Work Text:
“I can’t fucking believe you, Puck!”
“And I can’t fucking believe you’re choosing now to get all jealous and paranoid.”
“I am not paranoid. The picture is in every single tabloid and his tongue is in your mouth.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that he kissed me and about two seconds later I pushed him off? Who gives a fuck about some slutty groupie?”
“I probably wouldn’t if you had given me a heads up. Instead I went to the grocery store with my dad this morning and there it was, right on the front page. It’s bad enough that I didn’t know anything about it, but I’m in fucking Lima. Every single person looks at me with that faux-sympathetic expression. Poor Kurt Hummel, his rock star boyfriend has finally shown his true colors after six years. Did you, by any chance, remember that today is our anniversary?”
“Fuck.”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“Jesus, Kurt, when have I ever remembered an anniversary?”
“Shockingly enough, Noah, that’s not exactly a point in your favor.”
“Babe, I’m sorry. About the groupie and forgetting our anniversary.”
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“Okay. I’ll call you later and we can fight then.”
“Not the phone call. Us. I want to break up.”
“Kurt, no. C’mon. It’s one stupid picture.”
“It’s not about the photo, Noah. I just…I haven’t seen you in four months and fucking Skype doesn’t count. I can’t be in a relationship by myself. You’re never here and I can’t keep walking around feeling like I can’t breathe from missing you so much.”
“And breaking up with me is going to help that? There are only two weeks left in the tour!”
“I’m sorry, Noah.”
“Kurt, wait—
The line is already dead and Puck hurls his phone across the room in frustration. “Fuck!”
“Guessing the old ball and chain didn’t like those photos.” Henry, the drummer, calls from the other room.
“Fuck you!” Puck spits and goes to retrieve his phone in case Kurt changes his mind.
Henry appears in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. “You okay, man?”
“No. Kurt and I just broke up.”
“Over that picture?” Henry looks incredulous. “Did you tell him the whole story? Because I’ll call him and vouch for you if he doesn’t believe you.”
“It’s not about the pictures. He’s giving up after six fucking years because it’s too hard being apart, apparently. And I thought we were past the hard stuff. Back when we were living in that shitty apartment and eating ramen and fighting about money—Jesus, I thought we were on the verge of breaking up every day.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Not much I can do. He’s not going to take any of my calls and we’ve got two more weeks to go here.”
“Look, Puck, I know I give you a lot of crap for still being with a guy you started dating in high school, but I get why you are. You and Kurt just…fit. You’d be an idiot to give up.”
“I’m not giving up. He is.”
“Don’t let him, then. Is he in New York?”
“No. Lima."
“How far are we from there?”
“Five hours. Maybe six.”
“Well then go rent a car and talk to him.”
“Uh, are you forgetting we have a show tonight? You can’t exactly go on without a frontman.”
“If Kings of fucking Leon can consistently get away with treating their fans like shit, I think we can get away with rescheduling one concert. Besides, you’re pretty terrible onstage when you and Kurt are fighting. Remember Vegas? I’ll tell Robbie you had a family emergency. Just make sure you’re in Buffalo tomorrow in time for the soundcheck.”
* * *
Puck sits outside the Hummels’ house in his rental car, working up to going inside. There’s a fairly good chance Burt will greet him with the tire iron Kurt has always joked about.
After a few minutes, he shoulders open the door. He hurries up the driveway and rings the doorbell.
Burt answers and scowls at Puck, “What are you doing here, Puckerman?”
“Please, Burt, I gotta talk to him.”
Puck figures he has to look pretty desperate, because Burt’s expression softens and he steps aside, letting Puck into the house.
“He’s down in his room.”
Puck crosses the living room, ignoring the way Finn gapes at him from his spot on the couch, and opens the door to Kurt’s basement bedroom. He hurries down the stairs.
“Just leave me alone, Finn.” Kurt is curled up in bed, his back to the stairs. Puck guesses from the empty Ben and Jerry’s carton and The Matrix playing quietly on the TV that Kurt is drowning his sorrows in calories and Keanu Reeves.
“Not gonna happen, babe.”
Kurt turns around so quickly, Puck wonders if he gave himself whiplash.
“What are you doing here?”
Puck just shoots Kurt his really, Hummel? look and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Will you come somewhere with me?”
“Why?” Kurt scowls.
“Because I want to talk to you, but I don’t feel like getting interrupted by Finn or your dad.”
“Don’t you have a concert tonight?” Kurt snaps.
“This is more important.” Puck says, shrugging.
Kurt sighs, but he kicks free of the covers and shoves his feet into the Ugg slippers next to his bed. He’s in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and Puck figures that doesn’t bode well.
Kurt follows him up the stairs, and Finn just watches as they walk through the living room, like he can’t wrap his mind around it.
Kurt climbs into the passenger seat of the rental car and doesn’t say anything for the entire drive. Puck pulls into the McKinley parking lot. He can’t help it. They’ve got history with empty parking lots.
“What do you want to talk about?” Kurt asks, his tone cold, as if Puck doesn’t know him well enough to see right through it.
“How about the fact that you fucking dumped me six hours ago with no warning?”
“Were you really that surprised?” Kurt says, not meeting Puck’s gaze. “I’m shocked we’ve lasted this long.”
“I’m not.” Puck says. “But if you really aren’t interested in being with me anymore, I can take you home and drive back to Pittsburgh. I might even make the show.”
Puck waits for Kurt’s response. If anything, Kurt might at least call him on his bluff.
“If that’s what you want to do, then do it.”
“Kurt.” Puck says, staring at the other man until he finally looks up. “I didn’t cancel a show and drive five and a half hours to sit here and get in a bullshitting contest with you. What the fuck is going on?”
“I told you. I can’t do this anymore.”
“I don’t buy it.”
“That’s not how it works. The person who wants to break up gets their way.”
“Not when you’ve been together six years and it comes out of freaking nowhere.”
“How is this out of nowhere? We haven’t seen each other in months.”
“And at what point in that time did I give you the impression that I would be okay with you just giving up?”
Kurt is back to staring at his hands, and Puck is ready to pull out his own hair (not that there’s much of it) in frustration.
“Babe, you gotta talk to me, because I can tell that something is wrong and I need to know how to fix it.”
“You can’t fix it, Noah.”
“Kurt, please. Just tell me what’s going on. Are you sick or something?”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Fine doesn’t dump his boyfriend out of the blue and mope in sweats, binging on ice cream and Keanu.”
Puck buries his face in his hands, trying to find a reason for all of this. The only thing he has to go on is Kurt not being able to handle the separation from the tour.
“D’you want me to quit the band?” Puck asks finally. “Because I’ll do it. I’ll go back to bartending and we can eat ramen noodles in a tiny apartment for the rest of our lives.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Well, I’m trying to find a solution here, but since you’re not telling me anything, it’s the best I can do.”
Kurt fiddles with the drawstrings on the hood of his sweatshirt, but still doesn’t say anything.
Puck sighs, “You know that thing you said? About missing me so much you can’t breathe? I get it, babe, I really do.” Puck digs his hand into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He flips it open, slips a picture out from behind his driver’s license and hands it to Kurt. “I look at that about fifty times a day.”
Kurt stares down at the photo, and his expression softens a little bit. Puck can understand why. It’s a picture from the summer they got together, the two of them sitting on the tailgate of Puck’s truck, Puck’s arm slung across Kurt’s shoulders, while Kurt presses a kiss to Puck’s cheek.
Kurt runs his finger along the edge of the photo, “We look so young.”
“We look like we belong.” Puck said. “Having that with me…it helps. Reminds me that this is all part of the dream.” Kurt frowns, and Puck figures he can be forgiven for not remembering. They’d really only talked about the big picture once. The rest of the time he’s just taken for granted that they’re on the same page, when they obviously aren’t, judging from today. “You know. Musician, editor, big house, four kids, two dogs?”
Kurt’s mouth falls open slightly as the memory clicks. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“Kinda hard to forget,” Puck shrugs. “Listen, babe. Six years is a long time. If you’ve changed your mind about me…if you really don’t want to be with me anymore, I guess I can’t change that.”
Puck wants Kurt to argue with him, to insist that he’s being stupid and say that of course he wants him, it’s all just a misunderstanding. Instead, Kurt says, “I feel guilty.”
“Guilty?” Puck frowns, and his brain is already spiraling down several different cheating scenarios, because he’s pretty sure that’s the only reason Kurt could possibly have to feel guilty.
“I’m holding you back. You’re this famous musician now and everybody knows who you are and I’m just a lowly assistant at Elle. You should be out partying after shows and instead you’re on Skype with your clingy boyfriend. We’re twenty-three and we’re basically an old married couple.”
“Kurt, what the fuck makes you think I want to be out getting drunk with slutty groupies? If sleeping my way through an entire cheerleading squad in high school didn’t convert me to that lifestyle, nothing’s going to. And I live for our Skype dates, okay? The guys give me so much shit about it, but I don’t care. I want you. You’ve been the freaking love of my life since we were seventeen and I don’t expect it to change, like, ever.”
Kurt’s lip wobbles precariously, and Puck tries to get his arms around him properly, but the stupid console is in the way. He climbs into the backseat, before reaching forward and hauling Kurt back with him. Kurt curls up in his lap, and Puck holds him tight.
“I can’t lose you.” Puck whispers. “It’s such a fucking cliché, but I really don’t make any sense without you.”
Kurt buries his face in Puck’s neck. “I’m so afraid.”
“Of what, babe? Tell me so I can tell you how stupid you’re being.”
“Someday you’re going to realize that you could do so much better.” Kurt pulls away, his blue-green-gray eyes meeting Puck’s solemnly. “I don’t want you to stay with me just because you feel like you have to, because we have all this history.”
“Kurt.” Puck levels him with a hard stare. “I’m sticking around because we have a future. Who gives a fuck if we have history?”
The corners of Kurt’s mouth turn up in a precarious smile.
“Plus, I’m a pretty shitty musician without you, so you kind of have to stick around.”
Kurt buries his face against Puck’s neck again and just clings to him for a little while. “You really still want the kids and the dogs and the big house?”
Puck shrugs. “I want you. Anything beyond that is just icing on the cake, as far as I’m concerned.”