You Look Back (I'll Look Forward) [3/3] - Glee - Kurt/Puck

[toestastegood]

Part Two

The three of them spent the evening in their own routines, and they watched a movie together after a late dinner. It was domestic in a way that felt comfortable, and Kurt couldn't stop himself from constantly sneaking glances towards his dad and Liz, trying to imagine a ring around her finger. If he could imagine it, he could be okay with it.

He headed off to bed early and spent time in his bedroom, answering emails and slowly going through his pre-sleep beauty routine. He spent a significant amount of time prodding his bruise with his forefinger as if that might make it disappear by magic. Sadly, he discovered that it wasn't to be. That bruise was going to accompany him for a long while.

He quickly cursed Puck as he walked away from his mirror and started on the long job of undoing the many belts and buttons of his outfit so that he could get into bed. One of the sacrifices that he made for fashion was giving up the ability to be able to tumble into bed at a moment's notice. An outfit was a creation. To dismantle it required almost as much work as putting it on.

Eventually, however, he was able to slip into his bed with nothing more than a plain white t-shirt and a pair of silk shorts separating his skin from the sheets. He gave a quiet, content sigh. Sleep would feel like well-won relief after the day he had had. He hadn't slept well the night before, with Puck's outburst and his father's news spinning in his mind. Hopefully, tonight would be better.

Yet his light had barely been switched off and his head had only just hit the pillow when a tapping noise at his window caused his eyes to fly open. He froze in the dark, ears on alert, and he hoped that he had imagined it. With his bedroom in their basement, his windows were right at ground level on the outside. When he was a kid, he had had nightmares about dark monsters managing to slip inside.

The tapping continued, so with his heart racing he reached over to his bedside lamp and switched it back on. The sudden burst of light hurt his eyes, but he managed to squint at the window in confusion.

What he saw there made him frown and consider turning the light back off.

He got out of bed and pulled on his robe, tying it tight by the waist and moving towards the window. He had to step onto a chair by the wall in order to reach the window, and as he balanced there he shoved it open.

Kneeling on the grass in their garden, Puck didn't look as if he was at all surprised or self-conscious about being there. "I wanna talk to you," he said instantly.

"It's the middle of the night." Perhaps it wasn't really that late, but Kurt was tired and Lima was making him cranky. "It couldn't have waited until the morning?"

"I have work in the morning. Come outside, okay? My knees hurt."

The petty side of Kurt - which, he would happily admit, was a very large side - was tempted to refuse to budge. After what Puck had done to his face, he deserved sore knees. "Are you going to punch me again?" he asked, which he felt was a fair enough question.

Puck shook his head immediately. "No, no way. I really am sorry about that, man."

"'Sorry' is rather inadequate, don't you think?" Kurt wasn't sure exactly what Puck could have done that would be 'adequate' in his eyes. Little short of a time machine would be required. Yet he sighed all the same. "Wait there. I'll be out in a minute."

He closed the window again and climbed down from his chair, finding his slippers so that he could go outdoors without bare feet. He left his room, feeling naughty as the stairs creaked. The house was dark, proving that his dad and Liz had gone to bed too. He was glad for that; he didn't want his dad to find out that Puck was back. He would do something stupid to chase him off.

Puck was standing by the front door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. In the limited night-time light, Kurt couldn't help but think of how nice it had felt on the first night they'd been reunited. Puck had seemed like a real person, someone sweet and grown-up.

Kurt glanced over his shoulder back into the house. "Do you want to come in?" he offered.

He wasn't sure why, exactly. It was difficult to explain why he was allowing Puck to be near him at all, and he would have liked to say that it was because of his good looks and nothing more than that. Kurt was happy to allow anyone to believe that he was a shallow tart. It was close to true, after all.

Puck followed him into the living room and Kurt turned the lights back on from where his dad had switched them off when he went to bed. He heard Puck mumbling some sort of compliment about the place, but he didn't pay much attention to it. Instead he sat, perched, on the arm of the couch and looked at Puck expectantly.

"Why did you come here?" he asked. He didn't want to sit around avoiding the point all night.

Puck shrugged, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. Kurt wished, now, that he had taken the time to put some real clothes on before he went to the door. This probably wasn't a conversation he wanted to have while wearing a dressing down and his bed clothes.

"I wanted to... God, I don't know. You ran off this morning, like a pussy. I thought that was shitty," Puck said, sounding frustrated and confused. Kurt's unimpressed facial expression seemed to be enough to tell him that his current excuse wasn't good enough. "Not that you were shitty. I just didn't want you thinking I was some kind of asshole. It's not like that."

"From where I'm standing, it kind of is."

"No, screw that." Puck shook his head determinedly. He was still standing near the doorway of the living room as if he didn't quite dare to walk any further into the room than that. "It's harder for me than for you, alright? You've got your dad and New York and you're smart as hell. You get to be out and everyone thinks it's awesome."

"Puck," Kurt said sternly. "If you think getting picked on every single day of your teenage life is 'awesome', I invite you to try it. It might change your mind."

"Wait, I know. I'm screwing this up."

"Yeah, pretty much," Kurt confirmed, but the twisted, pained expression on Puck's face was enough to make him relent a little. "What happened, Puck? What did Greg do?"

"That's the whole thing. He didn't do anything." Puck wandered further inside the room, finally, but he didn't take a seat. "He was fine with it. Totally, completely fine. He said it was 'cool' that I was into dudes as well."

Kurt gave one slow nod. "I've gotta say I'm not seeing the issue here." He certainly didn't see anything that warranted coming over here and hitting him in a rage.

"This whole time, right, I've thought that if I ever let myself do that then it would be, like, the end of the world or something. My mom, she's real religious. We're Jewish. Like, really Jewish. And I figured that it would kill her if I ever... I don't know." Kurt remained respectfully silent, watching as Puck tried to reason this out aloud. "So I didn't. All this time, I've stuck to girls and I've not allowed myself to, y'know, experiment. You were the first time I did, 'cause I thought it would be - easy. Different. You're cute, and you're hot, and you know this. You're kinda the gayest guy I've ever met, so it made sense."

"... Not really," Kurt said.

Puck really had a way of making a guy feel special.

"No, don't get all angry at me. I don't mean it like- I didn't just screw you 'cause you're gay. I mean... God, I'm doing this wrong." He placed his hands on his head and took a few deep breaths. "I'm trying to say that I'm not like you. You're awesome, alright? You know exactly who you are and what you're doing, and I don't, and that makes me angry. And I'm not good at being angry. I goddamn suck at it, 'cause then I go and hit people without meaning to and I say stupid shit."

Kurt tilted his head to the side. "You know, I'm not going to forgive you. My jaw hurts." It really did, and it looked horrible. There was no way of forgiving someone for messing up his look. "But this wasn't easy for me either, Puck. Being yourself? It's hard. It's really hard - but, trust me, it's worth it. Greg was fine with who you are. I bet most of your friends will be able to accept you too."

Puck shook his head, but he didn't seem to know what to say. "How do you do it?"

"I don't 'do' anything, really. I just am. I like myself." Sometimes, saying that - realising it - surprised him. Yet it was the truth: he thought he was fairly awesome. "I like you too, Puck. Underneath it all, you're actually a good guy."

Puck's snort in response didn't sound especially believing. "Yeah? The bruise on your face kinda says otherwise."

"Well, that was pretty shitty." Kurt wasn't going to bother lying about that. The pain in his face wouldn't allow it. "And if you do it again, I'll set Mercedes on you."

"Even you wouldn't be that cruel," Puck said, and they smiled. It was- Well, nice. Kurt wasn't too used to 'nice'. He thought that he liked it. "I am sorry."

"You said that already."

"Well, I'm saying it again. I shouldn't have done it."

"I know that."

"And I won't do it again. Not to you, not to anybody."
Kurt nodded, but he looked down at his knees instead of looking up at Puck. It was distracting to look at him. It was far worse than being around Finn, because at least that particular crush had been the very definition of 'unrequited'. "Are you alright?" he checked. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. I'm gonna be fine."

"Good," Kurt said, then repeated the word again for luck. He made the mistake of looking back up, being presented with the view of Puck standing awkwardly in front of him. Puck's head was bowed and his hands were still tucked into his pockets. It made him look over-sized and vulnerable; Kurt wasn't sure if he could even process the image of Puck looking soft like that. He took a breath. "Do you want to stay over?"

He felt like an idiot when he said it, because he really did know better than that, but the way that Puck's face lit up in a slow smile made it seem worth any more potential fall-out. He held out his hand for Puck to take, and slowly led him down towards his bedroom.

"I shouldn't be doing this," he said as they descended. "I should know better, way better."

"Me too," Puck agreed - but they chased away their doubts at the bottom of the stairs, when Puck turned around to kiss him. Puck's large hands grabbed his upper arms, holding onto him firmly and anchoring him down. The first kiss was hesitant, unsure. The last time had proved to them both that they knew how to fit together, but this time felt different. There was more to it now.

Kurt's hand held the front of Puck's shirt, clinging on in a tight fist as their lips moved and searched for contact. His eyes had fluttered closed and all sane thoughts were slipping away. Every doubt was dying.

He continued holding onto Puck's clothes as he slipped past him, and he used his shirt to lead him along with him, walking both of them towards his unmade bed. The mattress hit the back of his knees and he sank down onto it, Puck slotting between his opened legs and looming down over him. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to," Kurt said. He knew that Puck was going through all kinds of sexuality crises at the moment; having sex probably wasn't the best way to deal with that, despite what Kurt's growing erection had to say on the matter. "We can just kiss."

"I..." Puck kissed him, light but lingering. "I don't know what I want. It's confusing."

"That's okay," Kurt said. "'Confusing' is okay. We'll go slow."

Whether that meant tonight or something more, Kurt didn't know yet. He didn't want to think any further into the future than a few hours, because it was all so vague and unclear. He didn't like not being able to tell what tomorrow would bring, but he'd had to get used to it. He could cope.

His breath shivered from his chest when he felt Puck's lips ghosting against the tender bruise on his jaw. The soft kisses felt like an apology all of their own, and he felt himself melting against the bed. His hand cupped the back of Puck's neck to urge him on, and it wasn't long before Puck's attention had shifted down to his neck. Kurt bit down hard on his bottom lip, determined not to make a sound while his dad and Liz were in the same house, but it felt amazing. He loved the sensation of barely-there stubble against his skin, a masculine reminder of who he was with.

"Roll over," he said, only managing to whisper it at first with his voice containing the faintest tremble. "Puck, roll over."

It took one further reminder, but Puck did as he was told. Kurt rolled on top of him, the soft material of his dressing gown pooling around them. Puck smirked as he looked at it, running the silk between two fingers.

"Don't say a word, Puckerman," Kurt said. "This is a beautiful item." He'd taken it from a photo shoot at work while no one else was looking. It wasn't especially warm, but it felt amazing against his skin.

"Beautiful, sure," Puck agreed, smirk still extremely present.

Kurt was tempted to punch him in defence of fashion, but he decided that there were better activities to be getting on with. "Just lie back," he advised. He shifted his position back until he was perched above Puck's legs, leaving him free to reach for the ugly, bulky belt holding his jeans shut. It was short work to undo the button and part the material; nothing underneath. No underwear. No surprise.

He took Puck's cock out, feeling the hot weight of it against his palm. Puck was hard and stiff already, and at Kurt's touch a strained curse word wheezed from his lips. The sound of it made Kurt smile. He made no apologies for it: doing this made him feel powerful.

Puck shuddered when Kurt wrapped his hand firmly around the base of his cock. He looked down, watching Puck's face as he slid his hand up, making sure that every single movement was achingly slow. He might not have been able to throw a good punch, but he still knew exactly how to torture a man. Puck's face was twisted into an expression that looked almost unnatural in its own amusing way.

It wasn't long before Puck's hips were making desperate, jagged thrusts into the tight grip of Kurt's palm, desperately hunting for anything extra that Kurt was willing to give him. Taking pity, Kurt was willing to speed up, but just a little.

The noises that came from Puck's throat were quiet and weak, as if they were pulled out into the open against his own will. He had screwed his eyes shut, and his hands rested upon Kurt's hips, squeezing tight. "God, Kurt. You're so fucking-"

He never got around to finish that sentiment, because he came in record time. His hips bucked up and he looked as surprised as Kurt did when hot liquid splattered onto his shirt. Kurt only hoped that none of it had gone onto his robe, but something told him that that was probably a lost cause.

Puck muttered a swear word beneath his breath, and Kurt had to smile at the sight of him actually being embarrassed for once. It felt extremely good to be on this side of the coin.

"It's fine, Puck. Don't worry about it," he said. He didn't say that he thought it was sweet to see him lose control like that; no man ever wanted to be called 'sweet' in this situation.

"I'm not worried," Puck muttered, but he looked dejectedly down at his soiled shirt. Kurt smiled affectionately and reached out to undo the buttons, stripping his clothing away. It felt more intimate than it had the first night that they had been together. That had been about the sex: a one night stand and nothing more.

Kurt didn't know what this was now, but it was more than that. It was a two night stand at the very least.

"Here, I want to do it to you too," Puck said, reaching for the tie of his robe before Kurt could reassure him that he didn't have to. It was one thing when they'd fucked before: Puck had been on top, behind Kurt, and it probably hadn't been that much different for him than anal with a girl. Having his hand on another man's cock, though, that was fairly irredeemably gay. There was no slipping back into denial from that point on.

"Are you sure?" Kurt checked.

"Sure I'm sure. Hurry up and get your briefs off. I want to do this."

Kurt hesitated for another moment, but he gave in quickly. He was a man: Puck was a willing hand. With a firm erection, he didn't really know how to turn him down, didn't even know how to want to in this second. He shrugged out of the robe, allowing it to float down onto the bed and pool around their legs, and then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear, pulling them down with no ceremony.

He looked up to see Puck's reaction, and found him staring intently down at his dick. Puck's breathing was very carefully steady, as if he was focusing on it.

"Really, Puck. You don't have to-"

"No, okay. I'm good. It's all good. It's just- I'm really doing this. Having a space-out moment."

Kurt looked at him, uncertain for a few moments, before he nodded. That made sense. Sort of.

"Here, this'll make it easier. If you sit against the headboard..." He pointed towards it and waited for Puck to sit up and sit back where he was told, lounging comfortably with his legs spread. Kurt shuffled around and fitted into the space provided, his back resting against Puck's broad chest. There was the material of his t-shirt separating their skin, but Kurt still could feel how scorching hot Puck's body was. "See? It's just like doing it to yourself."

"Not just like it," Puck said. He sounded amused, and his hand landed on Kurt's bare thigh first of all. His touch was light and exploratory, and Kurt relaxed into it instantly. "When I do it to myself, it's not half this hot."

Kurt gave a quiet, breathy laugh, and it was a sound that he could hardly believe came from him: he never sounded like that. He looked down, watching the path of Puck's hand as it travelled up his leg, over his hip and onto his stomach. It pushed underneath the white cotton of his t-shirt, taking time to trace fingers around his navel.

"You're gorgeous, you know that? I always thought so." With Puck breathing the words right by his ear, it was so easy to close his eyes and believe him. "I always wanted to fuck you; wish I had had the balls to do it."

"I had standards in high school," Kurt breathed in response, although it wasn't exactly true. During most points of his high school career, he would have been thrilled at getting romantic attention from anyone at all. It would have made him feel good.

Puck chuckled, a sound that was thoroughly filthy in way Kurt was certain would be illegal in most states. "And you don't now? I'm flattered."

"I still have standards," Kurt protested, but it was incredibly hard to think now that Puck's hand was beginning to make a downwards path towards where he so desperately needed it. "You've just started to reach them, now."

"Lucky me," Puck murmured. He sounded distracted - they both did - and Kurt gave up on talking to him altogether when Puck's hand first touched his dick, an unsure brush of his fingers. He shifted his position on the bed, unable to stay still. He knew that he had to be patient with Puck and allow him to find his own way, but now that it was actually happening he wasn't sure whether he could stand the torture of being Puck's crash test dummy.

Puck's hand wrapped around him and he couldn't help but give a shivering moan of satisfaction at the feel of it. "Puck, yes," he breathed: encouragement was good, after all, and if encouragement got him more of that then he wasn't going to be ashamed of whatever noises he felt it was necessary to make.

Puck's mouth teased at the lobe of his ear with just the right amount of teeth to make him whimper. For someone who was supposed to be new at this, Puck still knew how to make him squirm. Kurt didn't think that he'd had Puck's level of confidence in this until he was far more experienced.

He could feel the puff of Puck's breath against his skin and after he urged him, pleading wilfully, the pace picked up, dragging him onwards faster. Puck knew just how to touch him, and cushioned against his chest Kurt felt safe and comfortable. The heat of Puck's body and the strength in his arms was all to much, conjuring up images of having Puck pressed tight behind him while he pushed inside, the stretching fullness that he had felt when he let Puck take him on their first night together. The memories slammed into him full-force, and a moan trembled from between his lips.

"That's it, Kurt," Puck breezed, coaxing him forward. His voice was softer than Kurt would have imagined it being capable of. The same fist that had caused the bruise on his face was now dragging him towards completion, making him feel amazing from head to toe. "C'mon."

A few more strokes was all that it took for Kurt to crash over the edge, back arching away from Puck as he spilled. His eyes screwed shut and he bit down hard on his bottom lip to stop himself from being too loud; it hurt, but that was good. He needed something to distract him, anyway.

With his breath shaking a little, he eased himself back down against Puck's chest, allowing the tension to bleed away from his body. The smile on his face was dazed and dopey. He couldn't remember the last time that he had felt this relaxed.

"So, that was good, right?" Puck checked, cutting right through any potential orgasm-induced haze. "'cause that's my first time jerking a dude off and all, but that went fucking awesome, didn't it?"

Kurt hummed in confirmation, turning his head as much as he needed to. "You just need practice. Lots and lots of practice."

It took a second, but it wasn't long before there was a real wicked grin on Puck's face. "Yeah? You know anyone that might volunteer to help me out?"

"I doubt anyone I know would be quite so masochistic," Kurt breezed. He sighed dramatically. "I suppose I will have to make the sacrifice myself."

"That's real big of you." Puck nuzzled against his ear. "You mind if I sleep here tonight?"

Kurt slipped away from his arms, because although he was reluctant to leave the warm body behind he refused to sleep in a cum-marked t-shirt. "I don't mind at all," he said. It was strange to realise that that was the truth. He knew that he should have harboured more resentment towards Puck than this, but he simply didn't.

Perhaps he was becoming a more forgiving person.

Perhaps he felt that Puck was someone who deserved to be given a second chance.

Or, as was more likely, perhaps he was bored, horny and in need of a very good lay.

It didn't matter. He looked back at where Puck was in the process of making himself comfortable on the mattress of Kurt's bed, and it made him smile: if something made him happy, however fleeting the emotion, he didn't quite care to question it yet.

*

The rest of the week grew more surreal by the day, filled with stolen dates and endless amounts of Starbucks coffee. Kurt hadn't ever imagined that coming back to Lima could be an enjoyable experience for him, especially not with Puck in the equation.

Be careful, Mercedes had warned him while they chatted online. I don't want you to get hurt.

He wasn't fond of that particular idea either, and he had no desire to collect any more bruises, but he couldn't make himself back off. He was addicted - it was the sort of thing that Broadway classics were made from, swooping emotions and foolish choices.

Tonight, however, Puck had less than his full attention. He was trying to listen to what he had to say, but his mind kept wandering.

It wasn't fair on Puck. They were on a real date, in as nice a restaurant as they could find within their limited price range. With mood lighting and fabric napkins, it was the kind of thing that Kurt could appreciate. Puck had been a gentleman all week - no more punches, no more yelling - but he was still Puck. There was blunt, rude language, a one-track mind, a boring fashion sense and a shaky sense of sexual identity. It all added up to something unintentionally charming.

"I mean, I'm just saying, there are Starbucks in New York too. Everywhere, actually. It's not like-" Puck grunted. "You're not listening."

Kurt blinked in an attempt to force his mind back into the room. "I am. Seriously, I am. You're serenading Starbucks." Sometimes, Puck came across as a walking, talking advertisement. It was slightly off-putting. "I'm a little distracted."

"Really distracted."

Kurt raised a shoulder. "My dad is proposing to his girlfriend tonight. He's probably doing it right now, actually."

It was surreal to think that there was a ring sparkling on the other side of town at that exact moment. His dad wasn't even wearing a baseball cap: Kurt had taken the time to persuade him that it was far too informal for an event like this. He imagined that Liz would thank him for his consideration.

"Shit." Puck had a knack for concise reactions. Kurt blamed his reliance on curses. "You okay with that?"

"I think I have to be," Kurt said. "I've spent so much time thinking and talking about how it makes me feel... By this point, I've started to realise that it really doesn't matter. What I feel is irrelevant. What my dad feels, that's what is important." He felt wise as he said it, sensible and grown-up, but Puck's expression wasn't half as impressed as it should have been.

"No offence, Hummel, but I don't give a damn about your dad. I asked if you're okay. It's just me. It's not like I'm telling you to go call it off or anything. Just be honest."

"Honestly?" The truth was a burden that could burst a hole through his chest. "She makes me miss my mom."

Saying it aloud made him feel like a teary-eyed child all over again, blindly trying to understand that she really wasn't coming home this time.

"Life has to go on. She would want that for both of us, but it's..." He shook his head. With Puck watching him from across the table, expression soft for once in his life, he felt too visible, as if he could see everything. "It's a lot to deal with. I think I would like it more if she wasn't so nice."

"You want a wicked step-mother?"

"Why not? It worked for Snow White." She'd reached her happily ever after, hadn't she? He didn't remember what happened to her dad in the story - and that was the whole problem, wasn't it? "And Cinderella too."

"They had a shit time of it first." Kurt caught Puck's eye and allowed a small smile to creep out. A Disney fan... Unexpected adorability really wasn't good for his health. "It's alright, you know. You feeling like this? It's kinda normal. I know I freak out whenever my mom dates anyone. It's like, she's my mom. That's supposed to be it."

"It's tough having to see them as people in their own right," Kurt agreed. The selfish part of him wanted to tuck his dad away forever and never let him enter the real world. It wasn't fair; he was barely ever home and he couldn't expect his dad's life to stop just because he wasn't there. "You don't think I'm selfish?"

"Everybody's selfish." Puck shrugged, and Kurt couldn't stop himself from smiling. Such a world view seemed perfectly typical from someone like Puck. "Nah, I think you're kinda normal. Quit beating yourself up about it."

It would be nice if it was quite that easy. Kurt nodded all the same, looking down at his plate. He didn't want to look up at Puck: the man's ability to cut through bullshit was off-putting at times. Sometimes, Kurt needed to hide behind warm lies and a frozen mask. He didn't know if Puck was capable of understanding something like that.

"You wanna stay at mine tonight?" Puck asked after allowing a couple of beats of silence.

Kurt looked up at him sceptically. "Wouldn't Greg object?"

"He'd be cool with it, trust me." Trusting Puck should have been something that made Kurt laugh: it should have been absolutely impossible.

Instead, Kurt found that it came all too easily. He smiled cautiously, and nodded. "That would be really nice." He could give his dad and Liz the night to themselves, and give himself an extra night to pull himself together and remember how to be a mature adult. With Puck there to keep him company, it might not actually be too bad.

*

The solace, however, could only last a night - but by the time he returned the next morning, there was a smile on his face, already prepared. This time, it was genuine.

When he wished the pair of them all the luck in the world, Liz grabbed him and held on so hard that he was surprised not to have broken a rib or two. "Oh, Kurt," she sighed by his ear, her voice aglow with contentment. He had to smile and hold on just as tight.

"I guess a 'welcome to the family' is in order?" Considering that she had already been living with his dad for several months it was possibly a little too late for such sentiments, but it was heart-felt nonetheless.

"No big parties," his dad said, stubbornly shaking his head. "Don't make a fuss, alright?"

Kurt smiled and released Liz from his grasp, holding his tongue so that he didn't allow himself to point out that a wedding was pretty much one big party. With his dad and Liz at the helm, it would no doubt be a quiet affair - he'd just have to work hard to add some style to the event for them.

"Fuss-free, I promise," Kurt said, earnestly, although he knew that they would all think and talk about nothing else for the remaining three days of his visit. He was happily surprised to find that he didn't mind, not one bit - seeing the inner light on his dad's face made it impossible even for a brat like him to feel bitter.

*

He rested his head against the airplane window three days later, watching clouds roll past outside. He felt exhausted, as if his holiday had been spent at an army training camp rather than in the town where he had grown up. Such long periods of sustained excitement were harder than they looked. Now, however, he was on his way back to his real life, to the back-stabbing buzz of his job and the shark-toothed smiles of his colleagues.

He had expected this to feel better than it did; he had thought that he would feel relieved but, no, the emotion settled in his chest was disappointment. Saying goodbye to Puck last night had been more difficult than anticipated. It had been downright hard.

"I'll see you next time you're back," Puck had said, shrugging one shoulder and refusing to look him in the eye. "No big deal."

It had felt like a really big deal, actually, but they were both too hard-headed to admit to it. Kurt looked up when the light came on telling all passengers to fasten their seat belts: it was almost time to land and put the awkward madness of the last few weeks behind him. A potential new step-mother and an ill-advised holiday romance... Nothing strange. Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway.

He collected his baggage once they had landed and walked out into the main body of the airport - and what waited for him there was enough to bring a smile to his dejected face: Mercedes, with her arms outstretched and a grin on her face. He wheeled his suitcase after himself at an impressive speed, grabbing hold of his best friend in a one-armed hug. Cushioned against her truly impressive chest, Kurt closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He'd missed her, his bitchy piece of sunshine.

"How are you doing?" she asked, giving him one last squeeze before she slipped back and out of his greedy grasp. "Are you okay?"

"I'm in dire need of a facial and a pedicure," he said, knowing perfectly well that that wasn't what she meant. "The climate in Lima is terrible for my skin."

"A certain person's fist might have something to do with it too," Mercedes suggested. She reached out to skin her fingers over the mostly faded bruise on his jaw. It didn't hurt any more, really, and it had faded enough that he didn't have to think about it very often.

He took hold of her wrist and guided it down, shaking his head. "Let's go home," he said. Sharing an apartment with her made living in this large, expensive city infinitely more enjoyable.

She took his arm and, linked, they walked with each other towards the exit of the airport. "You're gonna talk to me about it eventually," she warned.

"'Eventually' doesn't have to be 'now'," Kurt pointed out - he knew there was a touch of desperation in his voice, because he wasn't willing to poke that particular wound just yet.

"Sure thing," Mercedes said after a cautious pause. Together they pushed their way through the airport crowds. "Me, though, I have got to give you the update on that cute little guy from my office."

Kurt smiled and felt a weight rising from his shoulders: fluffy gossip with his best friend, that was the instant cure for any confusing emotions. They could make it onto the hard stuff later - much, much later, when his rational thoughts were dampened by an excess of drink.

*

Life back at work was so frantic that he hardly had any time to stop and think. Frenzied dashes around the city and the office left him frequently out of breath and thanking the heavens for his comfortable boots: they were truly a god-send.

His fingers hammered the keyboard as he sat at his desk in the open-plan office. Calling it 'his' desk when he shared it with several other bottom-rung employees in rotation was being optimistic, really, but it was a start. The office was beginning to empty for the evening. It was dark outside, and the others were draining away to their own homes and lives. There was no way he would let himself go yet. He wanted to get this task finished, as a way of sucking up to the boss. Knowing his luck, it would go completely unnoticed.

His attention was waning and the internet was calling. He should have known better. Procrastinating would only make it longer to go until he got to sleep.

When he checked his empty email inbox for the fifth time in as many minutes, he was surprised to find something new there: it wasn't just spam. Puck. The butterflies in his stomach kicked off again and he grinned, glad that no one was around to see him. While they had been emailing each other regularly since he left, he still always got a kick whenever he realised that Puck really wanted to keep in touch with him.

i'm bored. lima sucks. what u up 2? the email read. Nothing more in-depth than that, but it was enough.

Staying late at work. my life here in the city is incredibly exciting. I plan on making hot cocoa and then having a long, relaxing bath tonight. Kurt paused, then added. There may be candles involved.

It sounded stupid and boring. He knew that, and he wished that he could jazz up his life a little more. He didn't want Puck to think that he was a no-life loser.

He didn't want to care what Puck thought at all, actually, but that was clearly a long-lost cause.

He tried to focus on his work, making achingly slow progress. He even seemed unable to type correctly, messing up every single word or two. Within a few minutes, he was checking his email again. The internet was a terrible addiction.

hot. better than here, not doin anything. btw been meanin to send u this. what u think?

There was a link to the Starbucks website below the text. Kurt frowned at it in disapproval. If Puck was tying to give him a craving for a new calorie-laden drink, he might have to find a way to throttle him through the website.

He clicked on it anyway.

It was a job advert on the corporate website, and his eyes skimmed over it on the hunt for relevant details. Manager position, full time, starting in a month.

Location: New York.

Kurt blinked a few times more than he needed to. His heart hammered as his mind raced ahead to come up with all of the many, endless possibilities that could come from this.

He went back to his inbox and tried to reply. No response came easily: he settled for, That's in my city. Four words, that was all he could come up with.

Trying to focus on his work now was even more impossible, but he gave it a shot all the same. Sucking up to his boss was beginning to seem a lot less important, for tonight anyway. He told himself he would check his inbox again in five minutes; he managed to wait for two.

i no. can i fone u? email sux balls

Puck's typing was what 'sucked balls' in Kurt's opinion, but he held himself back from typing anything alone those lines. Weaning a friend - or more? - off of chat-speak took a lot of work. For now, he could let it slide.

Behind his desk, he stood up in order to peer around the office like a meerkat on guard. There were very few people left in the open-plan space, and certainly no one that would care if he made one tiny phone call.

He picked up his office phone and dialled Puck's number. He wondered if he should have been embarrassed that he knew it off-by-heart already, but decided against it. Good muscle-memory, that was the explanation.

The phone rang for only two shrill bursts before it was answered: Puck must have been waiting.

"Hello," Kurt said. He added, "It's me, Kurt," as if Puck might be unable to tell.

"Shit, you're quick," Puck said. "Are you calling to yell at me?"

Kurt didn't know, and his moment of silence revealed as much. He hadn't had a chance to think anything through yet; he hadn't given himself a chance, knowing that when he thought things over he complicated them far too much.

"You're moving to New York?" he asked.

Along the phone line, he would swear he could hear Puck shrug. "No. Maybe? I just thought I'd throw it out there, see what you thought about it. I haven't even applied or anything yet."

Kurt knew that they were getting ahead of themselves. Puck might not even get the job - but even if he didn't there would be others if he cared to look for them. This wasn't a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

"Why?" he asked. There could be a thousand reasons, many of them not involving him at all. He had to know which one Puck had chosen.

"I don't know." That wasn't a promising start. "I don't wanna be stuck in Lima all my life. You made me think about that. And New York sounds, y'know, cool I guess."

"... Uh-huh?"

"What?" Puck sounded as if he was getting all too defensive all too quickly. "You want me to say it's 'cos of you? It kinda is. I miss you, man. It's been a couple of weeks and I miss having your prissy little face around to bitch at me all the time. It's stupid and confusing. I don't like it, but I got the feeling I'm stuck with it - with you."

Kurt floundered. He disliked not having the perfect response, but for a few moments all he could manage was silence. This wasn't the sort of thing that he had ever imagined hearing from Puck. For a sweeping declaration, it lacked a certain elegance - for a start, Kurt certainly did not have a 'prissy little face'.

But Puck was saying it; Puck was admitting that he missed him.

And, yeah, that meant something. That meant a whole lot, actually.

"Shit, say something, alright?"

Kurt cleared his throat. "You can stay over at mine when you come for your interview. Mercedes might complain, but she'll get over it." Mercedes was going to tell him that he was mad for going along with this. They barely knew each other, not really.

They had time for that, though - time enough.

"Cool," Puck said; he sounded relieved.

"Yeah," Kurt agreed, smiling as he held the phone tight against his face, leaning his other elbow on his work desk, "cool."

As new beginnings went, theirs had been a bumpy one - but Kurt couldn't wait to see where it was going to take them next.

~fin