Fairy Lights
You could call it as cliché as you pleased, but fuck; Kurt wanted to drink his troubles away. He wanted to force back drinks that he really didn’t liked and he wanted to wake up and not know where he was.
*
In the back of his mind he knew that in twenty years time, he’d be earning lots of money and hiring the local Lima-losers to wash his patio flagging, but as it was, right now, life sucked. He had one best friend, Mercedes Jones, and beyond that...people really didn’t notice him. Well, that wasn’t true. The jocks noticed him when they wanted to tie someone to the underside of the bleachers or toss someone into the dumpster. Every school morning since 10th grade; Noah Puckerman would rally his friends around him, and two JV footballers would throw him into the garbage to gain some kind of status.
*
The town of Lima, Ohio, was fairly small, and it was only statistics- not fate or his star sign- that meant Kurt and his tormentors would end up at the party of a mutual friend sooner or later. Kurt was sat on the broken plastic garden furniture with a bottle of Goldshlager vodka and the loud music from inside so loud it felt like it was rupturing his eardrums. He’d drank just enough that the golden fairy lights strung around Amanda Donovan’s garden had become delightfully blurred and he didn’t want to stand up because the grass he was sat on was leering in all sorts of unfortunate directions. In the back of his mind, he knew that it was probably time he should move inside and look forlorn enough that someone he barely knew would offer him a ride home or at the very least he could find somewhere to curl up and pass out. With this in mind, Kurt stood up, bracing himself against the white-panelled wall. The scene in side was just as one would expect; two cheerleaders called Brittany and Santana had taken their shirts of and were dancing for the boys, three of the theatre kids were sat in the corner crooning some hack rendition of Defying Gravity. ‘Pfft.’ Kurt though. ‘If you’re not going to do it with conviction, just don’t bother’. Kurt though scathingly, making a half-hearted note to himself that he should tell them this in school on Monday. He scanned the room for people he knew; all possible rides had left, he realised sadly.
Eventually, he found a bedroom at the back of the house that didn’t have a couple flailing wildly on the bed, and let himself fall backwards, enveloped into the comfort and warmth. He was on the brink of fall asleep when he found himself woken up rudely by none other than Noah. Effing. Puckerman. Kurt sighed inwardly; of course, the jocks had to raise his game from annoying him during his waking hours to annoying him whilst he sleeping. They tossed Puck down on the bed and left, tripping over each other’s feet and giggling to themselves. Puck put a slow, deliberate hand to his head.
“Ugh, my friends are jackasses.” He winced, rubbing his temples.
He was wearing his Varsity jacket and these ripped, tight blue jeans, and fuck he looked good. It was probably the booze, or the golden lights drifting in from the garden, or the fact that they were so close he could feel the heat radiating from Noah’s thigh. Infact, he didn’t know what it was that made him reach out and grab Noah’s hand, bracing himself for the undeniable beating that was about to happen. What he certainly didn’t expect, was Noah rolling over and grabbing his face, pulling him in for the best (ahem, only) kiss Kurt had ever had.
*
“What the fuck, Hummel?! Puck was up on his feet and screaming so hard his cheeks were blaring red. Kurt was sat on the edge of his bed, pulling on his black pants and grinning to himself. He looked at Noah, confused.
“What?!” he asked, brows furrowing.
“I was drunk, alright, I was drunk and you knew what you were fucking doing!” He was pacing back and forth, running his hands up and down his Mohawk. “You knew perfectly were what you were doing!” Kurt stood up, affronted.
“I think you’ll find sex is sort of a two person thing, Puck.” He said, placing his hand on Noah’s shoulder. Puck slapped it away, and Kurt cradled his hand, stinging.
“Whatever, homo! This is your entire fucking fault!”
And Kurt really hadn’t been expecting it, which is why when Puck’s fist connected with the side of his face, Kurt was knocked off his feet and hit the floor with a disgusting cracking noise.
*
He wouldn’t usually gripe about having to put on makeup, but covering up obscene black eye’s rally weren’t his forte. He winced as he raised his wrist- the sling confined things somewhat- and dabbed at the underside of his eye. The welts on his back were the worst, but nobody had to see those. People at school would probably point and whisper, he knew that even with concealer on that would happen.
Sometimes, Kurt and Puck would catch each other’s gaze in the corridor, and it’ll make Kurt feel like he needs to be sick. Not because of what they did, or what he did. Kurt wishes that it all means nothing to Puck, and he’d be fine with that. But they both know was so much fucking more than that.
And that just kills him, it really does.
I hope you enjoy it! :)