fic: orbits of absence
Orbits of Absence
Glee: Finn/Kurt
PG-13
A/N: Future!fic. Title comes from the poem "Las Ruinas del Corazon" by Eric Gamalinda.
Kurt comes home on a Tuesday. His eyes are red-rimmed when he gets off the plane, but he talks only of New York and Paris and Milan, these sprawling, vibrant cities where Finn thinks he must have forgotten what it was like to be lonely.
Finn doesn’t ask, just places his palm against the small of Kurt’s back for the briefest moment when he reaches past to pull the first of Kurt’s suitcases off the carousel. Kurt’s skin is warm through his t-shirt.
“This place really hasn’t changed,” Kurt murmurs over dinner, twirling a few strands of spaghetti around his fork.
Burt chuckles. “Well, can’t expect a little place like Lima to keep up with you through all of your whirlwind adventures.”
“Rachel said the exact same thing when she stopped by last month, didn’t she, Finn?” Carole says, smiling. Finn nods, chewing absently on the end of his straw. “Must be a shock to the system when you come back after living in New York.”
Kurt’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Oh, honey,” Carole continues. “You’ll be back in the swing of things soon enough. Finn, too. It’s just a tough job market out there.”
Finn puts on his best crooked smile and nudges Kurt with his elbow. “We’ll be alright.”
Kurt raises his eyebrow, lifts his glass. “Well, cheers to that.”
Kurt’s room has been converted into a guest bedroom where Finn has been staying since he arrived back in Lima three months ago, his own being used as an exercise space, so they end up sharing. Finn falls asleep to the sound of even breathing a few feet away from his own twin bed and, for the first time, feels like he’s home.
Some things do stay the same, Finn realizes, like the way Kurt seems to unthinkingly prepare Finn’s favorite meals whenever it’s his turn to cook or how he’ll tuck his toes under Finn’s knees when they watch television together at night.
It feels so much like old times that sometimes Finn is startled by something Kurt says in passing, the mention of an old flame in college or a brief internship at a fashion magazine causing Finn to focus a little more intently on the stories Kurt spins for him.
“You’re looking at me strangely again,” Kurt says once in the middle of telling Finn about the summer after his junior year abroad, when he took off with a small group of friends and took the train from Paris into Switzerland, the northern reaches of Italy. Finn remembers only the blip of several weeks where there were no status updates on his step-brother’s Facebook page.
“Sorry,” Finn says a little sheepishly, smoothing his brow. “It’s just. It’s hard to imagine you that far away, doing all that stuff.”
He doesn’t say, I like having you closer.
It’s a while before he hears Kurt sing again. Sometimes Finn will catch him humming snatches of something but he always seems to stop when he realizes what he’s doing, often schooling his features into a more guarded expression if he catches Finn’s eye.
And then, an afternoon.
Carole and Burt are off running errands and Finn comes home early from a job interview that will later turn out to bear the same news as the rest. He tosses his keys into the bowl on a table in the entryway and is halfway to the kitchen when he stops, hearing the quiet plink of piano keys from the living room.
He winces a little with every creak of the floorboards as he makes his way to the source of the music, afraid that Kurt might stop once he’s made aware that he’s not alone. Kurt doesn’t though, continues to sing in a voice that’s soft but clear even after locking eyes with Finn, who stands uncertainly in the doorway, trying to place the song.
“How did the interview go?” Kurt asks once he’s finished, scooting over on the piano bench and motioning for Finn to join him.
“Oh,” Finn says, frowning and knocking Kurt’s arm a little when he shrugs. “It probably won’t work out. It’s okay, though,” he says hurriedly when Kurt’s face falls. “I mean, it’s not like I really want to be tied down here. This is all just temporary, right?”
“Right,” Kurt murmurs, and then he blinks, smiling. “Sing with me, then? While this lasts?”
Finn doesn’t hesitate.
“It would mean a lot,” Rachel is saying, “if you could come see me.”
Finn pinches the bridge of his nose, leans forward on the bed. “I know, it’s just. I can’t afford a plane ticket to New York and back, and I can’t ask my mom or Burt for money right now, not after everything-”
Kurt walks in then and Finn turns to him, forgetting the end of his sentence. That’s happening a lot lately, words getting stuck in his throat whenever his step-brother enters a room, but Finn’s tried not to dwell on it.
Kurt looks a little surprised to have caught Finn with phone in hand, so he immediately backs up, making to leave. Finn flaps a hand at him hurriedly.
“ - it’s just that this is a big deal for me, Finn, and I thought we were at a place in our lives where we could put aside any former misgivings and be happy for each other’s successes -”
I don’t have any successes, Finn wants to say, but suddenly he’s very aware of Kurt’s presence. “I am happy for you,” he mumbles instead, watching his step-brother rummage through a dresser drawer.
For a moment the only sound on the other end of the line is Rachel’s breathing, and when she speaks again, she’s quieter. “I know. I. I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s awfully strange not to have Kurt here anymore, and you haven’t been calling as often lately, and sometimes...I miss the way things used to be.”
Finn thinks about the way Kurt used to look at him, smile at him.
“It’s a shame,” Quinn told him once, “that first loves never quite work out.”
“Yeah,” Finn says. “Me too.”
Santana stays in town for a week to visit her parents in July and the three of them go out for drinks together one night in a dim-lit club just outside of Lima.
Santana and Kurt succeed in dragging Finn to the center of the floor after his second drink and he sways a little, laughing self-consciously at his awkward attempts to find a sense of rhythm after years of minimal dancing. It’s not long before Santana is pressing herself close to him, though, back against his chest and moving her hips with an easy grace. Finn licks his lips nervously and then the girl is tugging Kurt forward to take her place and Finn laughs again, or at least he thinks he does, the music drowning out all other noise. Santana is giggling and whispering something in Kurt’s ear, staring at Finn intently, and maybe he just wants to be in on the joke or maybe the fruity cocktails that the other two ordered for him were stronger than he thought, but his fingers are soon curling around Kurt’s hips and he’s tugging the boy closer, grinding against him a little. Santana grins at him lazily.
Finn thinks about ducking his head, leaning in to mumble something in Kurt’s ear, but he can’t think of anything other than how hot Kurt’s skin is where his shirt is riding up, how much he suddenly wants his step-brother, or maybe it wasn’t sudden, maybe he’s wanted Kurt all along.
Kurt pulls away when the song ends, though, and Finn tries not to feel disappointed.
Once they sat huddled together at a party, back when Finn was still figuring out that being drunk mostly meant feeling a little sad and lonelier than usual.
“D’you think things will ever work out between me and Rachel?” Finn asked, head lolling to the side to look at his step-brother.
Kurt snorted. “‘Course.”
“But how d’you know?”
“Because it’s Rachel. And you’re Finn.”
“I am Finn,” Finn said solemnly.
“Yes you are,” Kurt murmured, “and someone will always want you, Finn Hudson.”
Finn remembers being surprised that Kurt didn’t kiss him that night.
“Well, well, well,” Karofsky says with a leer when they run into him for the first time in the frozen foods aisle of the grocery store. “I’d heard about the return of the prodigal son, but Lima’s token faggot being back in town is news to me.”
Finn takes one look at Kurt before he’s grabbing Karofsky by the collar, backing him up against one of the glass doors, fist connecting with his face.
“What the fuck, Hudson,” Karofsky is snarling, but it’s Kurt who gets Finn to still, fingers curling tight around his arm. Finn lets go of Karofsky, who spits out a mouthful of blood, takes a long look at Kurt, and walks away.
They don’t talk about it until they get into Finn’s car, groceries packed away into the trunk. Kurt slams the passenger door shut with unnecessary force before turning on him.
“What is the matter with you?” he hisses.
Finn glares at the dashboard, hands balled into fists, knuckles white. “He shouldn’t call you that.”
Kurt laughs humorlessly. “Don’t you get that I’m called that enough that it barely fazes me anymore? It’s not worth picking a fight over, Finn.”
Finn swallows. “You shouldn’t have to be used to it.”
“Well I am,” the soprano says curtly.
Finn’s quiet for a moment. “You were shaking,” he says finally.
“What?”
“I looked over at you, and you were shaking. I’ve never seen you look like that.” Finn inhales sharply. “I just. I don’t want to see you look like that again.”
They’re both quiet then, and Finn starts when he feels one of Kurt’s hands close over his own, giving a gentle squeeze.
“Let’s go home,” Kurt says.
They barely make it inside their room before Finn is backing Kurt into the wall, Kurt’s mouth hot and insistent against his own. Finn tries to memorize the way his name sounds falling from Kurt’s lips, the light pattern of freckles dusting Kurt’s nose. In the end, he can only remember how it just felt like fucking, not making love.
“I really thought I was going to get out of here,” Kurt whispers.
We both did, Finn thinks, but he doesn’t say anything, just lies back next to his step-brother on the carpet. After a moment he tangles their fingers together, tries to focus on the warmth of Kurt’s palm pressed against his own and not the lump in his throat or the way the ceiling is starting to blur.
“Would you still want me if we were anywhere else?”
Finn closes his eyes.
“Never mind,” Kurt says, and laughs a little sharply. “I don’t think I want to hear the answer to that.”
Finn thinks about the way Kurt sings now, quiet and sure, how his heart stutters in his chest whenever Finn kisses him. “But we are here,” he says, and Kurt looks at him. “You and me. We’re right here.”
Kurt prefers his skies cloudless, Finn discovers.
In November it rains for four days straight, and Kurt’s smiles become infrequent, eyes reflecting gray. He plays the piano only once and it’s quiet and pensive. “Satie,” he mumbles when Finn asks.
On Thursday the rain slows in the lull of the afternoon until it’s nothing more than a quiet staccato against the roof and windowpanes, and that’s when Finn chooses to hover over Kurt’s shoulder with bright eyes and a lopsided smile.
“Come outside with me?” he asks when Kurt finally glances up from his book, carefully marking his place. Kurt frowns.
“What for? It’s still drizzling,” Kurt murmurs, eyes darting to the rain-streaked window.
Finn smiles wider. “I know. That’s kind of the point, dude.” At Kurt’s furrowed brow, he continues. “Just. I want to show you something, okay?”
Kurt pulls on his boots and slicker with minimal complaints, which Finn counts as a small victory, especially when the soprano doesn’t protest to Finn reaching for his hand, threading their fingers together.
Kurt grimaces a little when they step outside and a stray raindrop immediately finds its way to his forehead, looking over at Finn expectantly. “What did you want to show me?”
The sky is milky and smooth, air just heavy enough with moisture to remind one of its presence without becoming suffocating. It smells fresh, like they could start over right there and do anything, be anything.
The world glistens, and Finn laughs. “This.”
Kurt’s usually awake before Finn is, and on days when their parents are off at work Finn will find him downstairs, fixing something in the kitchen.
“You should sleep more,” Finn tells him once, sidling up to where Kurt’s situated in front of the stove, wrapping an arm around the soprano’s waist and kissing the top of his head.
“I sleep plenty,” Kurt says. “I just find other ways to occupy myself, too.”
It’s true. When Kurt isn’t nose-deep in a Russian novel he’s often watching some black and white film that Finn’s never heard before or sitting knees-to-chest with his phone glued to his ear, chattering away to Mercedes or Blaine or some NYU friends. Finn, on the other hand, feels like he’s still a teenager sometimes, an awkward mess of too-long limbs with a tiredness that seems to run bone-deep.
“Well,” Finn murmurs, lowering his voice and ducking his head to press his lips to Kurt’s ear, “you should stay in bed longer.” He watches with interest as Kurt’s grip tightens just slightly around the spatula he’s holding.
Kurt clears his throat. “Is that so?”
Finn hums in agreement before beginning to place openmouthed kisses against the back of Kurt’s neck.
“The eggs will be ruined,” Kurt mutters, even as he leans back against Finn a little, pressing close.
“I’m not hungry,” Finn lies.
Kurt smiles despite himself. “I’m calling your bluff, Finn Hudson.”
Finn laughs. “Okay,” he acquiesces, and kisses Kurt, catching the corner of his mouth. “Breakfast first.”
Some days are like that - some days Finn will spend hours counting the notches in Kurt’s spine before they even get dressed for the day, pressing bruises into Kurt’s hips as the mattress creaks underneath them. Some days Finn thinks he’d be content if things just stayed as they were for a while longer, Kurt by his side.
He isn’t expecting the phone call.
“I got an offer,” Kurt finally tells him one night when they’re lying in bed, pressed close to each other’s sides. “In New York.”
“That’s awesome,” Finn says, grinning automatically despite the twisting in his stomach. He can’t make out Kurt’s expression in the dark.
“It’s for a fashion magazine,” Kurt continues. “The pay’s good, and it’s close enough to Rachel’s that I could stay with her until I find my own place.”
“Sounds perfect,” Finn says.
“It starts in a week,” the soprano says softly. He doesn’t say, Come with me.
Finn swallows. “I’ll help you pack.” He doesn’t say, Don’t go.
“Thanks for driving me out here,” Kurt says once Finn’s taking the exit towards the airport, the building looming in sight.
“No problem,” Finn says brightly.
“You know, Finn,” Kurt starts, but Finn just shakes his head.
“C’mon,” Finn mumbles. “I don’t wanna do some big goodbye.”
They’re silent the rest of the way, and then Finn’s maneuvering his way to the curb, pulling into a free spot. Before Finn can even unbuckle his seatbelt, Kurt is leaning across the car to drape his arms around Finn’s neck, kissing him fiercely. “I’m glad it was you,” he whispers, and Finn understands.
On the drive back he keeps his eyes peeled for airplanes overhead, moving across that milky sky.
Glee: Finn/Kurt
PG-13
A/N: Future!fic. Title comes from the poem "Las Ruinas del Corazon" by Eric Gamalinda.
Kurt comes home on a Tuesday. His eyes are red-rimmed when he gets off the plane, but he talks only of New York and Paris and Milan, these sprawling, vibrant cities where Finn thinks he must have forgotten what it was like to be lonely.
Finn doesn’t ask, just places his palm against the small of Kurt’s back for the briefest moment when he reaches past to pull the first of Kurt’s suitcases off the carousel. Kurt’s skin is warm through his t-shirt.
“This place really hasn’t changed,” Kurt murmurs over dinner, twirling a few strands of spaghetti around his fork.
Burt chuckles. “Well, can’t expect a little place like Lima to keep up with you through all of your whirlwind adventures.”
“Rachel said the exact same thing when she stopped by last month, didn’t she, Finn?” Carole says, smiling. Finn nods, chewing absently on the end of his straw. “Must be a shock to the system when you come back after living in New York.”
Kurt’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Oh, honey,” Carole continues. “You’ll be back in the swing of things soon enough. Finn, too. It’s just a tough job market out there.”
Finn puts on his best crooked smile and nudges Kurt with his elbow. “We’ll be alright.”
Kurt raises his eyebrow, lifts his glass. “Well, cheers to that.”
Kurt’s room has been converted into a guest bedroom where Finn has been staying since he arrived back in Lima three months ago, his own being used as an exercise space, so they end up sharing. Finn falls asleep to the sound of even breathing a few feet away from his own twin bed and, for the first time, feels like he’s home.
Some things do stay the same, Finn realizes, like the way Kurt seems to unthinkingly prepare Finn’s favorite meals whenever it’s his turn to cook or how he’ll tuck his toes under Finn’s knees when they watch television together at night.
It feels so much like old times that sometimes Finn is startled by something Kurt says in passing, the mention of an old flame in college or a brief internship at a fashion magazine causing Finn to focus a little more intently on the stories Kurt spins for him.
“You’re looking at me strangely again,” Kurt says once in the middle of telling Finn about the summer after his junior year abroad, when he took off with a small group of friends and took the train from Paris into Switzerland, the northern reaches of Italy. Finn remembers only the blip of several weeks where there were no status updates on his step-brother’s Facebook page.
“Sorry,” Finn says a little sheepishly, smoothing his brow. “It’s just. It’s hard to imagine you that far away, doing all that stuff.”
He doesn’t say, I like having you closer.
It’s a while before he hears Kurt sing again. Sometimes Finn will catch him humming snatches of something but he always seems to stop when he realizes what he’s doing, often schooling his features into a more guarded expression if he catches Finn’s eye.
And then, an afternoon.
Carole and Burt are off running errands and Finn comes home early from a job interview that will later turn out to bear the same news as the rest. He tosses his keys into the bowl on a table in the entryway and is halfway to the kitchen when he stops, hearing the quiet plink of piano keys from the living room.
He winces a little with every creak of the floorboards as he makes his way to the source of the music, afraid that Kurt might stop once he’s made aware that he’s not alone. Kurt doesn’t though, continues to sing in a voice that’s soft but clear even after locking eyes with Finn, who stands uncertainly in the doorway, trying to place the song.
“How did the interview go?” Kurt asks once he’s finished, scooting over on the piano bench and motioning for Finn to join him.
“Oh,” Finn says, frowning and knocking Kurt’s arm a little when he shrugs. “It probably won’t work out. It’s okay, though,” he says hurriedly when Kurt’s face falls. “I mean, it’s not like I really want to be tied down here. This is all just temporary, right?”
“Right,” Kurt murmurs, and then he blinks, smiling. “Sing with me, then? While this lasts?”
Finn doesn’t hesitate.
“It would mean a lot,” Rachel is saying, “if you could come see me.”
Finn pinches the bridge of his nose, leans forward on the bed. “I know, it’s just. I can’t afford a plane ticket to New York and back, and I can’t ask my mom or Burt for money right now, not after everything-”
Kurt walks in then and Finn turns to him, forgetting the end of his sentence. That’s happening a lot lately, words getting stuck in his throat whenever his step-brother enters a room, but Finn’s tried not to dwell on it.
Kurt looks a little surprised to have caught Finn with phone in hand, so he immediately backs up, making to leave. Finn flaps a hand at him hurriedly.
“ - it’s just that this is a big deal for me, Finn, and I thought we were at a place in our lives where we could put aside any former misgivings and be happy for each other’s successes -”
I don’t have any successes, Finn wants to say, but suddenly he’s very aware of Kurt’s presence. “I am happy for you,” he mumbles instead, watching his step-brother rummage through a dresser drawer.
For a moment the only sound on the other end of the line is Rachel’s breathing, and when she speaks again, she’s quieter. “I know. I. I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s awfully strange not to have Kurt here anymore, and you haven’t been calling as often lately, and sometimes...I miss the way things used to be.”
Finn thinks about the way Kurt used to look at him, smile at him.
“It’s a shame,” Quinn told him once, “that first loves never quite work out.”
“Yeah,” Finn says. “Me too.”
Santana stays in town for a week to visit her parents in July and the three of them go out for drinks together one night in a dim-lit club just outside of Lima.
Santana and Kurt succeed in dragging Finn to the center of the floor after his second drink and he sways a little, laughing self-consciously at his awkward attempts to find a sense of rhythm after years of minimal dancing. It’s not long before Santana is pressing herself close to him, though, back against his chest and moving her hips with an easy grace. Finn licks his lips nervously and then the girl is tugging Kurt forward to take her place and Finn laughs again, or at least he thinks he does, the music drowning out all other noise. Santana is giggling and whispering something in Kurt’s ear, staring at Finn intently, and maybe he just wants to be in on the joke or maybe the fruity cocktails that the other two ordered for him were stronger than he thought, but his fingers are soon curling around Kurt’s hips and he’s tugging the boy closer, grinding against him a little. Santana grins at him lazily.
Finn thinks about ducking his head, leaning in to mumble something in Kurt’s ear, but he can’t think of anything other than how hot Kurt’s skin is where his shirt is riding up, how much he suddenly wants his step-brother, or maybe it wasn’t sudden, maybe he’s wanted Kurt all along.
Kurt pulls away when the song ends, though, and Finn tries not to feel disappointed.
Once they sat huddled together at a party, back when Finn was still figuring out that being drunk mostly meant feeling a little sad and lonelier than usual.
“D’you think things will ever work out between me and Rachel?” Finn asked, head lolling to the side to look at his step-brother.
Kurt snorted. “‘Course.”
“But how d’you know?”
“Because it’s Rachel. And you’re Finn.”
“I am Finn,” Finn said solemnly.
“Yes you are,” Kurt murmured, “and someone will always want you, Finn Hudson.”
Finn remembers being surprised that Kurt didn’t kiss him that night.
“Well, well, well,” Karofsky says with a leer when they run into him for the first time in the frozen foods aisle of the grocery store. “I’d heard about the return of the prodigal son, but Lima’s token faggot being back in town is news to me.”
Finn takes one look at Kurt before he’s grabbing Karofsky by the collar, backing him up against one of the glass doors, fist connecting with his face.
“What the fuck, Hudson,” Karofsky is snarling, but it’s Kurt who gets Finn to still, fingers curling tight around his arm. Finn lets go of Karofsky, who spits out a mouthful of blood, takes a long look at Kurt, and walks away.
They don’t talk about it until they get into Finn’s car, groceries packed away into the trunk. Kurt slams the passenger door shut with unnecessary force before turning on him.
“What is the matter with you?” he hisses.
Finn glares at the dashboard, hands balled into fists, knuckles white. “He shouldn’t call you that.”
Kurt laughs humorlessly. “Don’t you get that I’m called that enough that it barely fazes me anymore? It’s not worth picking a fight over, Finn.”
Finn swallows. “You shouldn’t have to be used to it.”
“Well I am,” the soprano says curtly.
Finn’s quiet for a moment. “You were shaking,” he says finally.
“What?”
“I looked over at you, and you were shaking. I’ve never seen you look like that.” Finn inhales sharply. “I just. I don’t want to see you look like that again.”
They’re both quiet then, and Finn starts when he feels one of Kurt’s hands close over his own, giving a gentle squeeze.
“Let’s go home,” Kurt says.
They barely make it inside their room before Finn is backing Kurt into the wall, Kurt’s mouth hot and insistent against his own. Finn tries to memorize the way his name sounds falling from Kurt’s lips, the light pattern of freckles dusting Kurt’s nose. In the end, he can only remember how it just felt like fucking, not making love.
“I really thought I was going to get out of here,” Kurt whispers.
We both did, Finn thinks, but he doesn’t say anything, just lies back next to his step-brother on the carpet. After a moment he tangles their fingers together, tries to focus on the warmth of Kurt’s palm pressed against his own and not the lump in his throat or the way the ceiling is starting to blur.
“Would you still want me if we were anywhere else?”
Finn closes his eyes.
“Never mind,” Kurt says, and laughs a little sharply. “I don’t think I want to hear the answer to that.”
Finn thinks about the way Kurt sings now, quiet and sure, how his heart stutters in his chest whenever Finn kisses him. “But we are here,” he says, and Kurt looks at him. “You and me. We’re right here.”
Kurt prefers his skies cloudless, Finn discovers.
In November it rains for four days straight, and Kurt’s smiles become infrequent, eyes reflecting gray. He plays the piano only once and it’s quiet and pensive. “Satie,” he mumbles when Finn asks.
On Thursday the rain slows in the lull of the afternoon until it’s nothing more than a quiet staccato against the roof and windowpanes, and that’s when Finn chooses to hover over Kurt’s shoulder with bright eyes and a lopsided smile.
“Come outside with me?” he asks when Kurt finally glances up from his book, carefully marking his place. Kurt frowns.
“What for? It’s still drizzling,” Kurt murmurs, eyes darting to the rain-streaked window.
Finn smiles wider. “I know. That’s kind of the point, dude.” At Kurt’s furrowed brow, he continues. “Just. I want to show you something, okay?”
Kurt pulls on his boots and slicker with minimal complaints, which Finn counts as a small victory, especially when the soprano doesn’t protest to Finn reaching for his hand, threading their fingers together.
Kurt grimaces a little when they step outside and a stray raindrop immediately finds its way to his forehead, looking over at Finn expectantly. “What did you want to show me?”
The sky is milky and smooth, air just heavy enough with moisture to remind one of its presence without becoming suffocating. It smells fresh, like they could start over right there and do anything, be anything.
The world glistens, and Finn laughs. “This.”
Kurt’s usually awake before Finn is, and on days when their parents are off at work Finn will find him downstairs, fixing something in the kitchen.
“You should sleep more,” Finn tells him once, sidling up to where Kurt’s situated in front of the stove, wrapping an arm around the soprano’s waist and kissing the top of his head.
“I sleep plenty,” Kurt says. “I just find other ways to occupy myself, too.”
It’s true. When Kurt isn’t nose-deep in a Russian novel he’s often watching some black and white film that Finn’s never heard before or sitting knees-to-chest with his phone glued to his ear, chattering away to Mercedes or Blaine or some NYU friends. Finn, on the other hand, feels like he’s still a teenager sometimes, an awkward mess of too-long limbs with a tiredness that seems to run bone-deep.
“Well,” Finn murmurs, lowering his voice and ducking his head to press his lips to Kurt’s ear, “you should stay in bed longer.” He watches with interest as Kurt’s grip tightens just slightly around the spatula he’s holding.
Kurt clears his throat. “Is that so?”
Finn hums in agreement before beginning to place openmouthed kisses against the back of Kurt’s neck.
“The eggs will be ruined,” Kurt mutters, even as he leans back against Finn a little, pressing close.
“I’m not hungry,” Finn lies.
Kurt smiles despite himself. “I’m calling your bluff, Finn Hudson.”
Finn laughs. “Okay,” he acquiesces, and kisses Kurt, catching the corner of his mouth. “Breakfast first.”
Some days are like that - some days Finn will spend hours counting the notches in Kurt’s spine before they even get dressed for the day, pressing bruises into Kurt’s hips as the mattress creaks underneath them. Some days Finn thinks he’d be content if things just stayed as they were for a while longer, Kurt by his side.
He isn’t expecting the phone call.
“I got an offer,” Kurt finally tells him one night when they’re lying in bed, pressed close to each other’s sides. “In New York.”
“That’s awesome,” Finn says, grinning automatically despite the twisting in his stomach. He can’t make out Kurt’s expression in the dark.
“It’s for a fashion magazine,” Kurt continues. “The pay’s good, and it’s close enough to Rachel’s that I could stay with her until I find my own place.”
“Sounds perfect,” Finn says.
“It starts in a week,” the soprano says softly. He doesn’t say, Come with me.
Finn swallows. “I’ll help you pack.” He doesn’t say, Don’t go.
“Thanks for driving me out here,” Kurt says once Finn’s taking the exit towards the airport, the building looming in sight.
“No problem,” Finn says brightly.
“You know, Finn,” Kurt starts, but Finn just shakes his head.
“C’mon,” Finn mumbles. “I don’t wanna do some big goodbye.”
They’re silent the rest of the way, and then Finn’s maneuvering his way to the curb, pulling into a free spot. Before Finn can even unbuckle his seatbelt, Kurt is leaning across the car to drape his arms around Finn’s neck, kissing him fiercely. “I’m glad it was you,” he whispers, and Finn understands.
On the drive back he keeps his eyes peeled for airplanes overhead, moving across that milky sky.