want to see me again."

He wasn't aware of anything wrong with his voice, but, apparently, there must have been, judging by the way Blaine reached out and squeezed his forearm. Puck didn't try to shake him off; there was no point.

"Look, Noah…can I call you Noah?"

The 'no' was right there on Puck's tongue – only the most important people in his life got to call him that.

On second thought, he'd kind of missed it. "Knock yourself out."

"Noah…I was in the same situation you are now. You see, there was this guy, Adrian, he's—used to be, my boyfriend. We got together the first month I came to Dalton, I was way too lost and insecure about myself, because I used to get pushed around a lot…"

And Puck really, really didn't need to hear that, but the dude looked like he needed to talk to someone.

"Anyway, we were dating and I fell in love with him in the space of two weeks. Everything was great, and then he went to a See the Light meeting as a joke. I probably don't need to tell you how it ended."

"He got screwed in the head?"

Blaine gave him a little smile, then nodded. "He became the leader. I was so confused. I thought I've done something wrong to make him believe what they were saying, but there was no turning back. I wouldn't give up, though – I was trailing after him wherever he went, asking for another chance. I got to him after two weeks, and he told me that if I bring Kurt – who was new and so obviously gay – in, we can still sleep together. I took what I could get."

And wow, that was a fucking douchey thing to do – Puck didn't hold back in telling Blaine so.

"I know, Noah, and I'm so sorry. I made Kurt someone who he isn't, and you got hurt, too – I never meant for it to happen, but I was desperate. I loved Adrian so much…I only saw what I did when it was too late."

"You going somewhere with this, or are you just trying to make me depressed?" Puck asked.

Blaine responded with another one of his weird little grins, and a squeeze to Puck's forearm, which he, apparently, stilll didn't let go of. "I want to make you realize you can get him back."

"You just told me you couldn't."

"I couldn't. I realized what was going on way too late, Adrian was already gone, but Kurt is not under their influence anymore, he's out here playing straight on his own and he slips up more often than he'd like. You need to make him see what he's doing, convince him that what he can have with you is worth more than approval from a bunch of hockey players."

Puck frowned. "How do you suggest I do that?"

"I don't really know," Blaine shrugged, "but you're the one who dated him. You know what he's really like, now you just need to bring it out. The most important thing is to not give up."

"Blaine, dude—"

"No buts. You're supposed to be a badass, aren't you? This should be a piece of cake."

And okay, maybe the Hobbit had a point.

The thought of Kurt maybe, possibly not being completely gone, though, scared the living daylights out of Puck. He'd gotten so used to this new way of living, to letting the days pass by and not really paying them attention – getting Kurt back would mean getting back the hope he's more than a Lima loser and could someday make it out of Ohio, striaght into New York, maybe get gay married and have disgustingly cute dogs and babies and live happily ever fucking after, complete with chocolate hearts for Valetine's Day and candlelit dinners for their anniversary.

Puck hadn't thought about it. Ever. At all.

"You know what? Thanks for telling me. Now get out before I get realize this is your fault and get pissed."

And even if he didn't mean it, it was completely worth seeing Blaine drop the stupid smile, scramble for his bag and almost literally run out of the choir room.

Picking up his guitar again, Puck smirked to himself. He was going to court Kurt Hummel. Again.

~*~

He called Alona right after the meeting, sitting on the windowsill in his room and looking outside. She'd agreed to meet him at Gloria's on Friday afternoon; sounded genuinely happy and Kurt had to smile. This was the way it was supposed to go – arranging a (sort of) date with someone, that someone appreciating it for real, not with a "thanks, babe, I love it".

On Friday, after dropping his bag off in his room, he opened his closet and stared at the maze of colors, materials and clothing racks. Looking at his watch, he realized he only had an hour to spare, and he had no idea what to wear. The last time, he'd worn old pants and an even older t-shirt Sebastian picked out, for some reason, and she must've liked it.

He pulled out a pair of faded gray jeans and one of the ratty, black t-shirts he'd taken with him to remind him of his dad (this one also might've been of the ones that Carole stashed into his suitcase, claiming that 'you never know when you might need to tone it down a bit', but she followed it up with a smile and everything was okay).

On the other hand, he didn't even know what was going to happen the last time. This, while not quite being a date, was more important, and maybe deserved a little classier clothes. After a while of searching through the racks, he laid out another outfit – one of his newest pairs of dress pants, a dark green shirt and a tight black sweater, careful not to wrinkle them as he smoothed his palms along the seams.

He was officially having a dilemma. Living at Dalton and wearing the uniforms five days of the week has made him lazy and he didn't prepare any of his outfits the day before anymore.

Maybe it was time to call Mercedes. She wasn't with him, but would definitely know which pieces was he talking about; she almost knew his closet better than he himself did. Looking at the starkly different combinations of clothes lying innocently on his bedspread, though, he immediately knew which one she'd choose. He couldn't blame her - he would've done the same just a few weeks ago, and it still seemed like the most reasonable choice. He wasn't used to the bad boy look; he might just take it too far.

Five minutes after five, he was standing in front of what he'd come to call the 'See the Light' room, dressed in the classier of the outfits, dress pants snug against his thighs, shirt collar neatly pressed.

It was Marcus who'd opened the door. He looked Kurt up and down, then stepped aside without saying a word, and Kurt finally got a view of the whole room. Nothing looked out of the ordinary – guys chatting in small groups, straddling their chairs and high-fiving. And Blaine, sitting in the corner alone.

Kurt involuntarily flinched. The other boy looked like he always did these days: pale skin, blank expression, head propped up on his hands and silently observing everything that was happening around.

"What are you wearing?" an unusally sharp voice broke through his thoughts and Kurt turned, staring right into Adrian's face.

"What do you mean?" he looked over himself; nothing seemed to be out of order.

"You can't wear that. Do you think anyone's gonna believe you're straight?"

"I'm sorry, I don't need your permission. I just came to tell you I'm going on a date with Alona, therefore I'm not staying for the meeting," he snapped, more than a little bit angry. There was nothing wrong with liking nice clothes.

"Doubt she'll even recognize you, fag!" another voice shouted after him and Kurt froze mid-step.

Weren't these the guys that were supposedly kind and gentle and here to help him, like they seemed on Tuesday? He turned back into the room - immediately saw Walden holding a hand over his mouth like a child. He felt rage, not quite as white-hot as it used to be when he was too into guys to notice girls and called that name, but it still stung and burned his way through his stomach.

As always, Adrian stepped in to save the day, his face clear and open again. "He didn't mean it like that, Kurt," he sighed. "Look, this isn't...I know you just barely got through phase one, I do, but this is really not acceptable clothing. Especially on a date with a girl."

"You're not making any sense."

"Look at yourself! You're wearing a women's sweater!"

"And?"

"This is also part of seeing the light; dressing in proper clothes," he gestured at the rest of the room, most of them in their Friday evening casual attire. They were mostly wearing baggy jeans, baggy jumpers and baggy t-shirts, not a single inch of the clothing touching their skin where it didn't have to.

"And I bet Alona will find something along the lines of what you wore the last time much more attractive," he winked and sounded so fake even he himslef cringed; Kurt wasn't going to even think about his words.

He wasn't.

Twenty minutes later, walking out of Dalton's front gate towards the bus stop, the material of his jeans flying around his calves and wind blowing up his t-shirt, Kurt felt a bright red spark of hatred for himself flare in his chest.

~*~

Gloria's wasn't as deserted as the first time Kurt had been inside.

Then again, it was probably understandable, since it was Friday evening and he'd bet this was one of the best places in town.

Gloria waved at him from behind the bar. She was reading a magazine again, not fazed by an impatient customer waving his hand in front of her face in the slightest.
Kurt smiled and walked over, ordering a mint tea and peripherally seeing the guy next to him go purple.

"So how are you, honey?" Gloria asked, setting a big mug with a childlish drawing in front of him. He took a sip and smiled; the best.

"I'm great, actually. Finally figured myself out. I think," he shrugged.

"What do you mean?"

The frown on her face wasn't pleasant in the slightest, especially pronounced in the dim lights. "Well, I think...I think I'm finally realizing who I really am, you know? I'm starting to—"

"See the light?" she snapped.

Kurt looked up into her eyes, startled. Gloria really didn't seem like a woman to snap or yell at anyone, ever. She was always cheery, her cheeks flushed, red curls bouncing around her head and she seemed to love the whole world.

Right now, though, her blue eyes were blazing, and after a while of glaring at him, she grabbed a rag from under the counter and walked off to clean the tables.

He was still stuck staring after her when two thin arms wrapped around his shoulders and a kiss landed on his cheek.

"Hi," Alona giggled into his ear.

After that, it pretty much went like Kurt thought an ordinary date is supposed to go. They sat down, ordered hot chocolate, carefully avoided talking about Saturday, chatted some about their favourite things, ranging from music to food. He'd discovered Alona liked shrimp and internally cringed a little; he hated seafood.
It wasn't really important, though, was it?

When the conversation got more personal, Alona's eyes sparkled and she leaned in more to hear what he was saying – it struck him as classical girl behavior, listening for gossip anywhere.

"So did your Dad teach you how to fix cars?" she asked after he told her all about Hummel Tires & Lube. He nodded in response – didn't miss the way she licked her lips and carefully put her mug on the table.

"That is so hot," she said, mischievously and looked around, wide-eyed. Kurt let his own gaze roam around the room, caught Gloria's eye – she didn't look angry anymore, just way more sad than he would've thought possible. She tried to muster up an apologetic smile, but failed; turned to a customer instead, pouring him a shot of whiskey. He made a mental note to ask the guys about her some more.

A touch on his thigh made him flinch and give his attention to Alona instead. Her hand was slowly crawling up, the familiar predatory look back in her eyes.

This time, they made it to a bed – Emma's, and Kurt would give himself shit for it later - to let themselves create some sort of an illusion.

It had been just as dirty as the first time.

~*~

Straightening his ratty t-shirt, Kurt took in his wild hair and red cheeks in the hallway mirror before walking back into the café. It wasn't as full as before, but the guy with the whiskey was still sitting at the bar, shoulders hunched underneath his leather jacket, like the weight of the world was resting on them. His and Alona's hot chocolate mugs were still on the table where they left them and Gloria was nowhere to be seen.

He looked over at the clock – it was nearing nine, he could still stay for a while, maybe get a mint tea and think about things. Alona was already gone, sneaking off with a kiss - this time on the mouth - and a promise to call him next week, smiling sweetly as she jumped out of Emma's bedroom window.

"Move it," somebody grunted behind him and he shuffled automatically out of the way before recognizing Gloria with a tray in her hands. The plump woman was waltzing around the tables, snatching empty glasses, bottles, mugs and dirty plates. She looked strangely gracious; like this was where she belonged and she knew it, and Kurt hoped, now that he was on his way to change, he could someday give off the same vibe.

After finishing her round, she settled behind the bar again, pouring another double for the whiskey guy. Kurt was pretty sure she deliberately avoided looking at him.

Taking a deep breath, he straightened his t-shirt again, not used to all the fabric hanging loose, before walking across the room and settling himself on a barstool. He tried clearing his throat, but, as expected, she completely ignored him, leafing through a magazine and munching on a biscuit.

"Gloria, please," he sighed. The woman shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye, looking like a hawk.

"You orderin' anything, boy?" Her drawl was still there, but the heartiness Kurt had liked so much was gone.

"Mint tea, please," he replied in a quiet voice. He watched her boil the water, pour it into a plain, black mug, (pour one for the whiskey guy) and throw in mint leaves. She set it in front of him, steaming and smelling like heaven, and turned her back to fish out some more Jack Daniel's from the back of a shelf.

Before Kurt could sigh again, this time louder, the whiskey guy scanned him from head to toe with piercing, if a little drunk, green eyes. "He really looks like he needs to talk to you, Glory," he drawled with a smirk and went back to studying his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar.

"None of your business, Dean," Gloria snapped with a frown, immediately replaced by a soft smile when she looked at the man. "And don't call me Glory."

The guy held up his hands, light breaking on the glass he was still holding, and tapped the counter, silently requesting more to drink.

"Give it a break there, would ya?" she filled a tall glass with water and handed it to him, giving her own version of what Kurt had come to recognize as a strict motherly stare. Dean rolled his eyes, but didn't protest.

Kurt tired to sip on his tea, hissing a second later when he burned his tongue. Despite being obviously very, very pissed, Gloria's eyes snapped to look at his face and make sure he was alright, probably hoping he wouldn't be looking.

Their eyes locking, she heaved out a massive sigh. "Look, honey—"

"It's okay. I don't know what I did, but it's obviously hurting you...you don't have to apologize."

She shook her head, walking over to sit next to him, pouring herself a shot. In the orange lights overhead, her face looked older, more troubled, wrinkles that weren't there days before suddendly appearing.

"It's not you. It's Adrian and the other guys, I just...I wish they'd stop doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Everyting, this whole see the light crap," she grit her teeth, then poured herself another glass, and, after a rather pronounced thump to her back from Dean, one to him as well.

Kurt immediately felt his hackles rise and couldn't deny the little burst of pride in his chest; he was sticking up for the group. "It's not crap!" he replied, turning his whole body towards her, ready for a shouting match.

Gloria shook her head. "I'm not going to try to convince you otherwise, sweetheart. It'd just mess with your head some more."

"What are you talking about?"

"Look, I know about what you're going through, okay? I've seen it firsthand and every time someone new falls for it, it breaks my heart. Just last week, you were a sweet, confident, gay—" Kurt gave an involuntary flinch at the word; nobody in See the Light ever used it—"boy. Now you're sitting here in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt after you've had sex with one of my daughter's best friends - in my daughter's bed. You probably honestly don't see anything wrong with that, do you?"

Kurt shrugged. "Last week, I was still in the dark, Gloria. Now I've finally realized where I belong and I'm on my way to get there." He wanted to add some more, but bit his tongue instead.

"And I won't stop you, no matter what I say or do, right?" she smiled bitterly. "My son was exactly the same back in his time."

Kurt stopped mid-chew, the mint leaf burning a little in his mouth. "Your son?"

"The girls told you about Trevor, right?" she waited for his hesitant nod before continuing. "Well, Dalton has always been his dream school. When he was about four, we went for a walk and when he saw it, he tugged on my sleeve and said 'Mommy, when I'm this big, I'll go to there!'. It was this magical place he was dreaming about growing up, he even learned to sew just to make himself a blazer like all the students wore. It cost me a lot of my savings, but of course I got him in. He was so excited his first day, like he was five again." Gloria's eyes started glistening, and Kurt held his breath.

"He slept at the school, but he was here every afternoon, telling me how beautiful everything was, the tall windows and arched ceilings and the uniforms...it was the best feeling in the world, seeing him so excited. He said he'd found some friends who were running a youth group and I told him how happy I was for him." Told in the tone of voice she was using, it sounded like a very sad story, and Kurt was expecting a 'but' every second.

"And then, about four months into the school year, everything changed. He started spending more time at Dalton, hanging out with these friends of his, and one day, he came in, sat down and told me he'd seen the light."

Oh.

"Yeah, both my children are gay. It's actually kind of great," she mustered up a shaky smirk. "But, anyway...Trevor had started to change. He went everywhere in his school uniform – until he got himself some proper clothes, he'd say. He stopped speaking to Emma, barely visited me, and by the time I figured out what exactly See the Light was about, I got a call from the principal, saying my son has packed his things and ran away with a Catherine."

Kurt was stunned for a moment. "He...he just ran away? Without saying anything?" He couldn't imagine leaving his Dad, and Carole, even Finn, without saying goodbye.

Gloria just nodded, sadly, downed a third shot and pushed the bottle away. "Haven't heard from him since. Nobody's heard anything. For all I know, he could be..." she shook her head, as if to chase the thought away. Kurt squeezed her shoulder.

"He's not."

"Yeah. But it doesn't change much – he'd seen the light and now he's gone."

"But...if you hate See the Light so much, why do you look after the guys?"

She smiled. "Most of them have stinking rich parents who don't have the mind to call their sons once in a while, not to mention actually talk to them. Nobody's noticing what's happening to them, and I can't stop it, so I at least make sure they're not going to snap and pull a stunt like Trevor, you know? I'm making sure they stay human. You should've seen the way Addy was when he first came here – sixteen years old and ordered a beer, I would've chased him away with a broom, but…he looked so lost. He was having doubts, said he's dating a boy and thinks he loves him, but the guys in the group are trying to make him believe otherwise. I tried to make him see my version of the light, but…" she shook her head," two weeks later, he was made the leader."

"I'm…" To be honest, Kurt had no idea what to say. "I'm sorry."

Gloria took his hand and looked into his eyes, searching for something. "Don't be, darling. It's not really your fault, falling for the charade." She held up her hand to stop his answer, walked around the bar and behind the counter, dropping the contents of his mug down the drain.

"Now, you can think about it for a while. Let me make you some proper tea. Oh, and by the way – before you go, I'm making you change the sheets."

To Kurt's left, Dean roared with laughter, splashing whiskey over his t-shirt. "I'd listen to what she' s saying, man," he nudged Kurt in the ribs.