Flatsharing (2/?)
Title: Flat-sharing (2/?)
Genre: Romance, with attempts of wittiness and humour.
Word count: 5100 words, being generous.
Rating: PG13 (for slight swearing). Eventually NC17, I promise.
Pairings: Kurt/Puck, past-Puck/OC.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, there will be a lot more of Velvet Goldmine going around Glee.
Summary: after being metaphorically kicked in the nuts, Puck is found by Kurt in a bus-stop. Rent is expensive, and, really, chemistry between flat-mates is SO overrated.
Note: Thanks again to alicebluegown16, her awesomeness is off the chart.
Another note: Kurt’s Balenciaga pea coat is this, and this & this are the sweet nectars they drink.
--
Turns out, Kurt is really carrying a Dickensian life-style.
It’s not only the small apartment. Or the cheap clothes. Yeah, you hear that right, cheap clothes. Mostly H&M, because that’s where Kurt works part-time (because one cannot live on future open doors), and he gets employee discount. But also second hand stuff, and the designer items he gets now are special bargains from eBay. That, and the clothes he keeps from high school.
“Wait, you still fit in those spray-on jeans?” asked Puck the night after he had started to carry out his guard dog duties. Kurt had made some pasta primavera, and he had taken some really nice wine glasses from a cardboard box in his room to pour some Lambrusco in them.
“Luckily for me, my ass has behaved during all these years. Although sometimes I have to roll the sleeves of some shirts, because, don’t ask me why, I had a growth spurt in my 20s, and they just don’t fit anymore” he sighed sadly inside his wine glass.
The thing doesn’t stop there. Kurt can’t afford things like eating meat more than twice a week, he bakes his own granola bars, and practically does everything but wiping his ass with tree leaves in order to save money.
“Is it that hard to believe?” asked Kurt. He was absolutely sober, but the wine was starting to make his cheeks look like apples, and a slight sweat was sticking his bangs to his forehead.
“Well, you used to dry-clean your handkerchiefs.”
“Things became kind of different after my father married Carole. From that moment it wasn’t only me, Finn also had to go to college, so the whole family had to learn to redistribute the income” answered Kurt, and Puck found he didn’t sound bitter at all.
“Have you always been OK with that? I can see that you have grown accustomed but, I don’t know man, for a guy like you it must have been hard to have to give up so many stuff.”
“You see, Puck,” Kurt started to explain “I don’t mind I had to change my overly excessive former life-style if that means Finn had been able to leave the rat hole that is Lima. Now he is doing great things in Cincinnati, and in a couple of years he will be completely independent, and my father will start spoiling me again. And I hope Mercedes will help him with that, because if not, I’m sure I will be wearing the ugliest piece of Mark Jacobs he can find.”
“OK, I got it, this is the life you’ve chosen.”
“Exactly. On the other hand, you are stuck with a couple of things you didn’t choose at all. What have you planned?”
“I should get another job. I lost the one I had last week.”
“What happened?” asked Kurt, reaching for the second bottle of wine, this time with no sparkles. Puck took a tentative sip before answering.
“Travis got into a fight and I tried to help him during my shift. We both worked at a club on Delancey, and the owner didn’t like what I did to the other guy’s face.”
“I bet he didn’t-- Well, would you like job at another club? I know people who could hire you if you promise you’ll behave.”
“I think I want to do some day job. Something easy, just enough to save a little.”
Kurt remained pensive for a while, sipping wine from time to time. Puck finished his pasta, having a mental food-gasm.
“Can I ask you a favor?” Puck nodded “Would you sing some of your songs for me? C’mon, I know you’re not shy when it comes to these things.”
So, Puck grabbed his guitar and started with You Know You’re Better, following with Taming Fortune, and he was halfway through Now I Don’t Want Your Love when Kurt raised his hand. Puck stopped, already predicting bad news.
“What?” he asked. Kurt fidgeted a little, but he didn’t beat around the bush.
“I think you can do better. It’s not that this is bad,” he added, seeing Puck’s expression “but everything sounds too-- teenager. Too much like the Puck I left in Lima five years ago. It’s like you’re trying too hard with the version of you that you know and control, and you’re not risking getting to discover more about yourself.”
“I-- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“See? That’s what I’m referring to, of course you know what I’m talking about, you’re smarter that you want people to believe. You’re setting your standards too low, just in case you screw up when you aim higher.”
“OK, and what am I suppose to do, then?” asked Puck, gulping down his wine.
“In my opinion, you need to explore yourself. Open your limits, go to nice places, read good books--”
Puck was going to point out that he wasn’t really a book person, but Kurt was on fire, and seeing him putting so much effort in this was cheering him up, despite everything.
“All right, those are big plans, but first I need a job. And now that I think so, I should look for a place to live, or I won’t get a job in a million years. What?” he asked, seeing Kurt’s eyebrow was reaching his hairline.
“You already have an option here.”
“Are you offering your place?”
“Why not? Look, I sweet-talked my landlady, and she’s letting me pay this month’s rent with the deposit Quentin and I left at the beginning, but next month I’m going to need a roommate. I know you already, I’m pretty sure you will find a job very easily, and, what the hell, it’s not as if you have something better right now. So, what do you say?”
Puck just offered a hand that Kurt shook immediately, with a impossibly wide smile that made his face look like a little kid’s, and formed lots of tiny wrinkles around his eyes.
“Deal, then! Cheers!” he exclaimed, and clinked their glasses together.
-&-
They went to bed pretty quickly, because Kurt had to work the next day (both at Demodé and H&M), and he couldn‘t be at any other level of proficiency that wasn‘t Martha Stewart‘s, because he had actually called in sick today.
“Wait a second, you called in sick just because-- I don’t even know the reason you called in sick!”
“Oh, come on, it’s not that big of an issue, I found you, I was puzzled, I wanted to see if you would help me with the Quentin thingy, and it just didn’t feel right to leave you here while I was working.”
“What, you thought I would steal your things, or something?” said Puck, but he really didn’t think that. Kurt, however, turned purple just hearing him.
“Of course not! But I didn’t know if you’d be sick, or-- Just shut up, I was worried, I called my bosses and lied. Happy now?” he stomped his way to the bathroom and closed the door with a grunt, not giving Puck time to answer his last question.
Not that Puck would have really answered, because he wasn’t prepared to admit he was so fucking happy it was terrifying.
-&-
Luckily, Kurt’s sourpuss of an ex didn’t make any special number that night, and Puck had plenty of rest. He woke up at 10, took a shower and devoured a huge bowl of muesli (that was a bit funky because there was only soy milk in the fridge) and a glass of OJ before heading to the streets, ready for his job-hunt.
He stopped at 1:00 and bought a couple of sandwiches, a bag of chips and a bottle of Mountain Dew and ate the whole thing in ten minutes, sat in a bench at a park. A couple of mamas threw him promising and elegant leers, but he had always being cougar bait, so no surprises there. He just smiled politely, though, and devoted himself to his noble task.
At 8:00 he decided it was enough for one day. Also, his feet were aching and it was too cold to be wandering around the streets. So, he headed towards Kurt’s place, where he was welcomed with a delicious smell and the blessings of central heating.
“Hey, how was today?” asked Kurt, stirring something inside a pot.
“I’ve got a couple of ‘we’ll call you’, but nothing else.”
“That’s better than nothing.”
“I know. What are you making?” Kurt smiled with unhidden pride and let him get closer to pot and the source of that amazing smell.
“It’s turkey soup, I hope you like it. By the way, did you notice something weird when you woke up? I was in a hurry this morning, and I just couldn’t check if Quentin--”
“Everything was all right. I’m not a heavy sleeper, I would have sprang like a tiger at the slightest noise of the door opening. Now, give me some of that soup, I feel I’ve been eating junk food since I was seventeen.”
“Please, don’t bring that image, it makes my stomach twirl and my teeth ache.”
They sat at the kitchen’s bar. Puck brought to his mouth a spoonful of soup, carrots, potatoes and thin bits of turkey. It was wonderfully tasty and comforting.
It was weird, thought Puck, how the happiness and coziness was getting tangled with an undetermined feeling of danger. It probably had to do with the lesson he had learned about getting enthusiastic with things, just to end up empty-handed. He had gotten enthusiastic with Quinn, with Beth, with Travis, with their project-- And God knew nothing had ever gone according with his expectations.
He shook his head and tried to concentrate in the soup and Kurt’s chatter about knowing his rights as a worker, and the alarming quantity of abusive bosses that New York possessed. He was in the middle of a very enthusiastic rant about high-rank’s assholishness, when his cell-phone rang.
“You sure have a lame ring-tone” commented Puck.
“Shut up, I can’t have anything else, my magazine is a serious place. Hello, Sandra? Yes, he’s been searching. No, no such luck. Oh-- Oh, that’s great! Wait” he put the phone apart, looking at Puck, “What do you think about working at a small coffee-shop, twenty minutes from here, from 8:00 to 3:00?”
“Sounds good” said Puck.
“He said yes” answered Kurt to the person on the line “OK, I’ve got the address already, silly, you gave it to me before. All right, see you. Thanks!”
He hung up and sat again, smiling like a kid.
“Today I talked about you to this friend from Demodé, because I knew she has a friend that needs help with a coffee shop, and I kinda know her too. She was worried about your experience treating with the clients, but I told her that not only you had plenty of experience, but you were also a stud, and that‘s always an extra.”
“Can’t say I disagree with that. So I’ve got an interview?”
“Tomorrow, at 8:00. I’ll make sure you’re ready in time, just don’t punch me in the face when I wake you up.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not a mean sleeper. I’m all good flow in the morning.” Puck finished his soup and considered licking the bowl clean. Kurt, reading his mind, reached for it and gave him a second serving. “Do you think I’ll got the job?”
“Sure. One week and you’ll master all the tasks. And you’ll probably double the benefits. Do you want some fruit?”
“Kiwi, please. How will I double the benefits?”
“Oh, you know. Just hit all the ladies with that foxy smile of yours.”
“Wow, that’s so fucking wise. What was it, Confucius?”
“Shut up. Do you want to take a shower now or tomorrow morning?”
“Tomorrow, I just wanna melt on your sofa for a while.”
“OK, then I’ll take my shower now. The remote is on top of the TV, feel free to melt wherever you want until I finish” said Kurt, heading towards the bathroom. “And don’t try to be chivalrous by washing the dishes, if you open that tap I’ll freeze to death.” he added.
Puck just nodded and dragged his ass to the couch. All the tiredness from walking all day was making him drowsy. He began to watch some documentary about some guys whose job was pimping monster trucks. If he wasn’t so tired the whole thing would have make him pop a mental boner, but he fell asleep after five minutes.
-&-
Just as promised, Kurt woke him up the next morning. Puck crawled into a more less sitting position, rubbing his eyes.
“How did I reach the bed?” he asked. Kurt, who seemed even more sleepy than him, muffled a yawn in the sleeve of his bathrobe.
“I just ordered you to in a very commanding voice. I was tempted of making you roll on the floor and bounce a ball on your nose, seeing as you were so obedient.”
“I don’t know if I like the implications of that. OK, I’m gonna take a shower.”
He had to confront again the thousand bottles inside the shower, and this time luck wasn’t on his side, and he ended up smelling like a fruit salad. He got dressed while cursing under his breath.
Kurt was apparently sleep-munching his toast. The TV was on, but his eyes were almost closed. When Puck got closer he heard him softly humming to himself.
“Don’t fall asleep, roomie.” said Puck, startling him.
“Are you gonna wear that?” said Kurt, before chugging down his coffee.
“Oh, so you’re awake enough for criticism?”
“That hobo sweater you’re wearing was more effective than a cold shower.”
“Don’t you think that my foxy smile will cover for it?”
“Do I really have to answer?”
“I’ll grab my shirt.”
“Please, tell me you’re calling it ‘my shirt’ because it’s your favourite, not because it’s the only one you possess--”
“Um-- both are correct?”
“Get out of my sight.”
-&-
After discarding the so called hobo sweater and changing into the shirt (it was a nice dark blue shirt, and it wasn’t too wrinkled), Puck stood in front of Kurt, waiting for approval.
Kurt shrugged, which could mean a lot of things, but Puck guessed the shirt was good enough. He ate his breakfast while Kurt was getting dressed, and they left as soon as they were both ready.
“OK, you have the address, don’t get lost, don’t talk to strangers--”
“I should be giving you security advice. Keep your eyes open, your ex may be lurking around you. If you see something weird, try to take pictures, and if he wants to talk to you, call the cops. Or me. Call both” he stopped and realise Kurt was trying to suppress a smile. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing honey” said Kurt, tying his scarf. “It’s just that you’ve turned into a really sweet guy.”
‘Don’t compliment me’ thought Puck, and he felt weird for thinking it. It was just a compliment, nothing dangerous. But it made him feel all flushed and fluttery inside.
“Well, I gotta go.” he said. Kurt nodded, still smiling.
“Fox the hell out of them” he said, before heading to the bus stop, leaving Puck smiling like an idiot on the sidewalk.
-&-
Of course, he nailed the interview. The manager, Francine, was 40, just the right level of curvaceous and an Iron Maiden fan. It was destiny. Before he realised, he was already making ‘hello there, hot mama’ eyes at her.
He told her about past experiences in coffee shops, restaurants, and his abilities for, ahem, baking.
“Well, I’m impressed” she said. “What if you do a trial today, and if everything goes alright, the job is yours.”
Puck agreed, and she handed him an apron.
“This is quite easy. We don’t do fancy drinks, so the weirdest thing anybody will ask you for will be a specially frothy latte. I bake the pastries and buns every morning at 6, and I usually have to do another batch, plus the food for lunch time, at 10. You’ll be alone while I’m cooking, and that will be until 12 or so. Questions?”
“No, ma'am”
“Good. Let’s put some nice music and get our asses moving.”
The ‘nice music’ was an acoustic compilation of Scorpions, so it was very nice indeed. Puck stood behind the counter, his first-day nerves fading slowly as he heard Francine singing softly, walking in and out the kitchen.
A couple of women came inside, asking for lattes and eyeing him discreetly. He smiled at them, prepared to charm the hell out of them.
“Today it’s my first day, so bear with me” he said, trying to follow Francine’s indications as quickly and neatly as possible. He handed the ladies their coffees, the smile never leaving his lips.
“Would you like something else?” he asked.
“No, sorry, we’re trying to watch our figures--” said one of them.
Puck took a slow, appraising look at both of them, from head to toe, his smile turning slowly into a polite leer (if that was even possible).
“Oh, I don’t think you have to do anything of the sort. I think you’d look just as fine with the addition of a muffin or two. You’d probably be even sweeter, ladies.”
He could almost hear the implosions inside their heads. Both women blushed furiously and proceed to select three muffins each. One of them fished her Blackberry from her pocket and started to key down something while the other one paid Puck (and added a generous tip).
Francine pretended she had to mop just behind the one with the Blackberry, taking a quick look over her shoulder.
“She was tweeting, sweet-cheeks” said Francine as soon as they left. “Something about having to ‘check out the new cutie working at Francine’s’.
-&-
And, apparently, they couldn’t wait to check out the new cutie. The shop, as Francine told him, usually had a rush hour between 9 and 10, but people had started to line outside. Specially women and gay men (even Puck with his rusty gaydar could tell. He didn’t want to make assumptions, but no straight man could make orange and pink parsley print work).
Puck had panicked a little bit at first, when people had started to pile up inside, and some of them had asked for grilled bagels and other slightly more complicated things. But he had picked a good pace now, and he was concentrating extra hard on being charming and just the right amount of flirtatious.
The rush hour passed, everybody went to work, or whatever this people did. He cleaned the sugar and cream counters during a quiet moment without needing to be told so, and Francine looked very impressed when she came back from the kitchen with part of the second batch of the day.
At 11:30 or so Miranda, Francine’s daughter, paid her mother a visit, carrying her 1-year-old son, Jason.
“You can take five if you want, Puck, I can take care of things for a while” said Miranda, when the introductions were over.
“Actually, I’d like to help you with the rest of the baking, if you don’t mind” he said, and earned an approving look from both women. He followed the older woman to the kitchen, carrying Jason inside.
During the next hour he helped making sandwiches, giant cookies (trying to suppress the craving for raw dough was a Herculean task), and even a huge pot of carrot and coriander soup. He also had to change Jason, what took him 5 of the most horrible minutes of his life (that kid needed to cut down the fruit, Jesus).
The new load of food was ready just in time, and Miranda left with her freshly changed offspring just when the second rush-hour started, about 12:15. A lot of people that had come for breakfast (and eye-candy) came for lunch too, and Puck did his best to win them over with every aw shucks nice Mid-Western boy trick in the book.
It was odd and kind of funny how well he was managing. After all the big plans he had with Travis, he’d have thought that working serving soup and grilled cheese would have bored his ass off. But he was enjoying having contact with people, and working with his hands, and chatting, and just doing something to keep his head and body moving.
“Puck, sweetie, go to the kitchen and have something to eat, I’ve been hearing your stomach growling for an hour now” said Francine, and Puck realized she was right. The lunch-time horde had left, and now that he wasn’t busy, all the hunger and tiredness fell upon him. So he sat in a chair in the kitchen and inhaled some of that fantastic soup and three sandwiches. He even had one of the cookies that had burnt slightly (while he was helping, of course. But, hey, it was still a pretty good cookie).
He also took the initiative of washing the shitload of dishes that were piled in the sink, filling the dishwasher three times. He was going to dry them, but he couldn’t find the clean dishtowels and Francine was calling him because all the tables were dirty and some clients were already lining up.
He didn’t realise his shift was over until the afternoon girl arrived. Francine was smiling a lot to him, not in a cougar-throwing-the-bait kinda way, but like she was really happy with him. It was making him get hot around his ears.
“Did I pass?” he asked. She patted him on his shoulder and handed him a bag with some promising Tupperware inside.
“Bring some of your music tomorrow.”
-&-
Kurt hadn’t come home yet when Puck arrived. He did a double check, looking for crazy ex-boyfriend anomalies, but he couldn’t find anything weird.
Until he reached Kurt’s room.
“Oh, crap.”
He fished his phone from his pocket and took a couple of pictures, for the sake of it, but he doubted the police would pay attention to this. He wasn’t even sure about the actual value of the thing. He reached to read the label on the inner part of the neck.
“Balenciaga” he read aloud. That didn’t ring any bell for him, but what did he knew about couture?
-&-
Kurt arrived at 7:10, visibly exhausted but in a good mood, and Puck hated having to bring bad news.
“How was the interview?”
“The interview was fine, and I did the trial today also. It was fine,” he said, trying to hide his satisfaction and doing a poor job of it “My boss gave me some leftovers, wanna eat while I tell you everything?”
“That’d be perfect” said Kurt, reaching for soup to heat it up. “So, what happened?”
By the time Puck had told him everything, Kurt was smiling so much that Puck was afraid his porcelain face would break.
“I knew you‘d own the place in five minutes!”
“Well, it took more than five minutes, and I wasn‘t all cool and collected. I got a little bit terrified a couple of times” said Puck, smiling. “The diaper business was especially traumatizing.”
“Oh, boy--” said Kurt, cracking up. “Anyway, you got the job, we should celebrate! I’ve been wanting to use this fantastic wine Quentin bought. By the way, did you notice something today?”
“Yeah, you see, I was trying to figure out how to tell you--”
“Oh my God, what did he do?”
“Em-- just go to your room and-- I don’t know, take it easy.”
Kurt run towards his bedroom, visibly paler. Puck followed him. He was expecting tears and yelling, but Kurt only picked the pieces of grey wool and laughed.
“Is it so bad that you have gone mad?” he asked.
“That petty son of a bitch thought this was the worst thing he could do. Well, that only proves how little did he know about me. In any case, this pea coat was too small around the shoulders. Bah,” he said, tossing the stray piece of cloth “let’s celebrate your success, and drink the magnificent wine that moron left.”
Puck’s jaw was hanging slightly.
‘Holy crap,’ he thought ‘I seriously don’t know what will I do if this guy gets any cooler.’
He sure as hell needed a drink.
-&-
The wine was great. It was ice cold and perfectly sweet. Puck traced random drawings on the surface of his frosted glass, feeling light-headed and in peace with the world.
They were both sprawled in the coach. Well, all the sprawled they could be in such a tiny sofa. Kurt was leaning a little on him, all pink cheeks and shiny, wet mouth, saying a lot of interesting things that Puck really couldn’t follow entirely.
“--that’s why Brian Eno is a fucking genius” he said, and Puck only nodded and thought about the shivers he got every time Kurt swore.
“We should totally play some of that music, man” he said, leaning a little bit more on Kurt. “I mean-- I could play, and you would sing, and you would kill it, I just know it.”
“See? That’s why I said you’re sweet, there’s a limit to how charming a person is, you know?” joked Kurt. He was laughing, wrinkling the corners of his eyes, and Puck felt his heart was doing somersaults.
He breathed deeply a couple of times, trying to calm down. Unluckily for him, he caught a whiff of Kurt’s spicy smell, and all his good intentions went out of the window.
“How come you smell so good, and I smelled like a smoothie after using your shower gel?” he asked in a deep, sultry tone. Kurt laughed again and then smelled him.
“Nonsense, you smell pretty good. Don’t badmouth my Lush products, it’s the only thing I allow myself to purchase without thinking about its price.”
“Oh, so that’s the secret behind the baby-soft hands?” Puck said, caressing lightly the back of Kurt’s hand. “I remember Brittany told everybody, she was really impressed.”
“Mm--” hummed Kurt, closing his eyes and letting his head fall against the back of the couch, probably feeling quite light-headed himself. “As if me having freakishly soft hands was the weirdest thing about me that week-- I still have nightmares about all that flannel.”
Puck pours more wine for both of them, because it seemed like a good idea and distracted him from the numbness and nerves he was suddenly feeling. He almost missed his glass with Kurt’s next words;
“It’s from Can’t Live Without You, isn’t it?”
That’s it, thought Puck, he broke me. And then he leaned over Kurt, who had his piercingly blue/grey/green eyes half-open and fixed in him, and angled his head just the right amount, ready to touch that soft, moist mouth with his own.
He felt Kurt’s breath in a gentle puff of air, as he spoke.
“Don’t” he said, and Puck stopped immediately. Kurt’s eyes were completely open, and he suddenly seemed way too sober.
“Eh, sorry. I thought--”
“Yeah, I know, don’t apologise. You see, Puck, I understand that making out seems the natural thing to do for you now, but I think you’re misunderstanding gratitude for something else” he smiled a little, but not in a ‘sorry, but you’re just not my type’ way. “Also, we just finished with some really shitty relationships, it’s just-- it’s messed up, however you look at it. We’re both feeling over-sympathetic and silly” he finished, rubbing his forehead as if he wasn’t sure about the whole thing either, and Puck felt slightly better.
“Do you think I don’t know what goes on with my head?” he said, however, raising his voice a little bit too much. Kurt frowned and crossed his legs like a lock, all defenses up.
“OK, first, don’t yell at me, because I’m not trying to turn this into an argument. I’m trying to speak to you like an adult.”
“Well, I’m sorry if I’m not being all nice and understanding. It’s a bit shocking when somebody tells me that I can’t tell between been thankful and prostituting myself.”
Puck decided to keep silent for a second, trying to breath evenly and fighting the icy lead weight of mortification in his gut.
“Explain it to me again. You think I’m-- misinterpreting my feelings here” he said.
‘Even when they’re not more complicated than ‘smells good, looks good, let’s give it a healthy bite’’, he thought.
Kurt chugged down half of his wine and started to talk again, a little begrudgingly this time. Puck tried to look open and not at all like the rejected asshole he wanted to act like.
“I know for a fact that you tend to hook up with people that boost your self-esteem, and I have been there for you in a low moment. You feel so grateful you think you have to compensate me, and since you’re a really-- passionate person, this is your first impulse.”
“It’s surprising how well you know me, considering you haven’t seen my face un five years” said Puck, trying hard to loose the sarcasm. He sigh loudly, forcing a grin. “But I get what you mean, and the worst thing is that it actually makes sense. I’m sorry if I put you in a tight position, considering you’re also going through a tough time--”
“Hey, I told you, don’t apologise. We’re a bit unfocused right now, so this kind of fucked up things are normal. I don’t want you to feel bad, I’m serious.”
“I’m OK, man. We’re okay. Well, we aren’t, but you know what I mean.”
“I do. Of course I do” he said, grabbing the wine bottle. “Another toast for awkward moments that, however, end up fairly well.”
“Cheers” said Puck, clinking his glass against Kurt’s enthusiastically, but he still felt a huge ball of shame, awkwardness and disappointment within him.
Genre: Romance, with attempts of wittiness and humour.
Word count: 5100 words, being generous.
Rating: PG13 (for slight swearing). Eventually NC17, I promise.
Pairings: Kurt/Puck, past-Puck/OC.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, there will be a lot more of Velvet Goldmine going around Glee.
Summary: after being metaphorically kicked in the nuts, Puck is found by Kurt in a bus-stop. Rent is expensive, and, really, chemistry between flat-mates is SO overrated.
Note: Thanks again to alicebluegown16, her awesomeness is off the chart.
Another note: Kurt’s Balenciaga pea coat is this, and this & this are the sweet nectars they drink.
--
Turns out, Kurt is really carrying a Dickensian life-style.
It’s not only the small apartment. Or the cheap clothes. Yeah, you hear that right, cheap clothes. Mostly H&M, because that’s where Kurt works part-time (because one cannot live on future open doors), and he gets employee discount. But also second hand stuff, and the designer items he gets now are special bargains from eBay. That, and the clothes he keeps from high school.
“Wait, you still fit in those spray-on jeans?” asked Puck the night after he had started to carry out his guard dog duties. Kurt had made some pasta primavera, and he had taken some really nice wine glasses from a cardboard box in his room to pour some Lambrusco in them.
“Luckily for me, my ass has behaved during all these years. Although sometimes I have to roll the sleeves of some shirts, because, don’t ask me why, I had a growth spurt in my 20s, and they just don’t fit anymore” he sighed sadly inside his wine glass.
The thing doesn’t stop there. Kurt can’t afford things like eating meat more than twice a week, he bakes his own granola bars, and practically does everything but wiping his ass with tree leaves in order to save money.
“Is it that hard to believe?” asked Kurt. He was absolutely sober, but the wine was starting to make his cheeks look like apples, and a slight sweat was sticking his bangs to his forehead.
“Well, you used to dry-clean your handkerchiefs.”
“Things became kind of different after my father married Carole. From that moment it wasn’t only me, Finn also had to go to college, so the whole family had to learn to redistribute the income” answered Kurt, and Puck found he didn’t sound bitter at all.
“Have you always been OK with that? I can see that you have grown accustomed but, I don’t know man, for a guy like you it must have been hard to have to give up so many stuff.”
“You see, Puck,” Kurt started to explain “I don’t mind I had to change my overly excessive former life-style if that means Finn had been able to leave the rat hole that is Lima. Now he is doing great things in Cincinnati, and in a couple of years he will be completely independent, and my father will start spoiling me again. And I hope Mercedes will help him with that, because if not, I’m sure I will be wearing the ugliest piece of Mark Jacobs he can find.”
“OK, I got it, this is the life you’ve chosen.”
“Exactly. On the other hand, you are stuck with a couple of things you didn’t choose at all. What have you planned?”
“I should get another job. I lost the one I had last week.”
“What happened?” asked Kurt, reaching for the second bottle of wine, this time with no sparkles. Puck took a tentative sip before answering.
“Travis got into a fight and I tried to help him during my shift. We both worked at a club on Delancey, and the owner didn’t like what I did to the other guy’s face.”
“I bet he didn’t-- Well, would you like job at another club? I know people who could hire you if you promise you’ll behave.”
“I think I want to do some day job. Something easy, just enough to save a little.”
Kurt remained pensive for a while, sipping wine from time to time. Puck finished his pasta, having a mental food-gasm.
“Can I ask you a favor?” Puck nodded “Would you sing some of your songs for me? C’mon, I know you’re not shy when it comes to these things.”
So, Puck grabbed his guitar and started with You Know You’re Better, following with Taming Fortune, and he was halfway through Now I Don’t Want Your Love when Kurt raised his hand. Puck stopped, already predicting bad news.
“What?” he asked. Kurt fidgeted a little, but he didn’t beat around the bush.
“I think you can do better. It’s not that this is bad,” he added, seeing Puck’s expression “but everything sounds too-- teenager. Too much like the Puck I left in Lima five years ago. It’s like you’re trying too hard with the version of you that you know and control, and you’re not risking getting to discover more about yourself.”
“I-- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“See? That’s what I’m referring to, of course you know what I’m talking about, you’re smarter that you want people to believe. You’re setting your standards too low, just in case you screw up when you aim higher.”
“OK, and what am I suppose to do, then?” asked Puck, gulping down his wine.
“In my opinion, you need to explore yourself. Open your limits, go to nice places, read good books--”
Puck was going to point out that he wasn’t really a book person, but Kurt was on fire, and seeing him putting so much effort in this was cheering him up, despite everything.
“All right, those are big plans, but first I need a job. And now that I think so, I should look for a place to live, or I won’t get a job in a million years. What?” he asked, seeing Kurt’s eyebrow was reaching his hairline.
“You already have an option here.”
“Are you offering your place?”
“Why not? Look, I sweet-talked my landlady, and she’s letting me pay this month’s rent with the deposit Quentin and I left at the beginning, but next month I’m going to need a roommate. I know you already, I’m pretty sure you will find a job very easily, and, what the hell, it’s not as if you have something better right now. So, what do you say?”
Puck just offered a hand that Kurt shook immediately, with a impossibly wide smile that made his face look like a little kid’s, and formed lots of tiny wrinkles around his eyes.
“Deal, then! Cheers!” he exclaimed, and clinked their glasses together.
-&-
They went to bed pretty quickly, because Kurt had to work the next day (both at Demodé and H&M), and he couldn‘t be at any other level of proficiency that wasn‘t Martha Stewart‘s, because he had actually called in sick today.
“Wait a second, you called in sick just because-- I don’t even know the reason you called in sick!”
“Oh, come on, it’s not that big of an issue, I found you, I was puzzled, I wanted to see if you would help me with the Quentin thingy, and it just didn’t feel right to leave you here while I was working.”
“What, you thought I would steal your things, or something?” said Puck, but he really didn’t think that. Kurt, however, turned purple just hearing him.
“Of course not! But I didn’t know if you’d be sick, or-- Just shut up, I was worried, I called my bosses and lied. Happy now?” he stomped his way to the bathroom and closed the door with a grunt, not giving Puck time to answer his last question.
Not that Puck would have really answered, because he wasn’t prepared to admit he was so fucking happy it was terrifying.
-&-
Luckily, Kurt’s sourpuss of an ex didn’t make any special number that night, and Puck had plenty of rest. He woke up at 10, took a shower and devoured a huge bowl of muesli (that was a bit funky because there was only soy milk in the fridge) and a glass of OJ before heading to the streets, ready for his job-hunt.
He stopped at 1:00 and bought a couple of sandwiches, a bag of chips and a bottle of Mountain Dew and ate the whole thing in ten minutes, sat in a bench at a park. A couple of mamas threw him promising and elegant leers, but he had always being cougar bait, so no surprises there. He just smiled politely, though, and devoted himself to his noble task.
At 8:00 he decided it was enough for one day. Also, his feet were aching and it was too cold to be wandering around the streets. So, he headed towards Kurt’s place, where he was welcomed with a delicious smell and the blessings of central heating.
“Hey, how was today?” asked Kurt, stirring something inside a pot.
“I’ve got a couple of ‘we’ll call you’, but nothing else.”
“That’s better than nothing.”
“I know. What are you making?” Kurt smiled with unhidden pride and let him get closer to pot and the source of that amazing smell.
“It’s turkey soup, I hope you like it. By the way, did you notice something weird when you woke up? I was in a hurry this morning, and I just couldn’t check if Quentin--”
“Everything was all right. I’m not a heavy sleeper, I would have sprang like a tiger at the slightest noise of the door opening. Now, give me some of that soup, I feel I’ve been eating junk food since I was seventeen.”
“Please, don’t bring that image, it makes my stomach twirl and my teeth ache.”
They sat at the kitchen’s bar. Puck brought to his mouth a spoonful of soup, carrots, potatoes and thin bits of turkey. It was wonderfully tasty and comforting.
It was weird, thought Puck, how the happiness and coziness was getting tangled with an undetermined feeling of danger. It probably had to do with the lesson he had learned about getting enthusiastic with things, just to end up empty-handed. He had gotten enthusiastic with Quinn, with Beth, with Travis, with their project-- And God knew nothing had ever gone according with his expectations.
He shook his head and tried to concentrate in the soup and Kurt’s chatter about knowing his rights as a worker, and the alarming quantity of abusive bosses that New York possessed. He was in the middle of a very enthusiastic rant about high-rank’s assholishness, when his cell-phone rang.
“You sure have a lame ring-tone” commented Puck.
“Shut up, I can’t have anything else, my magazine is a serious place. Hello, Sandra? Yes, he’s been searching. No, no such luck. Oh-- Oh, that’s great! Wait” he put the phone apart, looking at Puck, “What do you think about working at a small coffee-shop, twenty minutes from here, from 8:00 to 3:00?”
“Sounds good” said Puck.
“He said yes” answered Kurt to the person on the line “OK, I’ve got the address already, silly, you gave it to me before. All right, see you. Thanks!”
He hung up and sat again, smiling like a kid.
“Today I talked about you to this friend from Demodé, because I knew she has a friend that needs help with a coffee shop, and I kinda know her too. She was worried about your experience treating with the clients, but I told her that not only you had plenty of experience, but you were also a stud, and that‘s always an extra.”
“Can’t say I disagree with that. So I’ve got an interview?”
“Tomorrow, at 8:00. I’ll make sure you’re ready in time, just don’t punch me in the face when I wake you up.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not a mean sleeper. I’m all good flow in the morning.” Puck finished his soup and considered licking the bowl clean. Kurt, reading his mind, reached for it and gave him a second serving. “Do you think I’ll got the job?”
“Sure. One week and you’ll master all the tasks. And you’ll probably double the benefits. Do you want some fruit?”
“Kiwi, please. How will I double the benefits?”
“Oh, you know. Just hit all the ladies with that foxy smile of yours.”
“Wow, that’s so fucking wise. What was it, Confucius?”
“Shut up. Do you want to take a shower now or tomorrow morning?”
“Tomorrow, I just wanna melt on your sofa for a while.”
“OK, then I’ll take my shower now. The remote is on top of the TV, feel free to melt wherever you want until I finish” said Kurt, heading towards the bathroom. “And don’t try to be chivalrous by washing the dishes, if you open that tap I’ll freeze to death.” he added.
Puck just nodded and dragged his ass to the couch. All the tiredness from walking all day was making him drowsy. He began to watch some documentary about some guys whose job was pimping monster trucks. If he wasn’t so tired the whole thing would have make him pop a mental boner, but he fell asleep after five minutes.
-&-
Just as promised, Kurt woke him up the next morning. Puck crawled into a more less sitting position, rubbing his eyes.
“How did I reach the bed?” he asked. Kurt, who seemed even more sleepy than him, muffled a yawn in the sleeve of his bathrobe.
“I just ordered you to in a very commanding voice. I was tempted of making you roll on the floor and bounce a ball on your nose, seeing as you were so obedient.”
“I don’t know if I like the implications of that. OK, I’m gonna take a shower.”
He had to confront again the thousand bottles inside the shower, and this time luck wasn’t on his side, and he ended up smelling like a fruit salad. He got dressed while cursing under his breath.
Kurt was apparently sleep-munching his toast. The TV was on, but his eyes were almost closed. When Puck got closer he heard him softly humming to himself.
“Don’t fall asleep, roomie.” said Puck, startling him.
“Are you gonna wear that?” said Kurt, before chugging down his coffee.
“Oh, so you’re awake enough for criticism?”
“That hobo sweater you’re wearing was more effective than a cold shower.”
“Don’t you think that my foxy smile will cover for it?”
“Do I really have to answer?”
“I’ll grab my shirt.”
“Please, tell me you’re calling it ‘my shirt’ because it’s your favourite, not because it’s the only one you possess--”
“Um-- both are correct?”
“Get out of my sight.”
-&-
After discarding the so called hobo sweater and changing into the shirt (it was a nice dark blue shirt, and it wasn’t too wrinkled), Puck stood in front of Kurt, waiting for approval.
Kurt shrugged, which could mean a lot of things, but Puck guessed the shirt was good enough. He ate his breakfast while Kurt was getting dressed, and they left as soon as they were both ready.
“OK, you have the address, don’t get lost, don’t talk to strangers--”
“I should be giving you security advice. Keep your eyes open, your ex may be lurking around you. If you see something weird, try to take pictures, and if he wants to talk to you, call the cops. Or me. Call both” he stopped and realise Kurt was trying to suppress a smile. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing honey” said Kurt, tying his scarf. “It’s just that you’ve turned into a really sweet guy.”
‘Don’t compliment me’ thought Puck, and he felt weird for thinking it. It was just a compliment, nothing dangerous. But it made him feel all flushed and fluttery inside.
“Well, I gotta go.” he said. Kurt nodded, still smiling.
“Fox the hell out of them” he said, before heading to the bus stop, leaving Puck smiling like an idiot on the sidewalk.
-&-
Of course, he nailed the interview. The manager, Francine, was 40, just the right level of curvaceous and an Iron Maiden fan. It was destiny. Before he realised, he was already making ‘hello there, hot mama’ eyes at her.
He told her about past experiences in coffee shops, restaurants, and his abilities for, ahem, baking.
“Well, I’m impressed” she said. “What if you do a trial today, and if everything goes alright, the job is yours.”
Puck agreed, and she handed him an apron.
“This is quite easy. We don’t do fancy drinks, so the weirdest thing anybody will ask you for will be a specially frothy latte. I bake the pastries and buns every morning at 6, and I usually have to do another batch, plus the food for lunch time, at 10. You’ll be alone while I’m cooking, and that will be until 12 or so. Questions?”
“No, ma'am”
“Good. Let’s put some nice music and get our asses moving.”
The ‘nice music’ was an acoustic compilation of Scorpions, so it was very nice indeed. Puck stood behind the counter, his first-day nerves fading slowly as he heard Francine singing softly, walking in and out the kitchen.
A couple of women came inside, asking for lattes and eyeing him discreetly. He smiled at them, prepared to charm the hell out of them.
“Today it’s my first day, so bear with me” he said, trying to follow Francine’s indications as quickly and neatly as possible. He handed the ladies their coffees, the smile never leaving his lips.
“Would you like something else?” he asked.
“No, sorry, we’re trying to watch our figures--” said one of them.
Puck took a slow, appraising look at both of them, from head to toe, his smile turning slowly into a polite leer (if that was even possible).
“Oh, I don’t think you have to do anything of the sort. I think you’d look just as fine with the addition of a muffin or two. You’d probably be even sweeter, ladies.”
He could almost hear the implosions inside their heads. Both women blushed furiously and proceed to select three muffins each. One of them fished her Blackberry from her pocket and started to key down something while the other one paid Puck (and added a generous tip).
Francine pretended she had to mop just behind the one with the Blackberry, taking a quick look over her shoulder.
“She was tweeting, sweet-cheeks” said Francine as soon as they left. “Something about having to ‘check out the new cutie working at Francine’s’.
-&-
And, apparently, they couldn’t wait to check out the new cutie. The shop, as Francine told him, usually had a rush hour between 9 and 10, but people had started to line outside. Specially women and gay men (even Puck with his rusty gaydar could tell. He didn’t want to make assumptions, but no straight man could make orange and pink parsley print work).
Puck had panicked a little bit at first, when people had started to pile up inside, and some of them had asked for grilled bagels and other slightly more complicated things. But he had picked a good pace now, and he was concentrating extra hard on being charming and just the right amount of flirtatious.
The rush hour passed, everybody went to work, or whatever this people did. He cleaned the sugar and cream counters during a quiet moment without needing to be told so, and Francine looked very impressed when she came back from the kitchen with part of the second batch of the day.
At 11:30 or so Miranda, Francine’s daughter, paid her mother a visit, carrying her 1-year-old son, Jason.
“You can take five if you want, Puck, I can take care of things for a while” said Miranda, when the introductions were over.
“Actually, I’d like to help you with the rest of the baking, if you don’t mind” he said, and earned an approving look from both women. He followed the older woman to the kitchen, carrying Jason inside.
During the next hour he helped making sandwiches, giant cookies (trying to suppress the craving for raw dough was a Herculean task), and even a huge pot of carrot and coriander soup. He also had to change Jason, what took him 5 of the most horrible minutes of his life (that kid needed to cut down the fruit, Jesus).
The new load of food was ready just in time, and Miranda left with her freshly changed offspring just when the second rush-hour started, about 12:15. A lot of people that had come for breakfast (and eye-candy) came for lunch too, and Puck did his best to win them over with every aw shucks nice Mid-Western boy trick in the book.
It was odd and kind of funny how well he was managing. After all the big plans he had with Travis, he’d have thought that working serving soup and grilled cheese would have bored his ass off. But he was enjoying having contact with people, and working with his hands, and chatting, and just doing something to keep his head and body moving.
“Puck, sweetie, go to the kitchen and have something to eat, I’ve been hearing your stomach growling for an hour now” said Francine, and Puck realized she was right. The lunch-time horde had left, and now that he wasn’t busy, all the hunger and tiredness fell upon him. So he sat in a chair in the kitchen and inhaled some of that fantastic soup and three sandwiches. He even had one of the cookies that had burnt slightly (while he was helping, of course. But, hey, it was still a pretty good cookie).
He also took the initiative of washing the shitload of dishes that were piled in the sink, filling the dishwasher three times. He was going to dry them, but he couldn’t find the clean dishtowels and Francine was calling him because all the tables were dirty and some clients were already lining up.
He didn’t realise his shift was over until the afternoon girl arrived. Francine was smiling a lot to him, not in a cougar-throwing-the-bait kinda way, but like she was really happy with him. It was making him get hot around his ears.
“Did I pass?” he asked. She patted him on his shoulder and handed him a bag with some promising Tupperware inside.
“Bring some of your music tomorrow.”
-&-
Kurt hadn’t come home yet when Puck arrived. He did a double check, looking for crazy ex-boyfriend anomalies, but he couldn’t find anything weird.
Until he reached Kurt’s room.
“Oh, crap.”
He fished his phone from his pocket and took a couple of pictures, for the sake of it, but he doubted the police would pay attention to this. He wasn’t even sure about the actual value of the thing. He reached to read the label on the inner part of the neck.
“Balenciaga” he read aloud. That didn’t ring any bell for him, but what did he knew about couture?
-&-
Kurt arrived at 7:10, visibly exhausted but in a good mood, and Puck hated having to bring bad news.
“How was the interview?”
“The interview was fine, and I did the trial today also. It was fine,” he said, trying to hide his satisfaction and doing a poor job of it “My boss gave me some leftovers, wanna eat while I tell you everything?”
“That’d be perfect” said Kurt, reaching for soup to heat it up. “So, what happened?”
By the time Puck had told him everything, Kurt was smiling so much that Puck was afraid his porcelain face would break.
“I knew you‘d own the place in five minutes!”
“Well, it took more than five minutes, and I wasn‘t all cool and collected. I got a little bit terrified a couple of times” said Puck, smiling. “The diaper business was especially traumatizing.”
“Oh, boy--” said Kurt, cracking up. “Anyway, you got the job, we should celebrate! I’ve been wanting to use this fantastic wine Quentin bought. By the way, did you notice something today?”
“Yeah, you see, I was trying to figure out how to tell you--”
“Oh my God, what did he do?”
“Em-- just go to your room and-- I don’t know, take it easy.”
Kurt run towards his bedroom, visibly paler. Puck followed him. He was expecting tears and yelling, but Kurt only picked the pieces of grey wool and laughed.
“Is it so bad that you have gone mad?” he asked.
“That petty son of a bitch thought this was the worst thing he could do. Well, that only proves how little did he know about me. In any case, this pea coat was too small around the shoulders. Bah,” he said, tossing the stray piece of cloth “let’s celebrate your success, and drink the magnificent wine that moron left.”
Puck’s jaw was hanging slightly.
‘Holy crap,’ he thought ‘I seriously don’t know what will I do if this guy gets any cooler.’
He sure as hell needed a drink.
-&-
The wine was great. It was ice cold and perfectly sweet. Puck traced random drawings on the surface of his frosted glass, feeling light-headed and in peace with the world.
They were both sprawled in the coach. Well, all the sprawled they could be in such a tiny sofa. Kurt was leaning a little on him, all pink cheeks and shiny, wet mouth, saying a lot of interesting things that Puck really couldn’t follow entirely.
“--that’s why Brian Eno is a fucking genius” he said, and Puck only nodded and thought about the shivers he got every time Kurt swore.
“We should totally play some of that music, man” he said, leaning a little bit more on Kurt. “I mean-- I could play, and you would sing, and you would kill it, I just know it.”
“See? That’s why I said you’re sweet, there’s a limit to how charming a person is, you know?” joked Kurt. He was laughing, wrinkling the corners of his eyes, and Puck felt his heart was doing somersaults.
He breathed deeply a couple of times, trying to calm down. Unluckily for him, he caught a whiff of Kurt’s spicy smell, and all his good intentions went out of the window.
“How come you smell so good, and I smelled like a smoothie after using your shower gel?” he asked in a deep, sultry tone. Kurt laughed again and then smelled him.
“Nonsense, you smell pretty good. Don’t badmouth my Lush products, it’s the only thing I allow myself to purchase without thinking about its price.”
“Oh, so that’s the secret behind the baby-soft hands?” Puck said, caressing lightly the back of Kurt’s hand. “I remember Brittany told everybody, she was really impressed.”
“Mm--” hummed Kurt, closing his eyes and letting his head fall against the back of the couch, probably feeling quite light-headed himself. “As if me having freakishly soft hands was the weirdest thing about me that week-- I still have nightmares about all that flannel.”
Puck pours more wine for both of them, because it seemed like a good idea and distracted him from the numbness and nerves he was suddenly feeling. He almost missed his glass with Kurt’s next words;
“It’s from Can’t Live Without You, isn’t it?”
That’s it, thought Puck, he broke me. And then he leaned over Kurt, who had his piercingly blue/grey/green eyes half-open and fixed in him, and angled his head just the right amount, ready to touch that soft, moist mouth with his own.
He felt Kurt’s breath in a gentle puff of air, as he spoke.
“Don’t” he said, and Puck stopped immediately. Kurt’s eyes were completely open, and he suddenly seemed way too sober.
“Eh, sorry. I thought--”
“Yeah, I know, don’t apologise. You see, Puck, I understand that making out seems the natural thing to do for you now, but I think you’re misunderstanding gratitude for something else” he smiled a little, but not in a ‘sorry, but you’re just not my type’ way. “Also, we just finished with some really shitty relationships, it’s just-- it’s messed up, however you look at it. We’re both feeling over-sympathetic and silly” he finished, rubbing his forehead as if he wasn’t sure about the whole thing either, and Puck felt slightly better.
“Do you think I don’t know what goes on with my head?” he said, however, raising his voice a little bit too much. Kurt frowned and crossed his legs like a lock, all defenses up.
“OK, first, don’t yell at me, because I’m not trying to turn this into an argument. I’m trying to speak to you like an adult.”
“Well, I’m sorry if I’m not being all nice and understanding. It’s a bit shocking when somebody tells me that I can’t tell between been thankful and prostituting myself.”
Puck decided to keep silent for a second, trying to breath evenly and fighting the icy lead weight of mortification in his gut.
“Explain it to me again. You think I’m-- misinterpreting my feelings here” he said.
‘Even when they’re not more complicated than ‘smells good, looks good, let’s give it a healthy bite’’, he thought.
Kurt chugged down half of his wine and started to talk again, a little begrudgingly this time. Puck tried to look open and not at all like the rejected asshole he wanted to act like.
“I know for a fact that you tend to hook up with people that boost your self-esteem, and I have been there for you in a low moment. You feel so grateful you think you have to compensate me, and since you’re a really-- passionate person, this is your first impulse.”
“It’s surprising how well you know me, considering you haven’t seen my face un five years” said Puck, trying hard to loose the sarcasm. He sigh loudly, forcing a grin. “But I get what you mean, and the worst thing is that it actually makes sense. I’m sorry if I put you in a tight position, considering you’re also going through a tough time--”
“Hey, I told you, don’t apologise. We’re a bit unfocused right now, so this kind of fucked up things are normal. I don’t want you to feel bad, I’m serious.”
“I’m OK, man. We’re okay. Well, we aren’t, but you know what I mean.”
“I do. Of course I do” he said, grabbing the wine bottle. “Another toast for awkward moments that, however, end up fairly well.”
“Cheers” said Puck, clinking his glass against Kurt’s enthusiastically, but he still felt a huge ball of shame, awkwardness and disappointment within him.