VIII

~ Central Park ~

Bang! Kurt lifted himself from the floor on shaky arms and nursed his throbbing head, his face contorting into a pained wince. He'd promised himself to master morning elegance by now, just for the sake of his body, but it seemed as though his sense of spatial awareness was as good as gone at such an early hour. Lifting his pajama top, Kurt checked his body for any tell-tale bruises. Thankfully, none had formed.

Since the high school locker shoves and dumpster dives of days gone by, Kurt's skin had become increasingly resilient to even the hardest of hits. It would take quite a knocking to discolor his hide to the shade of Byzantium purple and Kurt really owed it all to daily lathering sessions of Arnica gels, ice baths infused with aloe vera and olive oil and green tea ointments that had not only toughened his skin from attack but had also rendered it incredibly soft to the touch. It had been an unexpected surprise that had gone down well and, as a result, Kurt had prided himself on discovering his very first beauty secret.

Now, however, as he began to make his bed, open the windows and shuffle around his bedroom as if he wasn't seeing stars every which way, his thoughts back traveled to his past two weeks. What a past two weeks. Ever since positive reviews had been released the day after The Salvatore Spectacle and ever since its airing on CBS a week later, which had catapulted the show higher into the media spotlight, coverage on Inna, the designers, their outfits featured and the models who had worn them had also significantly increased, but no one had been more talked about or pursued more than the boy with the face 'a million women would die for', Kurt Hummel. For two weeks straight since his runway debut, Kurt had been hounded non-stop by journalists and photographers from every which way, begging him to come to their fashion magazine or online gossip site for an interview.

Questions like 'what is it like to be the talk of the town?', 'what does it feel like to shoot to fame after only one show', 'what does it feel like? What does it feel like?!" Kurt didn't know what it felt like, other than the attention he was getting was hugely overwhelming. He hadn't had time to settle down, fully decompress and think through the surreal events of his past few days. He hadn't been allowed to stop. He'd been fully booked for seven photo shoots and three runway shows, each lasting the whole day or afternoon with some on location and the rest in studios. He'd been constantly on the move with fittings, modeling agency meetings and aiding one of France's most celebrated designers, Jean Paul Gaultier, by being his muse. Becoming a fashion inspiration to such a man for his upcoming collection was an honor, but he'd suffocate if he couldn't breathe soon.

He wasn't used to all this. His mind and body could adapt quickly to new surroundings but his environment was changing too rapidly to keep up. He felt like an endangered animal on the verge of extinction, struggling to survive in the world of the publicity treadmill. Taking a walk in the park, going grocery shopping at the local store or even opening his window for fresh air were all recorded somehow or another. As a result, he didn't feel safe on his own. He'd fear every time he'd leave his apartment that a paparazzo would pull a Ron Galella, shout his name out from the shrubbery or out of a moving vehicle whilst all the while taking frame after frame of photos depicting a boy who wanted nothing more than to 'smash their camera!' Now Kurt understood what Noah Puckerman had meant when he'd said his life had been claimed. The camera was one of the greatest thieves of all.

However, having said that, despite experiencing many a time a camera turning against him, Kurt loved modeling. When done in the safety of a studio with personable photographers, ambient background music played to soothe the soul and champagne doux that seemed to flow like fountains, he would give himself freely to the lens. He would do justice to the clothes, make the designers proud and make the hearts flutter for every reader around the world. He had never felt more free and desired in his life and as long as the industry would have him, he would stay. Though now, even with the 'faces' and poses, strutting and smiles, Kurt needed a well-deserved break. He had nothing left to give and he was sure that after a week of non-stop planking on his favorite plush comforter, he would be alive and fresh for another round of being camera food.

Stripping off his pajamas and throwing them in one clean shot into his laundry basket, Kurt entered his bathroom. It was a mess. The drawers in his counter were overflowing with skincare products, body grooming accessories littered the surfaces and piles upon piles of movement books had been stacked alongside the mirror. It took more effort than it should have to gather his shampoo, conditioner and body wash without setting off an avalanche, but he apparently needed it all. Makeup artists had claimed that he'd make their lives a lot easier if the 'canvas they painted on' was 'plain', not 'stained', that hair be 'malleable like putty' not 'dry and brittle' and the body had to have a certain amount of 'flexibility' to allow 'full range of pose'. It made sense but it was exhausting, exhausting enough to almost not answer his iPhone as it rang like a siren.

"Hello, Mr. Puckerm... I mean, Noah," Kurt answered, surprised as he attempted to calm his breathing. He'd dashed on over to his phone by his bedside table as it had rung, dropping his toiletries to the floor with a clatter as he did and managed to answer it before it went dead. He had at first thought it to be his father calling for another update since last week's hectic schedule, but as soon as he had seen the name Puckerman appear on his screen as broad as daylight, he had frowned. Now here was a surprise. "This is Noah, right?"

"Yeah it is, it's me, Kurt," Noah chuckled and Kurt blinked at the sound of that seductive voice. He hadn't spoken to Noah since the Spectacle's after party at the Padova Pad but he'd thought that, despite exchanging numbers and saying they would 'meet up' or at least engage each other in another weird-ass conversation, they wouldn't. He hadn't expected Noah to have remembered him at all. He hadn't expected anything to come to fruition. After all, he was just another run-of-the-mill model. The sort of people one see didn't truly see, only laid eyes on. "How are you doing? It feels like I haven't spoken to you in some time."

"I know. I've just fallen out of bed, literally, but apart from that, I'm well," smiled Kurt, as he climbed to sit on his bed, the sheets now mildly cool as the morning breeze went to work on filling his room with a delicious autumn-like odor. However, as he sat cross-legged on his bed, he now wondered how busy Noah Puckerman's life really was. His life alternated between grueling studies at Harvard and social events in New York, his family and his friends, not to mention his fiancée, Quinn. His days must have been jam-packed from Monday to Sunday and to think he'd had time to fit Kurt in. How thoughtful. "How are you? I've got my last photo shoot this afternoon before I go-"

"Damn," Noah muttered and Kurt broke off mid-sentence. If the man hadn't interrupted, Kurt would have gone on to say that today was to be his last shoot before taking a two-week break from modeling. It was something he'd organized with his agency and even though one didn't ask for time off work except when pregnant or ill, since it was the company itself that issued the dates of leave, Elite had relented, knowing that they were very close to swamping their little star. "Sorry Kurt, it's just that... well... I rang to ask you if you wanted to hang out today; you know, go out of coffee... or something."

"Oh... okay, um... well, the shoot won't last all day, Noah. Just a couple hours," replied Kurt apologetically, his high of once again speaking to Noah now fading as he became the bearer of bad news. It was frustrating because it had been going so well. Noah's voice had been smooth, light-hearted and happy, a pleasant change from two weeks prior, but now with Kurt unavailable for the majority of the day, it now sounded as if it were drenched in disappointment, its tone too close for comfort to the one used at the Padova. "It's not far, actually; it's on location in Central Park so... if I ring you once it's over then maybe we could-"

"No, it's alright, Kurt. You're busy today and I've got a paper due in soon so... yeah..." Noah sighed and Kurt couldn't help but feel as if he'd cancelled on an event the man had been looking forward to. As if he, Kurt, had been planned as the chosen company, the sole person to talk to and drink coffee with while getting to know one another, a type of conversation Noah craved to have. However, that meant that the man must have thought of him. Kurt must have been on his mind as he had tapped his pencil against his text book at Harvard, foot hitting his desk leg as he stared into space. Okay now, Kurt, you're really daydreaming. "Next time, I'll be sure to call you the day before. I feel stupid for not doing it. Good luck at your shoot. You'll do great."

"Bye... Noah," replied Kurt barely in time before the line went dead. Silence.

Looking down and inspecting his pale, naked body, Kurt heaved a sigh at the drama that had already unfurled before nine. However, it wasn't the fact that it wouldn't harm him to tone up his thighs to a satisfactory level that disappointed him, the gym wasn't his scene, but that Noah hadn't bothered to pursue the chance to see him, even when Kurt had offered to ring him once his shoot was over. The man had given up so easily, like it was too much hassle, too much trouble. Then again, Kurt had to take Noah's life into account. He'd heard that college papers were laboriously long tasks to accomplish well if not given the time, though Kurt knew as well as Noah, that no 'paper' existed behind that excuse.

Shaking his head and ridding himself of thoughts of having ruined another person's day, Kurt jumped off the bed, placed his iPhone on the table where he'd found it and walked briskly past the window, naked, into the bathroom. He loved the thrill that he'd done it and he couldn't help but burst into laughter as he went to turn the shower on, the cold water gradually heating up as he went to stand in front of his mirror. Like Noah, Kurt hadn't seen Carlson, Carmen or Lola since the Padova and as his thoughts turned to them, he prayed they weren't having too tough a time at the theater. The only good news he'd heard was that apparently Gordon, the dreaded director was set to transfer to a theater in Queens and as soon as the rumors had been confirmed by good old Maggie, the receptionist, all three of them had planned on a shopping spree followed by a late night movie marathon to celebrate.

It was going to be a great start to his break, to be able to properly catch up with his friends and let them in on the talks he'd had with Jean Paul Gaultier to be the face for his upcoming fragrance, but now that he came to think about it, maybe they already knew about it. Had they read about it in online or in papers? Okay, now he could definitely empathize with Noah, and speaking of Noah, Carlson had been there when he and the man had exchanged numbers, he'd heard the way Noah had claimed to want to see him again and he'd seen it all. Had he then returned to Carmen and Lola the next day and spilled the juicy details straight into their gossip-hungry mouths? They'd have strangled him if he hadn't, thought Kurt, smiling slightly as the shower's steam clouded and engulfed the entire room, Kurt's reflection vanishing.

.

Glee

.

"Kurt? Kurt, can you hear me? You're spacing out," said a voice behind Kurt and as he blindly wiped the condensation from his mirror before opening his eyes, he found himself sitting at a vanity in the shoot's hair and makeup marquee in front of his favorite makeup artist, Charlotta or 'Bunny', standing with her hands on his shoulders and a frown on her face.

Kurt knew better than to slouch in his chair as he was being groomed to perfection but he was drowsy with the combination of a hot shower and a carefree stroll from his apartment to the park in sunny weather no less. It's amazing he hadn't slumped forward and hit his head on the desk before falling asleep right there. "Oh, there, you've come back. Late night or did more paps try to chase you down as you came here," Bunny asked curiously.

"Actually, there were only two or three of them this time, and they weren't even putting in all that much effort to take a good picture. I think they're getting tired of me," smiled Kurt as he repositioned himself in his chair, the silk dressing robe he was wearing caressing his skin to such an extent that it was hard not to slouch yet again. He was glad the media frenzy that had followed him endlessly for fourteen days straight had deteriorated to a select group of photographers with the horrors of an over-publicized life now fading rapidly. He blessed the notoriously short human attention span. "Though, no late night, no. I got the 'beauty sleep' you're always telling me to get, and I cleansed, toned and moisturized your 'canvas' before 'painting'."

"You are good, Kurt. Though you did remember to use the Laura Mercier range we recommended you, not the cheaper stuff, right?" Charlotta lathered on a dollop of primer into her hands, warmed it up and spread it all over Kurt's face as he nodded.

Now that he was modeling with his face featured everywhere in the fashion world, Kurt's skin was in the spotlight and had to be treated like gold, but such treatment couldn't be obtained from drugstores. He now had to use multivitamin serums, essences and masks formulated by designers. It was a bit much.

"Well, I'm proud of you, Kurt. You're making my life easier and your skin has never looked better," Charlotta continued. "You could set an example to the others. Dark under eye circles, dull skin, I mean, they look like they've been caught in a drain."

"Oh, Bunny, they can't be that bad, can they? I mean surely they..." Kurt trailed off as he noticed the knowing look Charlotta was throwing him in the mirror, the words dying on his tongue as he closed his mouth. This was the kind of care models had the editors in the Photoshop unit going over time with and consequently allowing little girls to aspire to something they thought was the ideal form when it was nothing but an ugly illusion. Many adverts that had contained an inordinate amount of airbrushing in the past had been taken down by protestors and all because some of the models couldn't even get a good night's sleep. "Well it's their own fault. They smoke and drink too much. They know how bad it is for the skin but yet they still do it, even when they say they don't, and all from all these parties they go to.

"Puckerman's parties..." corrected Charlotta, as she finished dabbing on concealer around Kurt's nose before layering on a weightless coat of foundation, the liquid blending effortlessly on him like a second skin. He had always enjoyed Charlotta's gentle touch and skill. The Italian-American girl was only three years older than him, fresh out of beauty college and had a classically pretty face, long strawberry blonde hair and a masseuse's soothing voice. It was rare for him not to relax around her but at her words, he froze. "That's right. I heard that Playboy Puckerman held yet another one of his parties at some club downtown and invited some of our girls to come. You can guess as well as I can what they did there, made clearer by the fact that he was apparently caught going home with two of them."

"What?! He's engaged! He's not even married and he's cheating on his fiancée already?!" Kurt whipped around to face her, Charlotta nearly poking his eye out as she pulled her fingers quickly away.

Kurt couldn't believe that Noah was engaging in pre-adulterous behavior. He was getting married soon. How was his marriage to Quinn going to last if it was riddled with secret affairs and late night rendezvous at hotels? What would Quinn think of him taking up a mistress, if such a thing was allowed in modern-day marriage? Though, would Quinn even... care?

He finally settled back and said, "Anyway, I went down for the fittings for today and you should see what I get to wear. The clothes are cute and fun, but I'm telling you, they look like they've come straight out of a Japanese Manga show or something."

"Well, they would save the best for you, wouldn't they, you little treasure," cooed Charlotta as within the space of several minutes she had styled his hair, painted his lips a glossy French rose color and finished it all with a final dusting of powder. Kurt looked great, youthful and fresh, but his mind couldn't help but stray back to his old opinion of Noah Puckerman. He now began to question the truthfulness behind the words at the Padova, whether it had been an act, seeking pity from someone naïve enough to listen and taking advantage. Sly dog.

Charlotta brought him out of his reverie now. "Remember, just because you have a rockin' wardrobe for today, doesn't mean you can overexert yourself by pretending to be a Pokémon hunter wanting to 'catch em' all', alright? I don't want to come out of this marquee to find you stuck in a tree."

"Please, I'm too nimble to get stuck in a tree. Bunny, I bet you I could enter the costume marquee, get changed and sneak out without anyone noticing," Kurt challenged as he jumped out of his seat, his robe billowing behind him as he rushed to the marquee's entrance. He no longer wanted to think of Noah Puckerman, he no longer wanted to think of the man who had used him just to whine to. All he wanted was to end this photo shoot and this very day on a high note and as Charlotta laughed at his overexcited antics, his mock serious face imitating a comic superhero, he just knew it would. "Just you wait and see..."

.

Glee

.

Two hours later and Kurt had joined his fellow models on a large artificial rock that had been spray painted in barber like stripes to what he assumed imitated a miniature candy mountain from a children's storybook. The tip of the rock had been coated in fake snow that dispersed gradually down the mountain and towards the bottom were over-sized candy canes and lollipops, the grass littered in sweets and other fake confections. The set was very noticeable, literal eye candy; it had been positioned near the reservoir for the water feature background and could easily be seen no matter where one was in the park. The sun had come out to play and as Kurt splayed himself out on the rock, his legs together and his arms bent at odd angles as if he were a robot or a freshly opened toy, it blazed down on the shoot, coating everyone in a devilishly hot heat.

The theme was 'Youthful 2.0' and had been commissioned by I-D magazine for their second issue dedicated to the youth of fashion. Every one of them had been instructed to pose like action figures and figurines, faces either devoid of emotion or pulled into eerily creepy smiles that put off many of the onlookers as they observed from nearby, but it was just as well. Behind the Ken and Barbie-looking expressions that seemed to shout 'come play with me! You can brush my hair and take me everywhere!', every model was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. They'd lost the feeling in their feet and asses, with most of their bodies having gone numb from lack of movement and awkward stances, and as the sun's heat never once let up in its intensity, faces began to run and makeup began to melt. The artists were not happy.

"Keep it up, people, come on! You're the toy everyone wants, the martyrs of distraction, not day old bread!"

Sølve Sundsbø, the Norwegian fashion photographer yelled at the models as he took picture after picture of them all, not caring for one second that hair was beginning to stick to foreheads and clothes were starting to stain from sweat. It was truly disgusting; in fact, the whole time Kurt was up on that rock, a male model flexing beside him and another who was smiling so forcefully that her cheekbones were going to pop out any second, he was praying for an eclipse of some sort, rain or even a chance to just dive off this hard-ass rock and into the lake nearby. Anything at all.

"That's good, that's... damn...the lighting's gone."

"It's the clouds, look. They're too many of them, they're blocking out the sunlight," muttered Sølve's assistant as they warily observed the clouds above which, praise the lord, had appeared and wafted directly into the path of the sun, alleviating the sizzling heat and basking the park in much-needed shade. It was about time. Charlotta had been nearby with the other makeup artists observing her little 'tesoro' as he baked on the rock like a grilled chicken. She had feared for his pale skin which was more sensitive than most and thanked the heavens that she had caked it in sunscreen prior to shooting. Kurt was such good boy. "There are quite a lot of them, and they won't be gone for another hour and by then the light will have changed. What do you want to do?"

"We'll have to stop, won't we, but next time we're going to have to pay more attention to the weather forecast. See, this is why I don't like shooting outside," Sølve replied as he looked back up to the clouds, their never budging positions sealing the problem. Now however, as Kurt lay back on the rock in exhaustion, one of the other male models beside him chuckling at the exaggerated way that he had done it, he sighed happily. He loved New York. Whatever he needed help with, the city would come to his aid, whether it was in the form of friends for support or roaming clouds to prevent being set aflame. "All right, kids, we're going to have to stop it here today. I'm sorry, but we can't continue with the weather like this so you're free to go, and be careful coming down from there!"

"Kurt! Hey Kurt, over here!" shouted a voice to his left and as Kurt lifted his head to see none other than Lola jumping up and down and waving to him like a mad woman a couple of meters away by the entrance to The Loeb Boathouse Café, he gasped in surprise.

She looked beautiful. Her platinum shaded hair was loose and free to encircle her face and shoulders with whisks of blonde and as attire, she wore a hot pink summer dress with matching heels. She looked more like a Baby Doll than ever. Jumping down from his rocky perch and trotting on over to her, Kurt beamed as she greeted him with a hug, her eyes traveling over his comic-toy attire.

"Well, look at you, Doll Face. Didn't know they were dressing you up as Captain Candy. I'll have to forgo the coffee cake they have here for you."

"You're going to eat at the express café? Oh, can I join you? I'm starving. It's like the sun's particles not only sucked me dry of moisture but of food, too... that totally made sense," remarked Kurt sarcastically as he and Lola began strolling over to the café, his lollipop prop at times catching the attention of several toddlers and children as they stared at it enviously, their mouths drooling and their eyes hungry. It felt like being on a safari where the kids were the carnivorous animals and he was the antelope, or of course the candy-stuffed piñata. "Wait a minute, how come you're here and not at the theater? Where are Carlson and Carmen?"

"Gordon now knows that everyone knows he's leaving. So I guess it wouldn't be him if didn't break our backs for the final time, like his own twisted version of a parting gift. The asshole," replied Lola as they stopped at the café's entrance, the clinking of glass, conversation and the laughter of infants coming from deep inside. The building itself was meant as a haven for romantics and nature lovers, an understated icon that offered a rare tranquility within the ever-eclectic energy that defined Manhattan. "I only escaped here for lunch because I offered to take out the trash in the dressing room and since I was already outside, I'd be damned if I were to return before break ended. God, I swear if that man is not a live advert for male periods then I don't know who is."

"You mean to tell me that you left our friends to fend for themselves while you came here to see me? Nice," smiled Kurt as Lola as giggled, their eyes drawn to the sight of rowboats drifting about on the adjacent lake. However, it was just when he overheard another comment on his lollipop prop from a passing child that he realized that he hadn't changed from his outfit into own clothes. That was bad. He couldn't go flitting off with an outfit consisting of a brightly printed tee shirt with 'BANG' on the front, rose-colored shorts and Celeste blue converses. People would think he'd just been plucked right out of a kiddie play pen. "Anyway, I can't go eating in this. I'm going to have to go back and change. Can you stay and save us a table? I think I hear my tummy rumbling."

"That's odd. I thought you models were just cybernetic humans. I thought your skin was plastic, your blood, oil, and the sole thing you ran on was starvation at the best restaurants," replied Lola as she tapped her finger against her chin in mock thought.

Kurt could only roll his eyes he observed her scrupulously. She was clearly trying to bring back the debate about models they had had when they'd all been at the Padova but at the same time, make fun of the fact that he'd been so anxious about the stereotypical generalizations attributed to them. Admittedly he had lost his head a little, but all his life he'd faced nothing but prejudice, with stereotyping as the seed that sprouted it all. "Anorexia and bulimia, of course, served as the side dish," she grinned at him.

"I don't run on starvation but don't doubt me, I will eat you, Blondie McCupcake, before you eat me," retorted Kurt as he stuck his chin in the air, swiveling on his heels and walking briskly away and back towards the shoot's set, which was in the middle of being dismantled.

However that didn't stop Lola from trotting alongside him, her little spurts of jogging to keep up with his strides rendering her even more adorable. He couldn't hold a grudge against this girl. What she had said was all light, not meant maliciously, just harmless shoulder-shoving between friends. Though that didn't mean Kurt couldn't play back. He was the 'toy' here after all. "I've got a high metabolic rate which prevents me from gaining weight easily no matter how much or what I stuff my pretty little face with, so you can... Lola? Lola, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Oh, my God, look Kurt! Your boyfriend's here," squealed Lola as she pointed animatedly to the other side of the park where, strolling in all his good-looking glory, was Noah Puckerman, major business tycoon, major dreamboat and majorly out of Kurt's league.

Dressed in black shades, an electric blue V-neck tee with a small silver chain hanging effortlessly from his strong neck along with black shorts and matching flip-flops, the billionaire made his way over to the models by the marquees, a rather tall handsome man and a beautiful Latina following swiftly behind him. "Oh, come on," Lola pouted now, "you've got to say hello. You really hit it off at that Padova party didn't you? You gave each other your numbers."

"First of all, he is not my boyfriend. Second of all I wouldn't say we 'hit it off' and thirdly, whatever Carlson has told you is a lie. Don't believe him," replied Kurt sternly as he internally cursed Carlson for having mindlessly blabbed something which hadn't been his to blab. He just knew he would. Carmen and Lola when joined as a force could break anyone, no matter how much 'defiance' they claimed to have. Come to think of it, though, he hadn't given him specific instructions not to speak of Noah. It would have raised unnecessary suspicion if he had. Damn you, Carlson Palmers! "Look, Noah's only here because this is model central at the moment. To him the park is the bread and we're the delicious strawberry marshmallow fluff topping... well, not the men but the women, you know what I mean."

"Well, if you're going back to change I might as well come with you. Gives me the chance to introduce myself as the sexy, free and single Ms. Lola Jacobs," began Lola as she preened in front of an imaginary mirror, plumping her breasts and teasingly lifting her skirt just a little to expose more thigh.

She was making a fool of herself. Even if Puckerman were interested, Lola would just be another name on his 'to do' list, another notch on his bedpost that by now must have been whittled down to a toothpick.

Lola smirked at Kurt now. "Stop looking at me like that, Kurt. I know he's off limits and I know how he is with women, blah, blah, blah, but since Quinn isn't here and you're obviously not going to do anything, I'm going to get some hunk of man to lay his eyes on me, like so-"

"As much as I would love to see you get shot down by your dream man where the idea of you attending one of his family functions of top hats, monocles and cigars has clouded your lust-blown mind, I don't think that's a good idea," replied Kurt in a tone severe enough to merit a listening Lola.

He didn't know who Noah Puckerman was. Even after a private, hushed conversation in an empty lounge in the moonlight, he still didn't know who he was. It was as if every time Kurt heard the man's name, a body would appear but the face would blur, unrecognizable to an identity shrouded in rumors, fabrication and lies. "Look, Lola, do yourself a favor and stay away from him. You may ask me what he's like in person or even ask me what his character is like but, to tell you the truth, I don't know. I think it would be best if we stayed well clear of him."

"Kurt, listen to yourself; you're turning into the very prejudice you say hounded you at school," retorted Lola as she turned to face him, taking his hands in hers with an equally serious expression on her face, all hints of playfulness long gone.

Kurt blinked. The offensive yet completely deserved comment had struck him so close to home that he couldn't help but look down in shame. He'd had it coming. He'd allowed the force he'd sworn himself never to become to overtake both sides of his mind.

He sighed as Lola continued softly. "You're jumping to conclusions and it's very judgmental. One mistake and you write people off; you can't do that. All I know is that it wasn't Noah who judged others by themselves that night, it wasn't Noah who refused to shake someone's hand and it wasn't Noah who was disrespectful… it was you."

.

Glee

.

A fountain of giggles erupted as Noah found himself fully encircled by beautiful models, their sweet smiling faces hiding the ferocious animals within, who wanted nothing more than to quit the pointless pleasantries and idle chat and pounce on him, to take a ride on the Puckerman wagon, one by one.

Though it looked as though he wasn't the only one who was doing well with the ladies. His best friend, Finn Hudson, had attracted the attention of two brunette beauties, their hands having slithered up his arm as they giggled in apparent embarrassment at their own touchy-feely behavior whilst his ex-girlfriend, Santana Lopez, was getting awfully close to a blonde bimbo-like model, whose top had been cropped so short it barely covered her nude breasts, leaving nothing to the imagination, just what Santana liked.

The naughty thing that was overlooked, and should have been addressed, was that all three of them had girlfriends. They were all in committed relationships with Noah engaged to Quinn Fabray, but this little complication didn't seem to deter them from flirting with beauty. It was right in front of them and they weren't in any hurry to appear ungrateful by leaving. It was something worth waking up early for and Noah had indeed arisen early that day, but not for said reasons. He'd returned from Harvard yesterday to attend a meeting this morning at the Puckerman Tower in the financial district, to hear a talk covering everything from the company's latest revenue and operating income to its total assets and equity. It was hardly a welcoming committee. In fact, it felt like he'd never left college. The subject of conversation was the same, only with balding old men in suits for company.

These meetings were something he was used to and had to learn to put up with. He'd been asked to attend these scheduled conferences every six months so that he could be fully updated on the conglomerate's status. Although why he had to learn that not only was a certain head of division at their Miami headquarters fired for using their company income for personal use to his family topping the Forbes 400 list of richest families in America for the nth time running, he didn't know. After all, he wasn't running the company. He wouldn't be taking up his father's place for at least another three years yet his mother was adamant on the fact that she wanted her son to be aware and prepared for the future and its prospects. She didn't want to run the risk of someone sitting in her husband's chair without a clue about what the hell they were doing, and would have them no sooner booted from the building, even if it turned out to be her own son.

Numbers, figures, statistics, graphs, charts, diagrams, data – that's all he ever heard down at the offices. Every time he'd open that conference room door, he'd experience throwbacks to high school calculus classes with not a single good thing deriving from it, apart from remembering the countless times he'd slept with girls on top of the table-top math charts just to anger the professor. Ah, good times.

However, reliving past indiscretions at school had not been the method of distraction this morning. His mind had instead wandered into a different territory, greener pastures he could say, where the setting of a school had been replaced with a luxury hotel his family owned and the girl standing in front of him had morphed into a model, a boy, Kurt Hummel. Yes, little Kurt Hummel, born in Columbus and raised in Lima, Ohio was sitting next to him on the moonlit couch by the window, those blue eyes like icons of the memory.

He didn't know what it was, but there was something about Kurt he couldn't lay his finger on. It was obvious to all that he was male, with his angelic looks a fine concoction of masculine and feminine, but when that spotlight had come on, as if the sunlight Inna had been singing about had risen onto Kurt for everyone to see, Noah's breath had caught in his throat. New faces were always pleasant surprises and their future careers as models would always be determined by the audience they were performing in front of, but as Kurt had all but floated his way down that runway, outshining Inna, outshining the very lights that illuminated him, a star had been born. He had re-rewritten the books. There was no other like him. He was a rare gem that seemed to have exploded onto the scene from some cow town in Ohio. Did dreams really come true?

Kurt had been spectacular, brimming over with all the graces and charms of the finest creature in the world, the Salvatore's true spectacle. In some ways it was almost as if he'd auditioned for the wrong show, been cast in the wrong company where he was more likely suited for a place in the Mariinsky Ballet in Russia or even on the Broadway stages of New York. It was like he'd mastered all tricks of the trade in the space of three minutes, and when Noah had heard rumors of mere novice status, there was no stopping him. No doubt about it, he'd had to meet this boy. It really was no surprise that all the lights at the Padova had shone for Kurt and as Noah had tediously worked his way up the line of models before reaching the 'real deal', he'd expected an enchanting personality to fill the enchanting vase-like figure, but no, Kurt Hummel was nothing like he'd expected.

He'd been truly taken aback by the boy's short attitude and his almost rude conduct as if he really didn't know what all the fuss was about Noah. Sure, Kurt had had a good look at him, had had time to trace his features with his sapphire eyes as Noah had stood there with speech long forgotten, but unlike every other model who had giggled and swooned to the point of near unconsciousness, Kurt had done the exact opposite. He'd turned the cards on Noah and this time it had been the billionaire with the knees of Jell-O, as if Noah had been standing before an icon. However at this rate, if his body was weakening before someone he'd not even met before, then this kid really was going to be here for the long run. No model had reduced him to such a state and as a result, he could safely predict great things from Kurt Hummel, a star status and a sex symbol in the making.

With a mumbled excuse of an engagement and a hasty apology, Kurt had fled the scene, catching Noah so off guard that he'd been left speechless, his hand still outstretched for a shake only to be left hanging pathetically out in front of him. Kurt hadn't wanted to meet him. He hadn't even wanted to be introduced. Maybe he isn't gay, thought Noah to himself, as though sexual orientation played a key factor in all this. After all, he could see how a heterosexual male model wouldn't care less about him but, come off it, Kurt Hummel, straight? The dude's too pretty to be straight, that can't be it. Was it then all down to something as simple as a dislike of him, a fear of him? Noah didn't know, but he wasn't going to allow personal obstacles to stand in the way of becoming acquaintances with the model of the hour.

However, little had he known that by the time he'd return to his penthouse apartment, exhausted but with a smile that would last well into the night that he'd delve into his deepest, darkest and more trusted personal thoughts with that same boy. Intelligent, attentive and like he'd predicted, enchanting, Kurt Hummel's character had been revealed as he Noah had revealed himself away from the crowd, away from it all, both of them alone. The model's exterior was no mask, or if it was, it had been removed that night. It was as if his bare face could express what words could not say or touch. It evoked a feeling of serenity and peace to a confession-like situation that otherwise would have been a painful experience. As a result, had Kurt Hummel changed Noah's life as he knew it without realization and without intention? Was it even possible?

The following day he had packed his bags for Harvard and left New York, studying, writing a dissertation and throwing himself back into the world of education. This semester was admittedly difficult, what with the workload never ceasing to increase and the revision and assignments mounting, but it made him all the more glad that he'd decided to study part-time instead of full. After all, he had needed a life of his own as well as his college life. Remaining there until the train and car had brought him safely home, he'd just been in time to attend yesterday's birthday bash of a long term friend, Mike Chang, a dance student at the Joffrey Ballet Academy of Dance in Chicago. The party list had, indeed, invited many pretty faces through the doors with some of those faces standing before him now, but that hadn't stopped Noah from keeping an eye on the door in the vain chances of seeing a boy with porcelain skin coming in.

He'd been ridiculous. Kurt and Mike didn't know each other and they didn't have any mutual friends to connect them to one another, well, except himself, but even then he and Kurt weren't friends, were they? He wanted to be. He would love to have Kurt as more than an 'acquaintance'. Invite him around for parties, outings or even just coffee breaks, and with that last thought in mind, he'd been on the phone to Kurt within the next minute. A boy's high pitched yet soft-hearted voice had answered and he was reminded of such a voice from such an evening. Though as the news of a photo shoot had wafted itself on that same voice, disappointment had flooded Noah with a final decision to forget the whole thing with just a lame excuse of a paper that needed doing as a backup, as if a justification as weak as that wouldn't prevent Kurt from suspecting a lie. It was pathetic.

However, as his morning hours had trudged on with the ticking of the clock going no faster, he'd found himself wandering aimlessly around his apartment, picking up various objects from books to his high school football helmet with little interest. He had nothing to do, one of those rare occasions where he had nothing on, and a sense of uselessness soon evolved into growing agitation. He wanted to see Kurt. He wanted to. He saw no problem considering the sun was out and the boy himself had mentioned his photo shoot's short hours of duration and so, within half an hour, he had got changed, made his way down to the park and brought his little entourage of friends along for the fun. Having arrived at the shoot and at the same time running the risk of being smothered in breasts, Noah could not see Kurt anywhere.

"Do any of you lovely ladies know where I can find Kurt Hummel? You know, the boy with pale skin and blue eyes," asked Noah suddenly as the hordes of models stopped one by one to frown at him curiously, each of them exchanging gazes with each other as if telepathically asking one another if it was possible to think of someone else when all a man needed was right in front of him. Obviously not, and as Noah continued look back at them expectantly for an answer, it was clear he had his mind focused on finding Kurt. "He said he was in this shoot today, but I don't see-"

"Kurt? Oh the phantom ghost child that looks like his skin hasn't seen the light of day? What would you possibly want with him? We're the ones you're after, no?" A model beside him, making sure to describe Kurt with as much distaste as possible, ran her fingers through the dark hairs on Noah's arm before letting it travel all the way up to squeeze his large bicep. Moaning in pleasure, the model was set to speak again but her throat gulped instead as she took in Noah's frigid glare, his cold eyes looking down at her hand on his arm with a 'take it off, or I'll break it off' expression on his face. "H-he was called over by some girl over by the boathouse when we finished, but I don't know if they're still there. It was like ten minutes ago."

"You mean that restaurant by the lake? Thanks," Noah nodded as he looked over towards The Loeb Boathouse Café, following the model's retreating finger as she pointed over by the lake. Now he was getting somewhere, but at the cost of someone rudely bad mouthing Kurt for no reason. He wouldn't put up with shallow and obnoxious people if they degraded others no matter how beautiful they were. Especially when it came to one of the sweetest people he had ever come across. There was no need for it, and he found his desire to find Kurt all the stronger but now, however, as he reached the café, all he was met with was the sight of happy families dining on coffee, juice and croissant and not a single sign of a certain brunet beauty anywhere.

"Excuse me, but are you Noah Puckerman by any chance?" asked a light voice behind him. Noah turned around to see a bonnie girl with the one of the lightest shades of blonde hair he had ever come across, a loose-flowing summer dress and matching heels. She had just got up from an outdoor table by the entrance, as if she were waiting for someone, and was eying him curiously, her question hot in her eyes. Yet, despite knowing he had never met her before, she looked familiar, as if he'd seen her at a party or some other event. Oh God, please don't be an ex-one night stand chick. "Hi, Lola Jacobs, it's nice to meet you, but I'm guessing you didn't come over here for a bite to eat."

"No, I'm actually looking for someone. He's a model, was in the shoot over there earlier this afternoon and I was directed over here," Noah explained, silently thanking that fate hadn't brought along a fling from the past, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd feared a confrontation from some hook up he hadn't called. It fact, it was common. Sometimes he'd fear they'd knock his door down or attempt to sue him for sexual battery, anything to expose the 'sex maniac' he apparently was but ever since his engagement, that fear had thankfully deteriorated. Though, so had his libido. "I would tell you who he is but I doubt you'd have seen him... you've seen him, haven't you?"

"Well, considering I'm the girl who called him over here, yes I've seen him," smiled Lola as Noah's stomach lurched at the news, causing him to shift from one foot to the other and peer into the café in anticipation of the answer, but to also distract the girl from his body's strange behavior. He knew by the look in her eye, somehow, that she knew where Kurt was, but that hadn't prepared him for the butterflies springing to life and flapping their delicate wings rapidly within him as she opened her mouth yet again. "But there's no point going in there, you won't find him. He's not here. Just retrace your steps and you'll find Kurt Hummel soon enough."

.

Glee

.

Winding his white headscarf around his head and heading out towards the marquee's exit, Kurt waved goodbye to the shoot's outfit director, Forde, whilst shouting out a thanks for not having had his head on the nearest execution block. He had been the last model to return their clothes after his little diversion with Lola but he'd attempted to pull the puppy eyes as defense. It was the only thing he had as a weapon, and a successful weapon at that when Forde had relented, but not before gently scolding him that if he'd returned sooner, then she would have already started packing everything up. Kurt had tried to get back to her as quickly as he could when he'd left Lola by the boathouse, but due to a certain Puckerman, he'd had to go the long way around. Weaving through trees, shrubbery and the moving obstacles that were other humans, Kurt had managed to reach the marquee, undetected, or so he hoped.

He had only his lithe body to thank for his stealth although he wasn't a teacher so he didn't have eyes in the back of his head. His body had been slightly crouched and low to the ground and he knew he'd received odd glances as well as a few giggles from passing children on his way over, but this was the sacrifice he had to make. Despite Lola's biting but truth-filled comment that had been enough to make him feel bad about himself, he just couldn't see Noah now. He had to have time to think, screw his head on and ponder whether this man was just his own reputation in physical form or someone else, but one thing was for sure, he was not going to lower himself to the level his Neanderthal peers had wallowed in. Their discriminatory behavior was enough for him to find Noah and apologize, but maybe another time.

"Kurt? Are you in here," asked a smooth voice from beyond the marquee. Kurt froze. The sun was still out and bright, though not as it had been twenty minutes ago, but it was enough to fully outline a moving silhouette right outside the thin white fabric of the marquee. Features that boasted broad shoulders, strong arms, a swagger, a shaved head. He knew very well who the man was and it took all of Kurt's resistance to not work his mind into overdrive as he attempted to telepathically self-combust a certain Miss Lola Jacobs who no doubt must have blabbed his location. Disappointing. "Is this even the right tent... Kurt?"

"Oh... hello, Mr. Puckerman," Forde greeted as she put down Kurt's outfit that she had just hung up on a rack nearby to look over and see New York's billionaire playboy strolling into her marquee, his head whipping from side to side and peering over and under racks, as if he were searching for someone. She was surprised to see him but not nearly as surprised as Kurt, who had run for cover in the nearest rack over by the marquee's entrance. He'd had to still the crackling plastic sleeves that protected the outfits since they made a lot of noise in all the commotion but as soon as he had, he'd quietened his erratic breathing, rendered his body as small as possible and waited with heart-thumping anticipation for the storm to pass. "What can I help you with? Are you... looking for someone?"

"Yeah, I'm looking for Kurt Hummel. They told me he was over by that boathouse café by the lake and now they're telling me he's in here. I can't find him anywhere. Do you know where... I..."

Noah trailed off as Forde peeked over his shoulder on her tiptoes to point with a roll of her eyes over to the marquee's entrance. There, as the man turned around, was the boy he had been spending the last ten minutes looking for, dressed in skinny jeans, pale Converses, a pastel polo top and with a big lollipop-like prop obscuring his head and face. It was one of the strangest things Noah had ever seen and, to be honest, without the view of a face it could have been anyone, but with the woman's indication topped with the freeze at the name he'd uttered, he knew who it was. "Kurt? Kurt, is that you?"

"No... no, I'm afraid I'm not this Kurt Hummel you speak of, I'm... someone else," replied Kurt in a low tone, a vain attempt if any to throw off the tanned man who was striding toward him, but he couldn't see properly. The lollipop was ever so slightly opaque and translucent but it didn't offer good enough vision to determine what was going on in front of him. In fact, his surroundings resembled nothing more than a pink-tinted blur than anything else, with the approaching figure of Noah Puckerman looming ominously towards him.

It was Kurt's own fault really. He knew he should have picked up a mask instead of this useless junk, but it had been right there lying on the table next to him, and the thought of making a clean getaway while Noah's back was turned seemed to offer him the chance. Obviously not. "I'm... I'm just a prop assistant who... assists with... props."

"Oh, really? Is that so? You've got a sweet-looking lollipop there. Mind if I lick it?"

Noah smirked, finding this little game of hide and seek very entertaining. However, whether Kurt was acting the fool or genuinely trying to escape from detection, he didn't know, but he was too relieved to have found him anyway. It would have been nice to see his face as well but every time he tried to catch a glimpse, the damn lollipop would get in the way. Though not for long.

As Kurt stumbled out from the marquee and continued to uncertainly pace backwards, a sudden dip in the ground had him losing his balance and falling to the grass, his lollipop landing a few meters away. The sight was worthy of a sketch on a comedy show but as the boy shifted his embarrassed gaze from his lollipop to the man in front of him, he was met with the amused eyes and the chuckling form of Noah Puckerman.

~ 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 gained inspiration from the I-D Magazine - 'The Just Kids Issue': Kel and Herieth No. 320 Fall 2012 by photographer Sølve Sundsbø and fashion director Charlotte Stockdale for the photoshoot scene.

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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