VII

~ The Padova Pad ~

Stepping out into the dark alleyway, wary to wrap themselves warmly before they braved the dropping temperatures, Kurt and his friends exited the stage door of the arena and began making their way towards the street. They huddled together as closely as possible, bringing their coats right up past their necks and as they enthusiastically chatted about what a success the spectacle had been, New York's chilly air seemed to bother them less and less. However it was no surprise. No one was expecting the show to be anything less than spectacular. In fact, because of its 25th anniversary, the pressure had been up higher than ever before to make this year's show the show to remember for years to come, and to think Kurt had taken part. It was hard to come to grips with.

In total, Kurt had made four appearances on the runway, including the finale where all the models came together to walk down the runway as one. All four times he had looked his best, dressed in splashes of light summertime clothing sheer enough to blush and all four times he had rivaled the camera's flash with the gleam of his smile. He had attempted to keep his eyes trained and focused, expression charming and overall presence alluring, but not even the elegant pas de bourrée or free spin was enough to prevent the eyes from distraction. Noah Puckerman, whose fixated irises had burned into him like lasers, had proved to be the ultimate obstacle, the main obstacle to an otherwise perfect night.

However, from what he could decipher, there was no sexual undercurrent, nothing to suggest the man was aroused. Why would he be? The man was straighter than Zeus, though the things that came flying out of Carmen and Lola's mouths seemed to heavily challenge that. Each time Kurt would finish a stint on the catwalk, he was bombarded time and time again with comments regarding Puckerman's 'shifting eyes' that seemed to blanket him in nothing but want. It was ridiculous. He'd blamed his friends' delusions on the fumes of fake tan, alcohol and heat but no, nothing seemed more important to them than the great influence he had over the man. It had, in the end, almost cost them their places there, after the tempting thought of calling in pest control came to near execution, or of course strangling them with a Gucci belt.

Now they were heading to the after-party, an event so rambunctious that it equaled the notoriety of the show itself, and Kurt didn't want to go. He didn't have the energy to attend such a party, what its ear-splitting music, overly rich food and company that was as critical of you as Anna Wintour herself. Unfortunately, he had a feeling that he had a duty to be there, as if it was compulsory to attend for those who had been the show. However Carlson, Carmen and Lola had all begged to differ, blaming it on his lack of party history. They'd claimed that because high school life had deprived him of such an event, the word 'party' only served to conjure up vile imagery of years of social rejection and shunning, a set of years best left forgotten.

The party itself was to be hosted in traditional fashion at a large venue owned by the Puckermans, The Padova Pad, a brand new luxury rooftop club constructed especially for high-profile parties and social events. It wasn't reputedly known to be the setting behind any of Noah Puckerman's frivolous gatherings, the young man's penthouse being the capital for it all, but was used instead for more formal soirees of a milder manner. Said to have cost several millions to construct, the pad had been designed by a South Korean architect who had been employed by Emily Puckerman after a recent trip to Seoul had opened her eyes to how far advanced the modern age had evolved in the East. 'Near alien,' she had described it when she was interviewed after the completion of the club. 'Made the buildings here in the West resemble little mud huts.'

However, despite its sci-fi looks that made it stand out beautifully from all the other New York clubs around, Kurt wondered if it was too delicate to house such obnoxious partying. Its vanilla record was surely going to become tainted after tonight, but then again, there was the possibility that these fashion show after parties weren't as crazy as everyone claimed they were. Were they just mere rumors made up by people wanting to popularize them, or by prudes who had walked in on some lucky man canoodling with a model? The truth could never be fully extracted from speculation and as Kurt gave into his friends' whining demands to hit the club, he hoped that by end of it all, he wouldn't be foaming at the mouth and stinking of piss in the gutter. God forbid.

The distance between the arena and the club wasn't great. In fact, it only took ten minutes by car, twenty by foot and although it would have done them all a world of good to sit down and rest their feet after several hours of non-stop gallivanting, they didn't. Air was much needed. In fact, it had got so awfully stuffy backstage that Kurt had begun to fear for his lungs, citing that fresh oxygen had been replaced with makeup particles and how passive cigarette smoking never did anyone any good. Many others, though, had not followed in their footsteps. As soon as the show had ended they had jumped into the nearest black car and sped off to the after party, not leaving enough time to even take whiff of fresh air. When will they learn?

"Have any of you actually seen or been to this club?" Kurt's question got him a squinty look from Lola. Of course they hadn't been to it. If it was hard for certain celebrities to enter the Padova Pad, then there really was no hope for the 'nobodies'. However, the opportunity to mingle in such a setting had arisen now so it was no wonder all three of them had jumped on the idea. They would have been majorly stupid if they hadn't. "Yeah, I heard about it. Anyway, I just hope you guys can get in. You were lucky enough the first time."

"Lucky enough in the sense that we managed to fool the assistant at the door or lucky in the sense that we managed to avoid being kicked out by you," Lola asked as Kurt rolled his eyes. Alright, so he'd been a little hard on them towards the end but there was only so much gossip concerning Noah Puckerman he could take. Hopefully now they had learned their lesson and thoughts of the heir wouldn't even cross the minds, not with all the alcohol Kurt was planning on ladling down their throats. "Don't worry Kurt, we get it. You're not a fan of Puckerman. It's no big deal. Let's just enjoy tonight."

"Are you sure, because I know what fans you are of the man. Look, I know he's huge here but I'd prefer to talk about stuff that has more relevance to us than about him," Kurt replied truthfully as he shuffled in between them, rubbing each of their arms comfortingly as he tried to get his point across. "I infinitely prefer your company over some of the models, I do, but if you keep on talking about how hot Puckerman is then you're no more intellectually stimulating than they are."

"I hate those models. All they do is go out of their way to destroy otherwise rational individuals in their presence. I mean, I tried to maintain a normal conversation with one earlier but it was like she didn't have the brains to string a coherent sentence together," Lola rambled as she gestured disbelievingly into the air.

Lola Jacobs was by far no bimbo, contrary to the blondie-like Lolita image she had going on. In fact, she was actually quite smart. Though it was just a side she didn't bring out all that often as she claimed she feared that anything she said had the possibility of being made fun of.

"There are some that allow themselves to become willing victims to men who decide to date them as a competitive sport or for their own slime ball compulsive need for validation. It's so loose, it makes me sick. I mean no wonder people refer to them as high-class escorts," she finished.

"They do? Oh God, that's terrible. I thought that they were merely referred to as divas with overinflated narcissistic issues worth going to a psychologist for," Kurt replied as he began to worry for his new occupation. He hadn't given much thought about the stereotypes of models before he'd become one, but now that they were flying out of his friend's mouth, he was doing some serious evaluating. Maybe male models were seen differently. Maybe only female models were considered the dumb ones, as sexist as that sounded, but then again, their sexualities were hardly questioned compared to the men. "I don't want to be stereotyped into being unintelligent. I've been stereotyped enough in my life."

"Honey, not all models are as thick or as loose as Paris Hilton. There will be some that will even sit and read through a whole magazine from cover to cover," teased Carmen, laughing as Kurt rolled his yet again. This was such a petty argument. By now Kurt should have learned to disregard ignorance, what with having been the sole openly gay student at his high school, but now that he was no longer in its halls but in the realms of New York, everything had changed. "No seriously, I think you're taking this stereotype business a bit far. There's nothing to worry about. You know you're not stupid, we know you're not stupid, and if anyone judges you on your occupation without getting to know you, fuck 'em. Their prejudice isn't worth it."

"Take Charlize Theron for example, Kurt," explained Lola as she squeezed her way into Carmen's place, now walking alongside Kurt as they turned onto the street of the club. "She's the successful spokesperson for Dior J'Adore, she's an Academy Award and Golden Globe-winning actress and she actively supports women's rights, animal rights and same-sex marriage. She's charismatic in interviews and puts some models to shame by not going 'um', and 'um' and 'um' some more."

"Plus she's hot," Carlson suddenly added as Kurt, Carmen and Lola whipped their heads around to face him. The brunet had almost forgotten about Carlson during their talk, probably because the man was towards the back acting like some sort of barrier against whoever might jump out at them, but as the girls exchanged bored looks followed by a series of eye-rolls to further dismiss the crude comment, Kurt smiled. Removing himself from Lola's side, Kurt went to join Carlson at the back, gladly taking the arm the older man offered him. "Well she is, right? Don't you think so?"

"Of course I do," Kurt agreed, giving Carlson a little light-hearted nudge as he giggled. He didn't want the man to feel uncomfortable spending time with them just because he was the only one there attracted to women. Kurt liked having Carlson around. He felt safe around him. The man was friendly, had a sense of humor that could ease most tense situations and a flirtatious attitude that definitely knew no boundaries. "I must admit she was beautiful as Queen Ravenna, except at the end when wrinkle-ville came to town. Nasty."

As they approached the Padova Hotel, the white-based building on which the pad was built, all four of them stopped in their tracks to marvel at the odd-looking sight. Contrary to the club's almost out-of-this-world design, the hotel's architecture very much resembled the Art Nouveau, with all its hyperbola and parabola doors, windows and arches decorated with molding that 'grew' into plant-derived forms. It all gave it a sense of harmony, a peaceful sight that was ruined by the sounds of the paparazzi snapping away and yelling at the various models and celebrities as they posed in front of the hotel's grand entrance, the asymmetrical shapes of shells and water that had been carved into the white stone above acting as a marvelous backdrop for them for all.

"I don't think we're going to be able to sneak in the back this time Kurt," Carlson said in a hushed tone as they neared the palace-like hotel, the stunning building looking as if it had been plucked right out of 19th Century Paris.

It was true. There was going to be no easy way to sneak them all in undetected. Kurt would get in fine but he couldn't leave his friends behind. He felt naked without them. However as Carlson unsuccessfully scoured the area for some God-given opportunity of entrance, all he managed to land his eyes on was a security guard by the main door, the chance to enter fading rapidly.

"Fuck, okay, Kurt, you see that guard over there by there? Near where that woman is standing? If you tell him we're part of your entourage, we may stand a chance."

"Yeah, but don't look down or shift your eyes whilst you do it. Security guards are like human lie detectors. They always have the sixth sense about when you don't tell truth," Carmen instructed as she went to stand in front of him, looking deep into his blue eyes as if she were trying to telepathically tell him what his next set of moves were to be. It was all fruitless and at the same time, a little unnerving, but as an idea popped into her head, it proved to be somewhat beneficial. "What you do is you go up to him, say clearly who you are and er... um... think of something. Go!"

Without a second to protest or rethink the hurriedly hatched plan, Kurt had found himself in front of the hotel's entrance in the flash of a camera, the chanting shouts of the photographers instructing him to face them, to turn this way and that and to generally show off those pearly white teeth. He did his best, offering them all the expressions he had practiced over and over again in the mirror at home but he soon found himself more preoccupied with thoughts about how he was to convince security that his friends weren't celebrity stalkers, undercover journalists or drug dealers, than posing prettily for a nice picture.

He had to be convincing, sly and attempt to be half the actor his friends were and so, as he was ushered away from the front doors, Kurt neared the tight-lipped security guard with harsh features and fierce eyes. This was it. He couldn't go back now. He tried to prevent the words 'set up to fail' from echoing around his mind but they seemed to really reflect his situation. Damn. Clearing his throat, Kurt made to speak but looked around to see where his friends had hidden themselves. They were nowhere in sight. Gone.

Great, thought Kurt sarcastically as he turned to face the guard once again, the man looking down at him warily as he waited for words to start forming themselves on his flaccid tongue. I can't do this with invisible friends! He'll think I'm nuts!

Here went nothing.

"Um... yes, hello sir, my name is Kurt Hummel. I modeled in the Salvatore Spectacle earlier this evening. I was wondering, if it's not too much to ask, if you could help with something..."

.

Glee

.

The party was in full swing by the time Kurt and his friends had stepped out of the elevator and arrived at the Padova Pad, the luxurious futuristic rooftop club that indeed boasted one of the greatest examples of modern architecture they had ever come across. Unlike the opulent hotel down below that oozed Parisian influence and stature, the Pad's layout was quite different. A large glass dome that seemed to float above them and allow ones eye to see the stars, had been built on one half of the roof, sheltering and housing the elevator, the bar, the dance floor and all other remaining amenities. Towards the other half of the roof lay a sprawling kidney-shaped pool with en suite hot-tub surrounded by exotic Mexican Blue palms, flower pots of American Beauties and strategically placed lounge chairs, love sofas, four-poster beds and other bedroom furniture that had been specifically built for outdoor use.

Without time to delve deeper into a world so unlike his own, Kurt was grabbed by Carmen as she all but dragged him and Lola through the club, passing the guitar-lulling strums of the dance floor, the delicious smells of Goi Cuon, Giò lụa and Bánh cuốn from the oriental bar and the hum of conversation that filled the air as they weaved their way through well-dressed guests towards the one of the Venice day beds outside. The polished decking that been elevated above ground level meant that one could see the whole Pad from outside and as Kurt nestled against one of the bed's cushions, he returned to gazing around him keenly, spotting Carlson emerging from the swarming dome with a silver tray laden with multi-colored cocktails poured generously into Hurricane glasses.

Waving him over, Carmen directed Carlson over to them, her experienced hands making quick work of distributing the drinks amongst them with Lola being handed a piña colada garnished with a pineapple wedge, Carlson a Manhattan on the rocks, Kurt a Swiss strawberry and lime cider and finally selecting herself a Blue Hawaii topped with a maraschino cherry.

The cider was divine as the complementary fruits fused together to create an even better taste but Kurt knew better than to televise his enjoyment of a beverage he was illegally drinking, no matter how mild it was to others on the menu. He wasn't a fan of alcohol in the first place, with only a few he had known to stomach, but he wasn't about to pass up on one that tasted like heaven at his first real party. Oh, if only his high school peers could see him now.

What was great about the Padova was not only its impressive appearance and five-star rating but the atmosphere it seemed to exude. It was as if the building emitted its own calming agent, relaxing everybody, even the party into a sort of overtly laid-back daze, because what Kurt could now definitely put to rest were the rumors of the Salvatore Spectacle after parties. No one was drunk, no one was creating a disturbance or unsettling others and no one was acting anything less than dignified. The air was crisp with the hum of conversation and laughter and everyone was behaving like adults, sensibly and with proper decorum. However, having said that, Kurt had never felt more like a teenager in all his life. Despite turning twenty this upcoming May, he felt as though his youthful looks were now magnified by everyone's manners, with the only mature feature about him being his drink which he'd finished.

"Hummel?! There you are, Hummel, I've been looking everywhere for you!"

A shrill voice caused Kurt to jump and bumping into Lola, causing her open mouth to miss her cocktail straw. Like dominoes, heads began turning around to see none other than the spectacle's director frantically running over to Kurt, her pale face flushed the color of beetroot. This did not look promising. "Right, I'm trying to round up all the models who were in the show. Mr. Puckerman is here and he would like to be introduced and offer you all his compliments. Come along."

"No thank you, I'd rather stay right where I am if you don't mind. I have company," Kurt replied calmly as he discreetly hid his empty glass behind his back, Carmen watching him with a frowning gaze as he indicated to them before throwing the gaping director a charming smile.

Kurt knew very well what he was expected to do, be rounded up like cattle before some drooling man. It was humiliating. It wasn't like he'd been in the Royal Variety Performance followed by the privilege of shaking hands with Queen Elizabeth II herself. No, he was to be paraded like pretty meat. "I'm sure Mr. Puckerman will understand, and I'm glad he thought we did so well but I don't think-"

"Maybe I'm not making myself clear. Mr. Puckerman has requested to meet all models who were in the show, no excuses accepted, no arguments entertained," the director seethed, her patience returning slightly as she observed the fake smile all over Kurt's face disappear into one of frustrated agitation, his blue eyes darkening in protest. "Look young man, you will do this, you will meet him and while you are clubbing it under his roof, you will obey him, because frankly if you don't I will ask security to escort your 'company' from the premises. What's it going to be?"

"All you needed to do was say it was compulsory. I didn't know King Puckerman's orders had to be carried out at the risk of losing your head," Kurt hissed as he stood up, ignoring the apologetic expressions on his friends' faces as he was rudely manhandled back into the dome, the flattering light from the blown glass chandelier casting rendering everyone more good-looking than they really were.

Truth be told, he would sacrifice this whole evening for his friends if he had the chance. They deserved it, and the thought of having them thrown out due to his stubbornness just came off as selfish and ungrateful. "Believe me, I am one of the most pacifist of creatures you will ever come across but if you don't unhand me now, I will reach for a shovel," he growled now at the director.

"Fine, get yourself in line then. Your attitude is already beyond disgraceful," the director retorted as Kurt threw her a livid look before joining the end of the line on the dance floor.

It's what he had expected. The director had, indeed, rounded up every model like show dogs although, unlike Kurt, their faces were shining bright with enthusiasm. It was so obvious he could even smell the anticipation reeking off the chatterbox chicks a few models down and as he huffed in silence, he looked back around at his friends over by the pool, their contented faces indicating a well enjoyed night. "Alright, everyone; for God's sake neaten up. You're embarrassing me... Oh... good evening, Mr. Puckerman."

Snapping his head around, as if the name that had just been uttered were some kind of alarm, Kurt peered around his neighbor to see the director shaking hands with Noah Puckerman a few meters away, Quinn Fabray by his side along with a few other men and women who Kurt assumed were part of Puckerman's entourage.

The billionaire had appeared out of nowhere, as if he'd just teleported out of thin air in front of them; or just maybe Kurt had been too preoccupied envying his friends from afar as they mindlessly chatted without him, Carmen and Lola sending him indiscreet winks as they pointed with gusto to the tanned man. Yes, life had brought Puckerman into his through the gossip of overexcited girls but now, unfortunately, it was about to get a whole lot more personal.

Puckerman, by the looks of it, had not skimped on looking his best before some of the most beautiful people in New York. He'd downgraded from his suit into a casual yet classy outfit consisting of a jet black shirt with its top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to boast stretches of beige skin and delicious musculature. Below were rich denim jeans that had been whiskered and faded for effect and as footwear, rustic diesel boots with loosened laces. It was fashionable, cool and ever so masculine. It was a look Puckerman knew he could pull off well and as he began shaking hands, introducing himself and reducing once-proud models into giggling schoolgirls with a flash of that signature smirk, Kurt soon found himself as the sole bearer of his own dignity. It felt nice.

"And, last but not least, a fresh face to Elite Model Management, Kurt Hummel," the director introduced as Kurt froze. He'd been in the middle of signalling to Carlson to get him another cider when he was now faced with a mouth that was too parched to speak and a chest that was too tight to breathe. He felt like he was suffocating but as he forced himself to breathe as evenly as he could after what felt like an eternity, he lifted his gaze to meet the warm hazel eyes of Noah Puckerman.

Silence. All that was heard was the clinking of toasting glasses and the sounds of ambient music in the background as the handsome billionaire and the flustered model with Twiggy-like doe eyes stared at each other as if they had never seen another human being quite like them.

It was the strangest set of minutes Kurt had ever experienced but as the famed flirt stared right back at him, his mouth slightly agape, it gave the brunet the chance to examine his face.

Noah had neatly-groomed stubble covering his chiseled jawline that traveled across the top of his Cupid's bow and down to his chin, along with his buzz cut giving him a more mature appearance, his gorgeous overall features from his cheek bones to his full lips boasting the very best work of the gods themselves. Time seemed to go on forever until, with the sealing of a mouth and a morphing of an attractive smile, Noah raised his right eyebrow slightly and lifted his large, ever so masculine hand for a handshake.

"It's a pleasure to-"

"I'm sorry, I can't!" blurted Kurt loudly as his eyes blew wide. What was he doing? He'd merely wished upon a shooting star not to be here, not that he would publicly embarrass himself with word vomit, but then again his runaway mouth had given him a chance to flee and one thing he'd learned so far about chance-filled opportunities in New York was that you never said no. However, everyone from Noah, Quinn, the director, his fellow models and the rest of Puckerman's entourage was frowning at him as if he had just broken out in a spontaneous case of mild Tourette's. "I deeply apologize, Mr. Puckerman, but I… I, um... I've just remembered I've got another engagement. If you will please excuse me..."

Swiveling on his heel without a single backward glance, Kurt briskly returned to his friends in the wake of a small crowd of speechless faces and one of heavy disappointment. It was obvious his little trio had been keeping an eye on the situation from afar; how could they not have as soon as he caught Lola using her hands as makeshift binoculars, because as soon as he laid eyes on both girls' shocked faces as well as Carlson's hysterical bouts of laughter, he knew he had been incredibly rude. It was sickening. He ought to have been fully ashamed of himself but unfortunately it was too late; guilt had been replaced by fear. Fear of a kick out of the door's club by a certain director's heels.

"Well, I guess this means the party's over for us. It was fun while it lasted," Carmen said wistfully as all three of them put down their empty glasses and stood up, welcoming Kurt back with exasperated looks.

It would have been so easy to get angry right now, to throw lines like 'what the hell is wrong with you?!', 'why the hell did you do that?!' and 'you're a bad person!' but they didn't. They held off the rounds of bullet-like words in favor of a hug as they witnessed the remorse shining bright in Kurt's eyes, the way his once-exuberant face now fell in regret. What is going on within this boy to make him act like he did with Puckerman, Carmen wondered as the mystery thickened. Something took control of him. "Let's go."

"No, you guys stay here, I'll take Kurt home. I can't stay up late anyway, I've got to be at the theater at seven tomorrow morning," Carlson offered as he wound an arm around Kurt's shoulders, steering him away as both girls made to object but relented with nods.

Kurt just hoped they wouldn't run into trouble. He had nearly ruined their night with his little stunt and was cutting short Carlson's. It wasn't fair to them. As they took the long route round to the elevator, the prospect of bumping into anyone from earlier very likely, Carlson turned with regret, knowing this was the worst of times. "Kurt, I need the loo. If I don't go now, I'll probably explode on our way back and that sure as hell will be embarrassing."

"What? You only had one Manhattan the whole time you were here. One cocktail can't be enough to fill the bladder of a fully grown man, can it?" Kurt whined in dismay, the grip on Carlson's arm becoming so tight that the man had to almost fight his way out as he struggled to leave.

However it was obvious by the way Carlson had looked over at him with a knowing look that at least two more Manhattans had met the same fate as the first one and as Kurt watched him head back into the club, he really had to question the man's alcoholic self-control. Though what was he going to do, sue him? It was a club, for heaven's sake. Urgh, men... "Grow a bigger bladder! I'm going down to the foyer so I'll you meet you-"

"Hi... Kurt?" A husky voice sounded behind Kurt causing the boy's eyes to widen as his finger froze on the elevator button in mid push.

Due to each sliding lift door consisting of a full length mirror, Kurt was able to see exactly who had uttered the greeting, but he didn't need to put a face to a voice he remembered from only a few minutes ago. He didn't even want to be near the man behind him, but as he slowly turned around to face the expectant Puckerman heir, the man's hand jammed into the pocket of his jeans while the other held a glass of scotch whiskey, he nodded in confirmation of the name. "Hi... um... I just wanted to catch you before you left, wanted to tell you how well you did this evening, and for a beginner too. You were great."

"Well, thank you. It's always nice to receive validation from successful people," replied Kurt, grateful that Noah wasn't judging him harshly for his behavior earlier, though it only seemed to make him feel worse.

At this point in time, for all the man's cheekiness, he was by far a better person than Kurt and he would have said so if Noah hadn't chuckled deeply at the compliment. It was the kind of chuckle warm enough to melt chocolate but before Kurt could continue guessing what other confections the man's laughter could dissolve, the elevator bell chimed and its doors slid open. "I'm sorry again Mr. Puckerman but I must be off. It was a pleasure meeting you and, er... yeah, thank you for the party. This place truly is breathtak-"

"Wait, don't go... I mean, let me come with you... please?" Noah interrupted quickly as the sudden plea caught Kurt off guard, sending him stumbling backwards against the wall of the elevator, his hands splayed behind him for support. He had just been in the middle of backing into the lift when it happened and now that he was in, Noah leapt inside, punched the button for the ground level and watched as the Padova Pad disappeared behind sleek mirrored doors. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out. I've just got to get somewhere quiet. I can't take these crowds. You don't mind do you?"

"No, not at all... but what's wrong with 'those crowds'? All the models, your friends... your fiancé are all there," Kurt replied, peeling himself away from the wall as he rearranged his frazzled outfit. The James Dean-influenced combination of skin-tight jeans and a white polo shirt topped with a petit pea coat wouldn't have been an outfit hard to disturb but yet here he was, straightening everything out until he caught sight of Noah's gaze on him, focused and trained, just as like at the spectacle. "I mean... well, I mean... why not?"

"I've pretty much met everyone there. From the models, the photographers, the designers, and every other famous face you've got. They're no strangers," explained Noah as the elevator began its quick decent, Kurt tearing his eyes from him in favor of reacquainting himself with the first elevator he'd seen constructed entirely out of mirrors. "Don't get me wrong, most of them are alright, but the novelty wears off faster than you think and you're left with someone who hasn't that much to say. Before Quinn, I once saw that as a good thing... you know... when approaching the ladies. I didn't want to talk. All I wanted to do was-"

"Speaking of Quinn, congratulations on your engagement," Kurt interrupted quickly, the words flying out as if they were as desperate as he was to swerve the conversation away from Noah's previously promiscuous life. He didn't want to talk about such things. It made him awfully uncomfortable and it only seemed to reinforce what the press actually wrote about this man, whether Noah was aware of it or not. He also felt that such a conversation was inappropriate when a diamond engagement ring was on your finger, as if it was a wireless microphone that allowed Quinn to hear everything from hers. "Both of you are very lucky. When's the big day?"

"You don't come from around here do you," Noah asked, ignoring Kurt's question with nothing more than an uninterested look and a final gulp of his drink.

Kurt frowned. He'd only had suspicions of a staged couple appearance but he hadn't given it too much thought. He hadn't been interested but now that, coupled with this, tripled with Quinn's uncaring attitude towards the flirtatious behavior between the models and her future husband earlier, it all started to intrigue him. What was going on?

"Kurt? You're not from New York are you? You just don't look like you do."

"No, actually I was born in Columbus but raised in Lima, Ohio. You won't have heard of it. It's a city 72 miles from Dayton and 78 from Toledo," Kurt explained as Noah shrugged and shook his head.

In some way, Kurt was glad Noah wasn't familiar with Lima. Talking about one of the worst places a boy like him could have been raised was painful enough. Looking at Noah, though, it didn't seem that Kurt was the sole one in pain.

"I know where you come from though," he continued. "You were born in Washington D.C., lived there as a child and then you when you entered high school, you moved to New York. It tied in with your family's future plans for you to go to Harvard, which you do. Although I don't know what you're studying..."

"You're the first. I'm majoring in business and economics. Surprise," informed Noah sarcastically.

The elevator reached the ground floor and no sooner had its doors opened then Noah had sighed and walked out, leaving Kurt's frown in his wake.

"No, seriously, it's hard to surprise anyone when everyone knows your business. I haven't had a two-sided 'get to know you' conversation with anyone for years and it's fucking depressing. I come across loads of people like you claiming they know me just because they've researched me on Wikipedia or constantly read about me in the papers. God, sometimes I feel as though my life has been claimed... and there's no possible way of getting it back."

"I never claimed I knew you," Kurt retorted. "I just know vague bits and pieces of your life, and the only reason I do is because people here can't stop talking about you. Even my friends are obsessed."

They stepped out into the hotel's opulent lounge, the style now having evolved into a mixture of both Art Nouveau and Modern Age, with low-lit Edwardian crystal chandeliers illuminating hi-tech looking coffee tables, couches and chairs, all enriched with a complimentary cream and scarlet color scheme. Now Kurt knew why Noah had escaped here. The place was deserted. "To tell you the truth, you've surprised me, Noah... as cliché as that sounds."

"Thanks... I guess. Almost forgot that feeling," Noah answered quietly, a small smile stretching his lips as he lounged on one of the plush couches by the arched windows, the streams of the moonlight offering a beautiful contrast to the warm orange tint of the chandeliers. Kurt didn't know what to make of this man. One minute he was supposed to be this savvy, swaggering womanizer with just the mere sight of his body acting as an open invitation to you-know-what and the next, a distressed soul who spurted heartfelt revelations. What the hell? "So um... if you're not from around here, why are you here?"

"I came for work experience at a community theater, staying for modelling jobs on runways," replied Kurt simply as he went to sit on the armless chair opposite Noah, settling into it and brushing invisible dust from his coat. However while he did, he wasn't aware that Noah was noting down his every graceful move and he didn't know the man was studying his face, an angelic face that displayed no prejudice, no judgment but only acceptance. In Noah's eyes, it was just the face he needed.

To Kurt, Noah Puckerman's behavior was nothing like it ought to have been. It was like the man was sedated or tranquillized after having secretly taken something but all those possible factors only led to questions about Noah's true feelings behind the arrogant mask he'd built over the years for everyone around him. Despite having been born into one of the richest families in the world and history itself, despite attending the best university the planet had to offer and despite the lifestyle even deities would envy, was Noah Puckerman… happy? "Forgive me Mr. Puckerman but are you-"

"Please, don't call me that. Call me Noah, Kurt. Call me Puck or even the 'Party-Rocking Puckerman' name they like to call me but, please, anything but... that," Noah pleaded as he sat forward to hunch himself over the edge of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands, as he closed his eyes.

Feeling a sudden dip in the couch, Noah lifted his head to see Kurt sitting next to him, his knees tucked under him as he rested his arm on the back of the seat, an apologetic smile on his face.

"I'm sorry, you didn't know," Noah said softly. "That name reminds me too much of my old man. Plus it makes me sound older."

"A man is not old until his regrets replace his dreams, Noah, but then again no one is ever old enough to know better," replied Kurt, muttering the line quietly as he closed his eyes, feeling the blue rays of the moonlight drenching his face. Losing himself in a tranquil like state, the boy only felt the shuffling of a body and a dip of the couch to know that Noah had neared him, his skin sensing the man's eyes roaming his serene expression with nothing short of increasing interest. "Want to guess who said those lines-"

"What were you going to ask, Kurt?" Noah inquired curiously as he watched the most gorgeous set of eyes slowly reveal themselves.

He'd noticed Kurt's were brilliant blue but now that he had positioned his head directly into the moonlight's path, it was as if they had tripled in saturation. They were more vivid, more concentrated, stronger and so precious, as if Kurt's eyes had been carved right out of the Hope Diamond. He didn't know it, it must have been his mind, but the nearer he came to Kurt's face, the nearer his body neared until with a brush of legs, there was contact. "Go on, Kurt, please. I won't mind."

"It's not my business to inquire since I've only just met you but I was going to ask if you were..." Kurt hesitated as he took in the expression on Noah's face that looked like it didn't come out for just anyone, as if Kurt had been granted a rare audience with Noah's face in its barest, most naked form. There was no trademark smirk, not a single hint of sexual desire, flirtation or any other expression of that nature for which he was famous. They had long been wiped away, nowhere to be seen, leaving behind an even better-looking man; Noah. "... to ask you if you were... happy?"

"Shit, no one's asked me that in a long time," breathed Noah as he pulled away from his close position to Kurt in favor of leaning back against the couch, a small chuckle escaping his chest. Bringing a hand to his forehead, he rubbed at it before widening his eyes several times. The question was obviously asked out of simple curiosity but there something not so general or blasé about the way it was asked. The expression on the boy with skin like porcelain and eyes as deep as the ocean itself was that of genuine caring and it surprised him. "Well-"

"Each morning when I open my eyes I say to myself: I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn't arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I'm going to be happy in it."

Kurt smiled as he finished. "Sorry, I had to say that. It's a quote my mom once told me before she died from cancer when I was eight. I think it's by Groucho Marx. I don't know whether it completely correlates to how you feel but it helped me realize that life is too short to be unhappy, but it's your choice on how you live it," Kurt explained as Noah's attention almost blacked out at the mention of the loss of his mother. Poor boy.

"It's a quote that did me good, even though it was hard to live up to when I was in high school," Kurt continued softly. "I learned to never let people determine how I lived my life, choose which days I would be happy. It wasn't up to them, Noah, they didn't have that right. No one has 'power' to bring you happiness… but you."

"K-kurt..." Noah stuttered, taking hold of Kurt's hands and warming them up in his as he looked at the boy softly, his throat gulping with emotion.

He knew it was being forward but he had to touch this boy before him. He seemed insightful, good and despite his doubts as to whether his quote related to Noah or not, it did. More than Kurt would ever know. Now, with contact sending a rush through his veins, Noah had to know if Kurt was real, not an hallucination but the model's eyes widened at their entwined hands, as if Kurt hadn't anticipated he'd be touched by Noah... or any other man. "Kurt, I'm-"

"There you are, Kurt. I've finally found you. God, no wonder that pissed off director chick had a hard time finding you, you're like master of concealment," Carlson announced as he entered the foyer from the elevator.

Kurt removed his eyes from Noah's near-welling ones to his friend entering the lounge, watching as Carson made his way through the different sets of furniture and upholstery until he reached them with a pleased look on his face, as if he was as proud as a child winning a game of Hide and Seek.

Quickly snatching his hands from Noah's, Kurt stood up and joined Carlson, his face wiping off the emotional conversation from earlier in favor of a small smile.

Carson looked between the two men. "Oh, I'm sorry, was I interrupting something? I didn't mean to, I was just wondering if you were ready to go, Kurt, but if you're not then-"

"No, it's alright. I am ready. I'm sorry, I should have waited in the foyer like I said," Kurt apologized as Carlson dismissed him light-heartedly, allowing Kurt to lead the way back towards the foyer with a hand in the small of his back.

However as the boy exited the lounge, he looked around back at Noah. The man had stood but had not moved from his position by the windows, his eyes forever on him. He truly looked like a lonely figure in the midst of this world, a lost soul that didn't know what to do with himself and so with a final blink, Kurt said goodbye. "It was nice meeting you… Noah. I'll see you around…"

"Wait, Kurt," cried Noah as he all but sprinted towards him, jumping over couches and dodging chairs to reach them as if a timer had gone off, as if Kurt were going to disappear and never be seen again. Now, however, as the model was faced with a panting man before him, his cheeks flushed and his feet shuffling with nerves, he couldn't help but beam. "Kurt, I'd really like to... see you again, not just 'see you around'. I don't want to run into you by chance or rely on these parties to meet up. Is it alright with you if we could... exchange numbers... maybe?"

"Well, I..." Kurt muttered as Noah scuffed his boots against the marble floor, his warm hazel eyes full to the brim with hope as he lifted his gaze to Kurt's. This was a man Kurt had despised for many years for his promiscuous private life, extravagant and frivolous lifestyle and irresponsible actions that he'd done purely out of pleasure. Yet, look what he had been rewarded him with. Nothing. Now Kurt held the key to something new, something better, perhaps, and it would only take one word to shatter the hope in Noah's eyes, but it would take another to make it blossom. "Sure, here you go."

"Thanks, Kurt," Noah replied, jumping internally with joy as he enthusiastically exchanged Kurt's phone for his, punching in each other's numbers and names into their contacts before handing them back. It usually wasn't a big deal giving someone you knew your number. It was a simple task, but clearly that wasn't the case for Noah as he flashed Kurt a grin so wide it caused the brunet to erupt into a bout melodious giggles. "I'll be sure to call you sometime. Maybe we could-"

"Kurt, we really should be going, it's getting late, and I don't know how hard it is to find a cab around here at this hour," Carlson pointed out as Kurt jumped at his friend's words.

He'd forgotten about Carlson, with his attention having been stolen completely by Noah's adorable behavior. To be honest, he didn't know whether leaving by the front door was a wise idea considering he had told the security guard at the front that his friends were the hotel's newest batch of janitors who had misplaced their entry cards. Then again, they were leaving.

Gently waving back at Noah as he and Carlson left the building, the hotel doors closed behind them with a loud echo as the billionaire was left to stand in the foyer, alone.

However, Noah's happiness wasn't dimmed by Kurt's departure. Nothing could rid him of his smile as he headed back to the elevator and up to the Padova Pad. He'd made a new acquaintance, someone he could see becoming friends with some day, despite the vast difference in image and personality. Kurt was unlike anyone he had ever met. It's not as if he had analyzed him in any way or even attempted to but by saying the few words he had said, he'd unwittingly understood the man before him – and all in the space of five minutes.

Not only was Kurt criminally pretty for a boy but he'd sat and listened to him, asked him whether he was actually happy, a question Noah had silently begged would be asked of him ever since his father's death. If Carlson, Kurt's friend, hadn't sprung up, he would have been able to reward Kurt's efforts with a true and honest answer of 'no'; no, he wasn't happy, but that now would have been a lie. Things had changed now. Noah was starting to feel something he hadn't felt in a long time; hope. Hope for happiness that everyone in the world, even he prayed for.

Many people would label him as ungrateful, taking everything he had for granted considering how much better off he was than millions around the world. His future had been secured even before he was born and he was thankful to his parents for blessing him with a good life, but sometimes he felt as though people forgot or even ignored the traumatizing repercussions from the death of a parent. His father's awful death, having both devastated and scarred him psychologically for life at the tender age of nine, had done incomparable damage. Had Kurt suffered as greatly as he had after the death of his mother? Possibly, but he didn't see Kurt living his life recklessly because of it, unlike him.

Noah's world was too materialistic, too plastic. It was up to him to bring the spontaneity in his life since everything in it had been practically planned for him. There was no excitement, no enjoyment, and even if there was, it hadn't lasted long. There had been no one to really share it with, no one he hadn't met at some fancy gathering of pompous rich kids and their stuck-up parents. He longed for people with personality, people who didn't always have to have an agenda, people who didn't plaster on fake smiles in front of each other only to stab them in the back later.

However, Kurt represented the light at the end of a tunnel he'd been bricked up in for so long, a sweet creature of innocence, purity and naïveté acting as a torch for him in the dark who didn't know left from right in this city, like a defenseless child. All Noah wanted to do was save him, take him away from a world of flashing cameras and cocktails, celebrities and everything he had longed to escape from.

Nevertheless, he'd noticed something in Kurt's brilliant blue eyes, eyes that had seen, experienced and wept over their fair share of sadness, anger and fear. Was Noah not the only one trying to escape from something? Were they both lost young souls possibly in search of happiness?

I've made a new acquaintance, thought Noah as his hopeful reflection in the lift's mirror smiled back at him. I've met Kurt Hummel, and I'm not going to let him go.

~ PLEASE REVIEW ~

(But if you wish to criticize, may it be constructive. I'm not going to learn from my mistakes and improve if you vent.)

Author's Note: I don't suggest researching The Padova Pad because it's merely a fictional club that I created for the story. Though I did base the club off The Setai, Miami Beach Hotel and Resort and the Padova Hotel, The Savoy London Hotel.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the characters from Glee since I don't own the show. I'm not earning money from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I mean only to please whoever stumbles upon my Love Story.

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