Chapter Text
The summer leading up to World War III was rife with heatwaves, and Los Angeles didn't have as mild a climate as Kurt Hutton had been promised.
Kurt looked at the newspaper stand with a tight mouth. July 19th's edition was bleak and depressing, just like the 18th had been and the 20th would be.
Two aircraft carriers had been deployed to the Pacific, heading toward Taiwan. He didn't understand the military, but the Times explained what that meant to its readers: with how tense relations were between Washington and Beijing, neither would expect them to be taken as mere shows of power. Either China would give the U.S. what it wanted and renounce its support of Russia, or open fighting might begin between the two nations. After the attack on the Latverian diplomat at the United Nations that had ripped apart the General Assembly, tensions had rocketed past anything seen since the Cold War. The U.S. would hate anyone supporting Russia, and Moscow had similar hatred for the Yankees.
Rumors swirled that both nations were ready to attack the others' Arctic oil reserves and take them over for themselves. With every passing day, the world seemed to move further toward chaos: World War III.
And there Kurt was, assisting with wardrobe management for a half-hour sitcom on the Disney Channel.
He was either going to get drafted and die, if that legislation went through, or sit there in the entertainment capital of the world and be absolutely useless. Kurt really hoped they didn't reinstitute the draft. They wouldn't, he told himself. Modern wars were fought with lasers and rockets, not with infantry. Still, an awful lot of soldiers had died over the past decade....
He shook his head. Neither nation really wanted open war. Everything would be fine.
With that reassurance in mind, he climbed into his carpool when it pulled up to the curb. Alan refused to drive into Kurt's neighborhood, saying that it gave him bad vibes of some unspecified nature. That was annoying, but as Kurt only had to contribute thirty dollars in gas money per month, he walked the half mile to a major intersection each morning in his slightly too-tight shoes. Even a short commute by foot felt like home, which was a distinct negative, but L.A. lacked New York's humidity even in the summer. As they drove under a thick brown band of smog that capped the distant mountains, Kurt reminded himself what a good trade he'd made.
Yes, he was alone. He'd left behind his friends, he'd left behind the first and only boy he'd ever kissed, and he'd left behind his family. And it was still a very good trade.
His jaw set with that reminder all the way to Tribune Studios. It hurt when he walked through the parking lot. Stop thinking about there. Start thinking about here.
The soundstage to the right held Juniper Sky, as big a hit for the Disney Channel as Hannah Montana had been in its heyday and an heir to its building. It was his destination, and he crossed the street after a truck rumbled by carrying sheets of plywood for a new set. The titular performing twins were away on a concert tour, thankfully, and he didn't have to deal with anything but clothes that week.
Sky Matthews was an utter sweetheart, every bit as kind as the character she played. Her sister sent Kurt to the hospital two weeks after he moved to California.
Juniper had been labeled as the more talented of the twins by their overbearing stage parents. She'd started her life as June, but that was insufficiently memorable when they began shopping their singing twins around Hollywood. June became Juniper, the family's representation successfully pitched a tale of two horseback-riding girls catching a miraculous break when an agent came to their ranch, and Disney soon had a massive hit on their hands. The Matthews had started their girls young, and so Disney knew they had years of profitable filming ahead of them.
The media, too, decided that Juniper was where the real value rested. Kurt had taken an unpaid internship in the show's second, blockbuster year, and he was deliriously glad to have it waiting for him when he moved. Out of several hundred resumes and even more audition tapes that he sent out before arriving in Los Angeles, only six even called back. Four thanked him for his time. The fifth offered him an internship, but was with a nobody firm staffed by nobodies. Accepting the Disney Channel offer had been the easiest decision Kurt had ever made, even easier than leaving New York. He didn't care if he was acting or singing or dressing actors or painting sets or picking up trash on the beach.
He just wanted to leave.
Then he met Juniper. It was like the sweet face she put on for the media personally offended her, and she ripped it savagely away as soon as she was off camera. In Juniper's eyes, Kurt was less than nothing. Everyone but the director was only a prop in her life. Kurt was soon thankful that, as the newcomer, he only worked with the 'lesser' sister. Sky was always an easy fitting and kept her behavior steady even when no one was looking.
Besides, Kurt had enormous sympathy for the twin who always stood in someone's shadow.
Two weeks in, when he'd worked himself ragged each day to impress his boss, Kurt was told that he'd graduated to Juniper for a fitting. He didn't particularly want to, but she was the real star. Anyone with their career in mind would always reach for the very shiniest ring, and so Kurt dutifully planned her wardrobe for a scene with the girls back on the ranch. The filming was taking place at a real ranch outside of town, with live horses, and he kept safety in mind.
"I hate these boots," Juniper said as Kurt checked their color against her jeans. Hmm. Maybe he needed a darker wash of denim.
"I know," Kurt said, "but we have to put you in steel-toed boots when you're near the horses. Our lawyers said so."
"Why?" Juniper asked. "I'm not stupid. And I'm not wearing these."
"I could look for other boots," Kurt said uncertainly. "I'd have to go buy some new ones, though, and they might be uncomfortable if you can't try them on."
"I'm not wearing boots," Juniper said. "I hate boots. My legs get sweaty."
"It's a horse episode," Kurt said. "You really do have to wear boots."
"No I don't," she said. "I don't have to do anything you say. You're not Glenda." Glenda was head of wardrobe, and the woman who would hopefully be signing off on the outfit Kurt put together.
"I'm not," Kurt agreed, "but I work for her."
"I want my sparkly heels," Juniper said. "The purple ones I wore last time."
"Those really don't go with an episode set at the ranch," Kurt said. Apology still laced his voice. He honestly had no idea how he was managing it.
"Good. I don't want to do one, anyway. Horses smell. And it's hot today."
"It might not be so hot tomorrow?"
"I'm not wearing boots!" Juniper almost shrieked when Kurt didn't immediately obey her wishes. "You're just some stupid nobody!"
He still hesitated.
"Take them off!"
His head began to pound. Keep the talent happy and put together a good outfit: he couldn't see any way to do both. Not with this little hellion in front of him. Dressing her hadn't been the reward he'd thought. He must have done something to make Glenda furious with him. "Let me see if I can find some better socks, so you won't feel any sweat if you do—"
Juniper kicked Kurt squarely in his shin, landing hard with her steel-tipped toes.
Even a young girl could fracture a bone with those, especially if they had as little concern for the people around them as Juniper Matthews. Kurt had been rushed to the hospital and his leg put in a cast, but the show refused to let him come back to set. When his bosses called him the next day, still at home, Kurt feared that he'd already been let go. He'd caused trouble and missed work only two weeks into his new job.
Instead, they talked about public relations and reputations and celebrity management. They talked about how Kurt didn't need to hire a lawyer. They talked about non-disclosure agreements, and they talked a contracted job with an actual salary, so long as he signed another contract promising that he would never breathe a word of how America's Little Sweetheart had broken his leg because she didn't like her shoes.
It was an easy decision. As Kurt worked his next awkward weeks with a leg in a cast, marveling each time a paycheck was deposited in his actual, adult bank account, he laughed.
Now, a few months into what was a surprisingly enjoyable job when he didn't have to deal directly with Juniper, he laughed again at the memories, and felt freedom rush over him like he'd never felt back home.
He might be the only person in Hollywood whose success story was an actual big break.
* * *
He wouldn't have admitted to these, either. The holes in his well-worn jeans weren't anywhere close to fashionable and his shirt was one of Finn's tees that had somehow wound up in his luggage.
His paycheck didn't cover new clothing purchases, as his roommate had finally told him that he was moving out. Francis was some trust fund kid who'd sought a roomie more out of a desire to have an occasional housesitter than from any real financial need. At first, Kurt thought he'd lucked out to find that home upon moving to a strange new city. When had to close himself into his room to avoid all of Francis' friends doing coke off their coffee table, he'd reassessed that decision. By the third such party, he anonymously called the cops from the grocery store before anything bigger happened. Losing his apartment would be better than being hauled to jail because they thought he was part of it, right?
Francis didn't go to jail, but he did start spending more time away from the city, which was now apparently "totally lame." After three weeks, he called Kurt to tell him that he was moving to Miami and wasn't paying any more rent. If Kurt wanted to cover it, then go ahead. Otherwise, Francis would get evicted and Kurt would come along for the ride. It was fine, Francis told him before hanging up; he wouldn't care about the hit on his rental history.
If Kurt only ate twice per day, never bought new clothes, and never had to get anything dry-cleaned to get a stain out, then he should be able to cover enough of the rent to make it through the next month alone. Hopefully, he'd find a decent person by that point. Until then, anything messy was eaten in his underwear, and he wore Finn's shirt that could go straight in the washing machine and that Kurt didn't care about ruining.
As So You Think You Can Dance started its second hour, Kurt shot a wistful look at a window facing the sunset. Out there and to the north was West Hollywood. Kurt had only made a few trips, but actually being there was like nothing he'd ever experienced in New York.
Of course New York had its own gay centers, but his parents were top-secret government workers. He'd fretted that if he dared going even to an all-ages gay-friendly dance club, as innocent as any he could find in New York, some spy network would tell their boss who would tell his parents. Then his parents would want to have a little talk about where he'd been that night.
He didn't know if he actually liked the clubs here, and he was glad that his age had kept him out of some of them. Even those minor-friendly clubs had been very... sweaty. It was a heady rush, to be sure; finally, everyone in the room knew who he was, and not a single person cared. But for someone who'd saved up his allowance to go to Broadway shows or art displays at the Met, WeHo clubs were a little more overwhelming and a lot more overtly sexual than he'd expected.
Still, he was young in the big city, with a hot job that anyone would kill to have. That was the high life. He worked in entertainment and made a living off it.
But that living was going to run out if he didn't find a new roomie by the end of next month. So, no club cover charges for Kurt Hutton. No cab fare. Nothing but sitting in his apartment, watching television, and wishing that he'd gotten two tacos but not wanting to put back on his real clothes to make the trip. Oh well. Everyone in Hollywood's supposed to be in shape, and this place doesn't have a workout room. It's supposedly better to sleep hungry. Maybe I'll burn calories overnight.
If he tried, Kurt thought as he wormed his way down into the admittedly comfortable couch that Francis had abandoned, he could justify anything about his new life to himself. He'd left New York behind, and that was just the end of it. Everything was heading up from there.
The doorbell rang. Kurt hopped to his feet and padded silently to the door. He was used to his old building where a visitor would only be buzzed up after identifying themselves. Here, the doors were open to a second-floor walkway like some cheap motel. Especially when Francis' friends had made a few final visits, Kurt had been very glad for having two locks and a chain.
Kurt put his palms flat and leaned in to the peephole, quietly enough that no one would hear him on the other side. It was a good thing that no one dangerous was lurking, because Kurt couldn't hold back his surprised yelp when he saw a mohawk filling his vision. It took him three tries to get the chain undone before he flung open the door. "Puck?" Kurt demanded.
"Hey," Puck said, and held up a ratty duffel bag. "Got space?"
"You're in L.A.," Kurt said dumbly. Had he fallen asleep on the couch? Was he dreaming the sudden appearance of one of his old New York friends?
"Yeah, glad you finally posted your address a while back. Some of us were wondering if you really made it out here, after all that radio silence." It was true; Kurt had only posted about his life in broad strokes until he felt like he had more to be proud of sharing. Puck gestured with his bag. "Can I come in?"
"But why are you in L.A.?" Kurt asked.
"Because I want to get a pair of mouse ears at Disneyland, why do you think? I moved. Let me in. It's hot, and the cab I took over here barely had working a/c."
Still bewildered, Kurt stepped aside and let him inside.
Ever since Rachel had introduced them at thirteen years old and they'd all turned into a solid foursome with Finn, Puck had been a constant presence in Kurt's life. Although they'd originally found it difficult to click, Puck sympathized with Kurt's problems with his dad. They didn't have much in common, but Puck revealed himself as a willing confidante whenever Kurt wanted to say a few words that were all he could manage but carried so much.
It's like... it'd be easier if I weren't there.
I do ten things right. He remembers the one wrong thing.
I'm just trying not to disappoint him.
It had left them closer than they'd otherwise be, and Puck no longer seemed like he was out there at the furthest possible corner of their little friendship quadrangle. And then they'd kissed.
They hadn't dated after that. Puck still talked about his conquests with occasional girls from his neighborhood, since going to school with the same six girls every day limited his options rather severely. But those talks weren't very often, and Kurt hadn't been entirely sure of where they were in that strange amorphous zone between 'friends' and 'friends who kiss sometimes.' Wherever they were, it certainly hadn't moved toward anything more serious, and then Kurt's move across the country had effectively ended it.
Had Puck shown up as a friend, or as a friend who kissed Kurt sometimes? Kurt swallowed. He didn't know which he wanted. "I, um. Technically, I have a roommate, but he's taken off." He closed the door behind them. "I don't know if you should use his things, though. I need to think about that. Do you mind staying on the couch?"
"Sure, no problem. Where's the bathroom?"
For that, Kurt had no problems with using Francis' things. His bathroom was sacred, and having his own bathroom was the one thing he'd been loathe to give up before he moved into a cheaper rent tier. "Through that door, but again, you probably shouldn't touch his stuff. Or maybe it's all right. I just... don't do it tonight." Puck smirked, and Kurt felt even more flustered. "Seriously, why are you here, Puck?"
"I told you. I moved, and it made a lot more sense to find you than the girls."
Kurt blinked. "What girls?"
"Dude, do you even pay attention to anyone else?"
Generally not, no. He occasionally logged on to Facebook to let people know that he was still alive, and sent messages back and forth with Rachel to see how she was doing in London. (Not well.) He'd left behind New York on purpose, after all. It wasn't that he'd wanted to leave behind his friends, but he needed to feel like he had his new life in place before he reconnected. Kurt shook his head.
"Santana and Brittany are out here, too."
"Oh." He'd had no idea. They were probably the people in that class that he'd gotten along with the most poorly, so it was unsurprising that out of everyone, he wouldn't know that those two were in his city. "No, I didn't know they'd moved to L.A. It is sort of a big place, after all."
"No shit. Flying in was unreal. It's like the houses never stop."
Kurt occasionally missed Manhattan's endless forest of midrises and highrises, and he always missed good public transit. Los Angeles assumed that everyone had a car, and any assistance offered to those who didn't seemed almost grudging. He didn't own one, coming from New York as he had, and so even grocery trips were annoying. Everything was so far away. "Mmmhmm. They do love their suburbs and skin-aggravating car exhaust."
"Well, I'm going to take a leak," Puck announced, and the small talk was apparently over. "Nice shirt, by the way."
Blushing, Kurt went to change out of Finn's enormous tee. By the time he'd identified acceptable cheaper clothes to wear in front of company, Puck was out on the couch, asleep after finishing a bag of airport store trail mix that he'd left on the coffee table. Kurt threw away the bag, found a light blanket to drape over Puck, and smiled as he went to his room to quietly read.
That wasn't a turn he'd expected his life to take.
* * *
"Um." Kurt ran his hands through his hair. "I don't have extra keys, so you can't leave until I get back, all right? There's the TV, and... I guess you can use Francis' room if you want to take a nap. He's not coming back, so you might as well." Hopefully that'd be fine, Kurt thought, and then just as quickly decided that he needed to stop worrying over the feelings of the person who'd abandoned him for Miami.
"Cool."
About to leave, Kurt paused. "If you find drugs in his room, please tell me and I'll get rid of them. I'm sure that he probably took all of them with him, but I just want to be on the safe side." Puck's eyebrows crept up his forehead, and Kurt said, "Look, he was living on a trust fund, but he rented a place like this." He gestured to the apartment that was large for the neighborhood—the better to throw parties—but painfully generic, and with metal gratings across the front windows. "What do you think he was spending his other money on?"
Puck took everything in and snorted. "Wow. You sure settled into L.A. life quick."
Kurt rolled his eyes. He could almost hear a ticking clock in his head as the workday approached. "I was the anonymous tipster who brought the cops here during one of those parties. I'm not about to get sent to jail because he couldn't pack all of his stuff. Let me know if you find anything, and don't go in my room."
"Whatever. I kinda thought you'd be happier to see me."
"I am! I'm very happy to see a friendly face, but I need to get to where my carpool picks me up or I'll be late for work. Seriously, don't leave the apartment until I get back. If you leave the door open, you're going to come back to things missing." Kurt managed a smile as he gathered his bag, wallet, and keys. "I'll see you after work, okay?"
"Later. Do you have food?"
There was cereal on top of the fridge, at least, so Puck wouldn't starve. "Some. I'll bring more!" Kurt said as he slipped out the door and hurried down the steps and toward his ride. There were fresh scorch marks on the sidewalk from some street villain fight, or perhaps the heroes who'd faced them, but Kurt ignored the signs that other Los Angelenos might gawk at. The villains in L.A. were far less intimidating than those in New York, and the heroes were rarer and scrappier to match. Here, he didn't worry about accidentally getting caught in the crossfire of some new laser array that would take out a dozen people, only serving to inspire Captain America or Ms. Marvel with his death. No, in Los Angeles, Kurt only had to worry about would-be heroes causing obnoxious fights as the LAPD directed his carpool along a detour.
It was just another benefit that L.A. had over his hometown.
The morning passed in a blur. Was Puck really there in Los Angeles? Part of Kurt was practically dancing, thinking that his roommate problem had been solved. "You're in a good mood," said his boss Glenda as Kurt showed her his accessory finds for Sky. They'd slowly started letting him take over the forgotten sibling's wardrobe. Everyone on set wanted to keep him away from Juniper, lest the nondisclosure agreement fall apart, and he enjoyed giving Sky a voice of her own through her outfits, anyway. "What's up?"
"One of my friends from back home surprised me at my door last night. And I was looking for a new roommate anyway, so maybe I won't have to find a new place."
Glenda seemed happy that Kurt was happy, and let him proudly show off all his acquisitions. Having earned praise for filling in so many wardrobe gaps within his allowed budget, Kurt was sent off to lunch with a smile. The studio cafeteria was always a place to survey what everyone else was eating, and so Kurt dutifully ordered the same red pepper and tomato soup with a side salad that half the people there had chosen. Although his fingers now itched for his phone, he made himself finish first. It wouldn't do to get soup on his work clothes because he was distracted. As soon as it was gone, he whipped out his phone and punched in Puck's name.
With my roommate gone you could really take his room. I need someone to cover his rent. If you can find a job in the next few weeks we'll be good? :)
It was presumptuous, and probably foolish, but seeing a friendly face had buoyed Kurt's spirits more than he'd realized. This was someone who knew him. Kurt wasn't trying to impress Puck, unlike everyone at work. Puck was the boy who'd gotten into a very serious competition with Finn over who could make the best farting noises with their hands, after all.
Well, he had changed out of Finn's oversized shirt, Kurt admitted, so there was some minor impressing going on toward Puck. But it really was a hideous shirt, worn only because it was acceptable to ruin. He'd have done the same for anyone who'd shown up.
When his carpool dropped him off, Kurt didn't bother with the food truck that had claimed the corner that day. If his roommate problem was solved so quickly, then they could celebrate with delivery. He ordered on the way, remembering their favorite foods at some of the restaurants around their old homes, and hurried up the stairs with a smile on his face. "I'm home," he announced when he let himself in, and checked the time. "Dinner should be here in about twenty to thirty minutes."
Puck looked up from where he was slouched on the couch in front of some terrible TBS comedy rerun. "I ate your cereal," he said, and pulled his hand from the box. It barely rattled.
"That's fine." Kurt closed himself into his bedroom and began hanging up his work outfit. After several discarded attempts, he changed into a gently distressed pair of grey twill pants, softened from wear, and and a t-shirt that he'd bought on Tina's recommendation when they and Mercedes visited a street fair. It was casual, but still an outfit. He felt far more like himself than he had during his lonely nights in tent-sized t-shirts or even, god forbid, sweatpants. "So... you moved to Los Angeles," he said when he returned to the living room. "You haven't told me that story, yet."
"You didn't tell anyone why you moved," Puck retorted.
Kurt smiled sadly. "Puck, you know why I moved."
"You seriously moved to get away from your dad?"
Kurt shrugged and started tidying the room. How had Puck made such a mess already? "I love him, and I want him to keep loving me." As much as that was possible, anyway. "That'll be easier for everyone if I'm here. He won't have to...." Acknowledge him. Treat Kurt's life as something that happened every day, instead of as an occasional public display at Pride festivals that ended and was shelved until next year. "Anyway, I love it here. I'm already credited on an actual huge hit show, and my grocery store sells organic things that I've never heard of before. And you remember how harsh winter can be on my skin."
Puck's expression said that he remembered nothing of the type, but he nodded obligingly. "You shouldn't have to move because of him if you didn't want to, though."
"I did want to. Look, everything's working out great for me, so...." So drop it went unsaid, but Puck seemed to pick up on it regardless.
"Well, I just wanted a change," Puck said. "And everyone else seems to be moving out here, so whatever. Might as well have good weather if I leave New York, right?" He frowned. "Do they really have a ton of earthquakes?"
"I've only felt one. It was small." It had still scared Kurt, but he mostly hid it, since it came in the middle of work when he was surrounded by coworkers.
"Cool. Uh, I got your text. About roommate stuff."
"And?" Kurt asked hopefully, but was distracted by the doorbell. "Dinnertime!" he said happily, and paid the deliveryman with money that he was no longer terrified to spend.
They feasted on a half-dozen Thai selections that would have lasted Kurt alone for many more meals, but would now probably be lucky to keep for another day. The spicy chili sauces were hotter than either of them remembered from New York takeout. Kurt still wasn't used to all the changes between New York and Los Angeles, and so many of them were tiny but unexpected like that. Between bites, Kurt shared stories about life in Los Angeles, and Puck shared his travel tale in return.
After things were stowed in the fridge, Kurt slumped next to Puck on the couch. It had been a long day, but the weekend seemed suddenly more appealing than it had before Puck's arrival. Maybe they could go out and see things in the city. Kurt could show Puck the little he was familiar with, and they could explore new territory. They could split cab fare and have each other's back if they accidentally stumbled into a bad neighborhood in this still-new city to them.
Puck's fingertips trailed along Kurt's arm. Kurt sucked a breath through his teeth before he could help himself, uncertain as the still-newcomer to romance that he was.
He'd never dared to date anyone in New York. That decision was easy enough, because he'd spent most of his life unnoticed by any boy who might actually think that he was cute. He was always short next to his brother, who kept shooting further toward the sky in what had to be a clear violation of the twin code. That and stubborn baby fat made him feel positively round.
He finally grew in height and carved off pounds, but still, Kurt knew that his body wasn't anything to put on display. Except when the weather was at its warmest, he always wore multiple pieces; when anything beyond a single layer was too much, he still made sure that the clothes weren't too tight. He had more friends at his new government school and got along well with some of them, but he'd resigned himself to a life of chastity until he got the hell away from his parents.
Then came a senior year party at Tina's. Her parents were so thrilled for her to have friends that they gave her free rein over the apartment while they took a research trip. Wasting no time, she soon had the entirety of their class over for a party and had cracked her parents' liquor cabinet.
There were a lot of games that people could pair with alcohol. While some of them designed a drinking game to go along with an episode of Wheel of Fortune, others started a round of Truth or Dare where all the early dares seemed to involve their glasses. For the first time in his life Kurt was drunk off actual liquor, rather than the danger of stealing one or two drinks from a forbidden wine bottle. The drinks—he wasn't sure what they were—had burned long slow paths to his stomach, and now the floor felt as comfortable as his bed.
"Okay," Santana said, looking around. Her words were loose around the edges. "Puck... Truth or Dare?"
"Truth," Puck shrugged. He kept picking that, like it was a point of pride that few people could come up with a question that he'd refuse to answer. Thanks to that lack of shame, he was less Dare-drunk than most of them.
Santana grinned. "When was the most embarrassing time that you couldn't get it up?"
Puck opened his mouth to answer. After staring in annoyance at Santana for a beat, while the others in the game giggled at him, he shrugged and held up his hands to acknowledge defeat. If there was one thing Noah Puckerman wouldn't discuss, it was anything that questioned his perfect masculinity. "Dare me."
As Santana considered her options, Brittany leaned over and fell into Santana's lap. "Have you ever liked a guy? Because I like both guys and girls because guys and girls are both really hot, and it's neat when other people think that, too."
Kurt raised an eyebrow from his spot on the floor.
"That's another Truth," Puck pointed out.
"Okay," Santana said. "Then kiss Kurt."
Kurt's other eyebrow raised as his foggy mind struggled to catch up, and then he sat. "Wait," he said, looking around at the half-dozen faces grinning back at him, and Puck's surprised one. "I don't...." This was going to be his first kiss. Just like he'd never dated a boy, he'd never kissed a boy. He didn't know if he wanted it to happen like this, with people watching and on a dare to a straight boy, but he was a senior in high school who had to lie about who he was to keep his father happy. He wanted to know what it felt like. His mouth closed without further protest and he shrugged and smiled at Puck.
Although Kurt had halfway expected Puck to back out of the dare, he was apparently as serious about meeting it as any Christmas Story character. Puck scooted close to him and caught Kurt's cheeks with his hands.
"Nice," Brittany said. "He's getting into it."
"Hey," Puck said to Kurt. If Kurt were sober, Puck's beer breath would be awful.
"Hey," Kurt said. He swallowed. Was this really how he wanted it to happen? He was about to show a straight boy just how very, very straight he was, because kissing him would be so awful that it'd prove beyond a shadow of any doubt that—
Puck kissed him and thought fled. When Puck's mouth parted, Kurt followed suit in the slow, foolish way alcohol brought with it. He's really kissing me, Kurt thought. Puck's hands were strong, and rough where they caught Kurt's stubble. The sort of texture that Kurt tried so fastidiously to avoid on his own hands was intoxicating on someone else. He fell further into the kiss than alcohol could ever manage, and eventually realized that Puck had kept kissing past the requirements of any dare.
Then Puck pulled back, frowning, and didn't talk to him the rest of the night. Kurt sighed as he left. At least they were friends, and would be again after Puck worked through his inevitable freakout over what had happened. Maybe that party had been a bad idea, after all.
Instead, Puck cornered him the next school day in their floor's bathroom. "I just wanted to try this again without beer," he said, "because that was weird."
"Okay," Kurt said, swallowing. Without those fancy vodka shots that Tina had put together, it was pretty weird for him, too. Still, a boy had just kissed him and then asked for more. He wasn't going to turn that down.
Puck wasn't a gentle kisser, but he was skilled. Kurt felt like he was being led in a dance to which he knew no steps and had only watched on television, but so long as he trusted his partner, he wouldn't fall flat. His hands stole around Puck's shoulders and he leaned up on his toes like he'd seen in the movies, even though they were nearly the same height.
That made Puck laugh, but before they pulled apart, Finn opened the bathroom door and yelped at the sight before him. Kurt shot back from Puck like the other boy's touch burned, but Puck met Finn's shocked stare with a cocky smile, washed his hands, and dried them. Every step was unneeded and deliberate, another second that kept him there while Finn gawked. "Newsflash: your brother's hot," Puck said as he brushed past Finn and into the hallway.
Nervous laughter bubbled out of Kurt and he touched his lips with his fingertips. They still felt like they were tingling, but that might be the adrenaline. "You knew I was gay," he reminded Finn as Finn blinked hard, trying to sort through what he'd seen.
"Yeah, but I didn't think, uh... when did this happen?"
"Brittany dared him to kiss me. At the party." Kurt started washing his hands, too, for something to do. "I suppose he liked it. Can you please look a little less shocked?"
"Just give me a second to catch up, here. I was just coming in to see if I had a booger in my nose and then, well. It was weird seeing someone sucking face five feet from me, is all," Finn said and shrugged.
Kurt looked at him flatly. "Do you have any idea how many times you've looked like you were trying to eat Rachel's tongue in front of me?"
"I didn't think anyone cared about that." Finn tilted his head up and leaned in close to the mirror, and then made a face. He pressed on the other nostril, blew, and grinned when a wad stuck to the mirror.
"Finn!" Kurt said in horror.
"What? They've got janitors."
"It's a private bathroom! The janitors might think that I did it!" Kurt slapped Finn lightly on his arm, and then drew his hand back like he'd touched something foul: Finn Hutton, the mucus beast. But, as he walked back out, a smile reappeared. His brother was the first person Kurt had come out to, and he'd taken it well then, but the theoretical was a lot different from Finn seeing his very male brother making out with his very male best friend right in front of him. With only a bit of time needed, Finn had started acting like the disgusting brother he always was. Nothing had changed.
Nothing had changed, Kurt thought, exhaling with relief, and yet everything had.
He and Puck didn't date, because Kurt knew he was leaving all too soon and Puck had no plans to leave New York. Puck wasn't the dating type, anyway, and Kurt didn't want to risk his father catching him when he'd come so close to making it through his childhood without that particular confrontation. But he did have a friend who liked to make out with him on occasion, and that was really better than Kurt had expected to get.
Now that boy was in Los Angeles, in Kurt's apartment, alone. When Puck had shown up at the door, Kurt's overwhelming reaction—after the shock—was delight over seeing a friend. Puck was the first boy he'd kissed, but that was a relative handful of encounters next to all the friendly meetings with the four of them, or even the times when Puck had just sat next to him as someone who understood having a hard time at home. Los Angeles had opened a door with Kurt's trip to the emergency room, but it was still hard and he was lonely. A friend had been the best face he could see, even better than his brother.
Puck's fingers trailing along his arm had brought their history beyond platonic friendship back in sharp relief. Kurt could feel his pulse somewhere around his tonsils as he looked at Puck, half-lidded because he couldn't bring himself to really meet Puck's eyes. "Hi."
"Hey," Puck said, and scooted closer. "How was work today?"
"Work was fine," Kurt said.
Puck leaned in and Kurt sank under the looming plane of his body almost submissively. "Got any plans for the weekend?" Puck asked.
"I... I hadn't decided yet. Maybe?"
"Cool. Now we're all caught up." Puck lunged forward and kissed Kurt with far more passion than New York had ever held. The cushions under Kurt cupped him as their combined weight pressed down. He felt deliriously helpless between the slick leather and Puck's warm body, and his hands began tracing paths along Puck's back like a man feeling the boundaries of a pitch-black prison cell. The dinner they'd shared was still spicy on Puck's tongue. It felt like he should be drenched in sweat already.
One of Puck's hands started working off the tight white tank top he'd lounged in all day, and Kurt's mind spun dizzily. We've never done this before, he thought. Never had Puck laid on top of him. Never had he taken off clothes. "Can I?" Puck murmured against Kurt's neck, which Kurt arched instinctively under his tongue. He nodded, feeling just as drunk as he had on the night of their first kiss, and was like a passenger in his own body as his arms lifted and Puck pulled off his shirt. He'd lost more weight since New York, but as Puck surveyed what he'd revealed, Kurt could only hope that he wouldn't be humiliated.
Puck didn't look for long. Nearly as soon as Kurt's shirt was off, he dove down and worked his mouth wetly along Kurt's throat, and then down his chest. "So fucking beautiful, baby," he said in the space between kisses, and Kurt was too overwhelmed to wonder when he'd turned into 'baby,' or how Puck could say that when he'd barely looked at him. "I've been waiting for this. Ever since you left."
"For what?" Kurt asked, heart fluttering in his throat again.
"Whatever you want," Puck said, and trailed his hand along Kurt's torso until it rested on the waistband of his pants. Blood pounded through Kurt's body, sending emotions and lust rushing through every vein, and it all seemed to center at his groin. When he realized that he was getting visibly, undeniably hard not inches away from where Puck's hand rested, Kurt pushed against Puck's shoulders.
"Stop, stop." Kurt's cheeks blazed. "Stop, Puck."
Puck sat up, frowning.
"I...." Kurt tittered. "That was. Wow. All right. I didn't expect us to go that far." He moved his legs awkwardly together, and grabbed his discarded shirt and bunched it over his lap in the hopes of hiding the erection that hadn't faded when his embarrassment kicked in. "Puck, you know that I like you as a friend, and I know that we're attracted to each other." He giggled nervously again. "I mean... you seem to think... what you said just then, well. And I think that you're... I need to stop talking." Puck watched him breathe in and out until Kurt felt like he had control over his voice again, and only then did Kurt continue. "I'm nowhere near ready to do anything like... whatever we were about to do."
"Oh. Sure." Puck's head tilted. "Does this mean I still need to pay rent?"
Everything went very still, and Kurt's hearing turned tinny like a poorly connected speaker. His tongue was huge and numb inside his mouth. "You... this was all for...." Tears beaded hot and he lunged off the couch. "What is wrong with you?"
"What?" Puck asked, spreading his hands. "You've got a job, I don't! We're still in a freaking depression or something, so who knows if I'll be able to find one. But hey, I can pay like this until then, you know?" His grin faded as a tear spilled onto Kurt's cheeks. "What... Kurt, I wasn't trying to hurt you or anything. Dude, we've made out. A lot. I've felt that against my hip before," he added, pointing to where the shirt was still bunched in front of Kurt's crotch.
Kurt pulled his shirt back on in a fury, not caring that his fading erection was now visible. He'd thought something amazing was happening, if far too quickly for his tastes. Instead, he felt like the times he'd tried watching snippets of porn when no one else was in the New York apartment: hollow, like this wasn't how it was supposed to be. He wanted a courtship and longing glances that finally built up for too long and exploded into passion with a perfect musical soundtrack. Even if his body had temporarily made him take leave of his senses that night, it was all too clear now how far removed from that ideal he was. "Get out." The first boy he'd ever kissed had just tried to turn Kurt losing his virginity into a financial transaction.
"Get out?" Puck repeated in disbelief. "I don't have anywhere else to go tonight, and we're friends! You can't throw me out!"
"Watch me," Kurt said, and grabbed Puck's arm. Although he managed to drag him a few inches toward the door, Puck's thicker mass was too much to overcome, and Kurt flung Puck's arm away like luggage.
"I'm sorry," Puck said, sounding sincere. But who knew if he was? He'd really seemed to want Kurt on that couch, not Kurt's apartment. "Look, I'm happy to see you. It's badass that you've already got this great job. You're kicking everyone else's ass. I just can't give you any money right now, and I didn't want to be a jerk and ask to stay just because I showed up."
"You don't understand at all," Kurt said. In the rare times that he let himself admit it, he knew that a job with an entry fee of a broken limb wasn't exactly a dream come true. He wasn't about to give up on his other dreams. Not ones as big as what love what supposed to be like. Not when he finally had a chance to live his perfect life, if he could ever afford to leave the house.
"So talk to me about it instead of getting all bitchy," Puck asked. "Come on. It's me. Remember all the times I was there for you with your dad? I'm on your side. Just... calm down."
"Fine. You can sleep in Francis' room," Kurt said. He was tired. Maybe they'd sort it out tomorrow, but he didn't want to fight any more that night. He turned and walked away, heedless of how early it still was and how he'd have hours to kill before falling asleep. Before he closed his door, Kurt turned and said, "And don't come into mine."
* * *
The nearest grocery store was more than a mile away, across several major intersections, but Kurt pulled on his shoes. He wanted to get away from Puck and into the comparatively fresh air. Maybe then, his head would clear.
His escape would have gone more smoothly if Puck hadn't still been sitting on the couch. "Where are you going?" Puck asked.
"Out." Kurt folded his arms. "You ate all my food, and I'm going to buy more. The store stays open late on Fridays."
"I only ate a box of cereal."
"Like I said." Kurt tossed his head and turned to the door, and groaned when he heard Puck coming up behind him. "No."
"Look, we need to talk."
"No. Stay here."
"If you leave me here," Puck said, "then I'll just open the door and follow you, except I won't be able to lock it. So I bet that'll go really well for anything in here that you don't want to give to whoever wanders by."
Dammit. Torn, Kurt debated between retreating to his room or letting Puck come with him. If he hadn't needed food, he would have returned to his bedroom, but his kitchen really was empty. Being out in the open might be slightly less awkward than being in the apartment together, at least, and that way he'd have another pair of arms to carry things home. "Fine. Come on. Don't talk about what happened."
Puck waited until the end of the block to start talking. "Look, I didn't mean to freak you out or anything."
"What part of 'don't talk' do you not understand?"
Puck punched the crosswalk button repeatedly. The red hand opposite them glared in the darkness. "No one is hiring, okay? You think I wasn't looking for work back home, too? Everyone's freaked out about what might happen with the war, and so there are no jobs. Like, at all. You're some kind of freaking miracle worker for landing this one."
Kurt said nothing, and certainly didn't admit how he'd moved across the country without any planned salary and with a lot of credit cards that he'd applied for on his eighteenth birthday. He'd hoped that, somehow, he could turn that unpaid work at a studio into something that covered his bills before the money ran out. It really hadn't been the best plan. Thank god for non-disclosure agreements.
"I like you, and I didn't want to be someone who just expected you to let me stay there and sit on my ass when I probably won't be able to find work for a while." Puck waited for Kurt to set into motion when the signal turned, and tagged along after him. "I mean, you haven't posted any pictures with anyone after you left home. I thought you might be lonely. So, since I just didn't want to sit on my ass, I figured maybe it'd work if instead, you were sitting on my—"
"Puck!" Kurt said, horrified. This was not being romanced. This was not how he'd dreamed anything would go.
"What?" Puck asked.
"You're seriously asking me what's wrong? I...." Kurt laughed bitterly. "The first boy I ever kissed only did it because he was dared to."
"And?" Puck grinned. "I just needed a little jumpstart to realize that you were hot. Come on, I met you when we were like thirteen. You're not the Pillsbury Doughboy any more." He poked his index finger against Kurt's stomach, like he expected him to make the giggling noise. "And I get that, now."
"Wow, why did I ever turn you down?" Kurt asked bitterly. A car honked at them, and Kurt realized they'd been arguing in the middle of the street and the light had turned again. With a hiss of annoyance, he hurried to the sidewalk. Puck followed close behind. "You showed up out of nowhere and expected me to take... that as rent payment," Kurt said with a nervous gesture toward Puck's crotch. "When I've never even had the chance to...." When he'd never made love, not once. That had to come before anything. Why couldn't Puck see that? Kurt closed his eyes and exhaled, and then started walking down the next block. They needed to get this grocery run over quickly, because then he could lock himself in his room again. "And then, by way of apology, you tell me that you think I'm hot now because I grew out of being an overweight baked goods mascot?"
Puck ran a hand over his face. "Come on, you know I'm bad with words. Can we just start everything over again? Remember how we're friends?"
"Fine. If you want to stay," Kurt said, "then you have to shave your head."
Puck started. "What?"
Kurt's chin rose. His voice was glacially cold. "Your hair personally offends me. It looks like you're trying to smuggle a ferret, and they're illegal in the state of California." That's right. See how you like it, Noah Puckerman.
Puck scowled, and then his forehead furrowed. "Wait."
"No, Puck. We're doing this trip quickly, so it's done."
Puck ran a few steps, grabbed Kurt's wrist, and twisted him around hard enough that Kurt slammed against the nearby wall. As Kurt cried out, more in surprise than pain, Puck forced his hand over Kurt's mouth and hissed, "Shut up."
Kurt's eyes widened in outrage above Puck's fingers, and then widened further when he saw the fireball shoot past them on the cross street he'd been ready to step into.
"You leave New York behind for a few months and you already forgot how to listen for fights?" Puck murmured, and they pulled a step back.
"I was distracted," Kurt said darkly, frowning as he heard more fighting behind them. It didn't sound like the epic fights he remembered from Manhattan, but even a superpowered street brawl could kill any civilian foolhardy enough to get caught in the crossfire. Which, he realized unhappily as he placed a commotion in both directions, now included them. He was an idiot. He'd seen those scorch marks on the sidewalk; he knew the area was having problems with powers.
"Are there good guys in L.A.?" Puck asked as they pressed themselves against a niche in the wall and waited for the fighting to stop. "Or is this bad guys going up against the cops or something?"
"Everyone here's trying to make a name for themselves, good and bad," Kurt said. Just like wannabe actors tried to make themselves famous in tabloids, so did wannabe supervillains cutting their teeth on holding up convenience stores. "It could be either, really."
They listened for any signs of whether some hero was facing off against whoever'd thrown that fireball. That wouldn't necessarily be a sign that things would end more smoothly; sometimes, an officer's gun stopped things faster than powers versus powers. "That sounded like Jurassic Park," Puck said a second later, after they heard a strange roar. "Do you have dinosaurs here?"
Kurt couldn't help but smirk. Now that they'd found their safe little cubby, fear had mostly fled and taken a lot of his annoyance with it. "Could be, I suppose. We do have the tar pits. I'm not sure if they have dinosaurs, but if so, it could be some sort of zombie they pulled from them." Or maybe the pits just held mammoths and the like. Kurt wasn't sure. Nearly everything else in Los Angeles sounded more appealing than spending time around a few smelly pits filled with dead animal carcasses.
"A zombie dinosaur would be awesome," Puck decided.
The fighting quieted. After thirty seconds of silence, both men poked their heads out and waited. No fireballs, no zombie dinosaurs. "Let's hurry," Kurt said. He could still hear occasional grunts behind them. If the way ahead was clear, their best move was to get clear of the danger before it started up again. As a trained New Yorker, Puck shared that goal, and they both walked quickly toward the cross street that had once held flying fireballs.
They stepped clear of the block of buildings and froze like animals under approaching headlights. The fight wasn't over. Villains, whoever they were, had a group of teenagers (and their real live dinosaur) caught in a fog that circled around their small group. Inside that thick cloud, the group cried for help from the nightmares circling them in shadowy silhouettes. Their voices were tiny and muffled like they were far, far away.
"Come on, hurry, before they see us," Kurt whispered, and tugged Puck forward again. Although he felt bad for leaving those kids behind in that cloud, they were in a much better position to defend themselves than the unpowered Kurt and Puck. They had a dinosaur, after all. Once Kurt and Puck got to safety, then they could call 911 and bring in some official help against those nightmare-makers.
A scream built to a crescendo as a hand broke free of the miasma. "When blood is shed," shouted a female voice, "let the Staff of One appear!" The hand suddenly held a long metal staff, like something Gandalf might wield, and tightened around it. "Reality!" the girl intoned. Her staff glowed and she moved it in a long, slow arc around the street, cutting apart the nightmare cloud like a laser through metal.
It was blindingly brilliant: perfect cover for their escape. Kurt shut his eyes almost all the way and kept walking, but realized after a few steps that Puck was watching instead of following. "Puck," he hissed, and Puck squinted in his direction.
The light glanced off Puck, flashing as quickly as if he'd been in the concert audience under twirling spotlights.
"Puck!" Kurt gasped again, and ran to pull him forward when Puck looked dazed and didn't move. "Are you all right?" he asked as he tugged Puck toward the far side of the street.
"I... yeah," Puck said. He shook his head hard. "That felt weird. Like when Artie did it to us."
Kurt didn't stop moving until they were hidden, and only then let himself wonder what on earth Puck was talking about. "Like when Artie did what to us?"
Puck paused. "I don't know."
"You're... sure you're all right?" Kurt asked dubiously. The light had seemed helpful rather than like any sort of attack, but Puck's behavior was worrisome.
"I think so." Puck frowned. "Come on, let's move before they really start up again."
Kurt nodded and hurried toward the next block, and the grocery store that was still a long ways off. They'd have to take a detour on their way back home.