Archive of Our Own

Kurt ignores his dad's attempts at conversation the entire way – a little over two hundred miles, a little over five hours, and all he does is stare out of the window at the rolling fields and deserted gas stations with his arms crossed. This wasn't his idea; in fact, he didn't even give consent. It's his right to sulk as much as he wants.

"Almost there, Kurt," his dad attempts from the front seat. Kurt turns his head away a little bit more.

"Oh, come on. You're going to have a great time."

Kurt presses his lips together, the pit in his stomach getting bigger as the car – his car, that he wasn't even allowed to drive because he might have kidnapped them or something – passes a sign that welcomes them to Nancy, Kentucky. Ten more miles, and his life will be over.

You see, it's not like Kurt hates road tripping with his dad. He's just fine with that, maybe aside from the disgusting gas station bathrooms. It's his dad making decisions he has no business making that piss Kurt off. It's his summer break to do with as he pleases. But, apparently, when aunt Mildred calls, booms "Burt, you troublemaker, how about you pay me a visit" into the phone and subsequently invites Kurt to stay at her ranch in The Middle of Nowhere, Kentucky, it's just fine to say yes without even asking if he wants to.

Which he doesn't. He really, really, really doesn't. There's absolutely nothing waiting for Kurt Hummel on a backwards ranch with animals and simpletons.

"Hey, look!" his dad says, way too cheerful, and Kurt automatically turns before he can stop himself. They're passing a small sign, just a wooden arrow on a pole: The Star Lake Horse Ranch, riding lessons, accommodation, home cuisine – 5 miles. Kurt sighs.

It's not long before his precious Navigator is bumping down a narrow dirt road (and nothing better happen to the rims), nothing but trees and fields as far as eye can see. He shudders just thinking about it – no streetlights, no city sounds, probably no cell reception.

Suddenly, as his dad takes a left by another sign, the trees disappear. A small valley opens in front of them – nothing but bright green grass and the ranch house, surrounded by gently rising hills. It's calm and just a little breathtaking; Kurt can see the moving shadows of the clouds on the ground.

Aunt Mildred is already waiting by the wooden arch that opens to the yard, smiling and waving. She looks just like Kurt remembers, even though the last time he saw her was over six years ago – round, cheerful face, a tooth in the top row missing, typical countryside clothes; she's even wearing a cowboy hat, although Kurt could swear he remembers her saying she hates them.

The road, thankfully, turns to smoother asphalt under the car wheels, and it only takes his dad seconds to turn into the gravelly parking area and stop. The moment of truth.

"Come on," Burt nudges him, his patience finally gone. Kurt puts on his best 'I-don't-want-to-be-here' face, opens the door and folds out of the car. Aunt Mildred spots him in less than one second.

"Kurtie!" she calls, the same nickname she's always used. Kurt fights the grimace threatening to take over his face.

"Aunt Mildred," he says blandly. She takes a step closer, and then, suddenly, he has no way of escaping her oversized embrace. She wraps around him like an octopus, arms everywhere, and almost lifts him off the ground.

"I haven't seen ya in ages!"

"Yeah, um, nice to see you too," Kurt manages to puff out somewhere into her armpit. He really doesn't remember her being so tall.

When she finally lets him go, she focuses on Kurt's father, who is inconspicuously trying to unload Kurt's bags, face hiding under his cap.

"Burtie!" aunt Mildred shouts again, gives her brother the same treatment. Kurt is infinitely glad he doesn't have any older siblings. He hears her asking his dad to stay for coffee, catches a mumbled answer of something like "have to be back home by eight," which he doesn't. Traitor.

They say their hasty goodbyes – Kurt fights himself, but he can't help hugging back just a little bit. Aunt Mildred's arm is around his shoulders as he watches the taillights of his precious Navigator disappear in the trees for what feels like forever.

"Come on, I'll show you around," aunt Mildred says, before she catches sight of Kurt's luggage. "Right," she mumbles, and then, "boys!"

"What's up?" a voice answers from somewhere behind the house. Kurt perks up. Here come the simpletons.

"Come help me down here!"

Two guys – men, definitely not boys – suddenly appear, walking swiftly towards them. They both have long hair and cowboy hats on, flannel shirts hanging open on white undershirts, laughing and shoving each other playfully. Kurt tilts his head.

"Kurtie," aunt Mildred pulls him out of his thoughts. "This is Chris," she points to the shorter guy, brown hair with golden streaks from the sun, bright blue eyes, "and this is Steve." The other guy hangs more in the back, wary. He has blue eyes, too – way too piercing to be comfortable – but his hair is a lot lighter, almost blonde. They both look natural in the environment; like they were born riding a horse.

"Nice to meet ya," Chris drawls and extends his hand. Kurt notices his accent sounds a little different. He's a little hesitant to accept the handshake, but when he slides his indifferent mask back in place, it gets a little easier.

"Nice to meet you," he says, and doesn't know if he means it. The only thing he wants still is to get back to Ohio, and isn't that irony.

"Hi," Steve touches his hat in a greeting, but doesn't step closer, ignoring an obvious glare that Chris throws at him. Kurt, for one, is glad. He nods in response.

"Boys, how about you help us with these," aunt Mildred smiles, voice a little calmer now that the excitement of having her nephew here has settled down. Chris and Steve nod, grabbing a suitcase each (he needs his clothes, even if he doesn't wear them, alright?), and Kurt barely restrains himself from telling them to be careful. Honestly, the only thing that stops him are the bulging muscles he can see underneath their shirts.

He takes the last suitcase – this one has wheels, thank God – and lets aunt Mildred take his messenger bag.

Kurt has never been to the ranch before, but he's heard about it. As he gets closer and closer to the house, he has to grudgingly admit it actually looks really nice – white walls and dark wood, big windows and flowers on the balcony, cobblestones in the courtyard. It consists of two buildings – one of them, Mildred tells him, has rooms for guests; the other one houses the restaurant and their own house. To Kurt's disappointment, she doesn't even hesitate as she holds the door to the second one open for him.

"Right through here and to the left, darling. That's Rosie in the kitchen, she don't talk much, but I'm sure she's glad to meet ya."

There is an old woman behind the stove – cooking something that smells like chili – who looks up curiously when he stumbles over the threshold. Her face lights up in a toothy smile, so contagious Kurt had to quirk his mouth up a little, too.

He heads on into what he assumes is the house. The living room is big, furnished in warm colors, oversized comfortable-looking sofa and armchairs. It even has a TV.

Aunt Mildred catches up with him. "Okay. There's a bathroom to the right, the other door is a storage room – I'd advise you not to open that. Over here," she nudges an inconspicuous gray door in the living room wall, "is what we call the infirmary. Folks get injured sometimes; have to keep 'em somewhere cool and calm until the ambulance gets there, if it's that serious. Now, come on up the stairs. I'll show you your room."

Kurt eyes the infirmary door warily, but follows. The upstairs seems to be bigger, dim hallway stretching around numerous doors. Again, aunt Mildred takes hold of his shoulder, steering him around.

"Okay. This here is another bathroom – I'd lock the door when you're in there – and over there is my bedroom. This is where Chris and Steve sleep," she points, and Kurt doesn't raise an eyebrow at them sharing a room, he doesn't, "and here's Noah."

Curious, Kurt looks at her. He hasn't seen anybody else around.

"Don't worry, Noah will show up sometime. He's probably out riding. Come on," she beckons, and opens the last door in the row.

Kurt steps in and looks around. It's a nice enough room – decorated in old green and white, a comfortable-looking bed, sturdy wooden bookshelf and a dresser, armchairs, a small table. His suitcases are already waiting in the middle of the room. At least there's no wallpaper with flower motifs, thank God.

"There ya go," aunt Mildred is grinning again. "You can unpack, relax for a bit. Dinner's at six, one of the boys will show you around the outside after that," she waves, and before Kurt can blink, she's gone.

He sits heavily down on the bed – absolutely doesn't squeak with surprise when he bounces on the soft mattress – and just breathes for a while. Two whole months. He's supposed to spend two months up here, with nothing but books, and old TV, and horses as entertainment. He's going to have to wear old clothes.

He flops back down on the bed, catching sight of the clock. An hour until dinner. An hour he can spend wallowing in self-pity.

Six o'clock comes a lot sooner than Kurt expected. He picks himself off the floor, where he ended up after he found out not all his clothes will fit in the dresser, dusts off his pants and cautiously walks downstairs into the kitchen.

The scene looks a little intimidating; aunt Mildred, Steve, Chris and Rosie already sitting down, heaping their plates with chili, vegetables and corn bread. With the exception of Friday evenings, which are always more awkward than anything else, Kurt and his dad don't really sit down at the table to eat together. His dad usually takes his plate to the living room to eat it by the TV, and Kurt either stays in the kitchen and works on homework one-handed, or goes down to his room.

Before he can get his footing back, Chris spots him and salutes in greeting. Kurt gives him an uneasy smile, stepping closer and sitting down.

"Everything okay?" aunt Mildred asks, smiling like she knows something he doesn't, and Kurt nods. He grabs he ladle, reveling in the strong smell that hits his nose. He loves chili, but he's never managed to make it just right.

When they all finally start eating – Kurt has to admit the cornbread is incredible – a silence settles over the table, but it's not uncomfortable or formal by a long shot. Chris and Steve are nudging each other's elbows like five year olds, Rosie is constantly getting up to fetch something, and aunt Mildred goes through three plates, making noises of approval every five seconds.

And then, right when Kurt almost relaxes, the front door opens with a bang and a guy Kurt hasn't seen yet – this one could be called a boy, maybe, he looks like he's closer to Kurt's age – steps inside. There's sweat glistening on his forehead when he takes off his hat.

Kurt tries to get a good look while being inconspicuous. The stranger's got a good build, all tight muscles under his black wife-beater. He looks a little broody, frowning at one of his dirty boots when it won't come off.

"Noah dear," aunt Mildred chirps, already standing up to get a clean plate.

This is Noah, then. The Noah who lives in the room right next to Kurt's.

"Sorry, I know, I'm late," Noah says, voice a little rougher than Kurt would have expected, but then he raises his head and smiles. It looks completely out of place, combined with his hunched shoulders and furrowed brow, but somehow, it lights up his whole face, too. Brown eyes sparkle in the hallway shadows and Kurt feels it like a punch to the gut.

Then the smile is gone as quickly as it appeared, and Noah is stepping in and sitting down. He gets his own helping and digs in, eating like a starving man. Chris and Steve nudge each other again, whispering like schoolgirls, which only serves to weird Kurt out more.

"Noah," aunt Mildred thwacks him upside the head. "Don't be impolite. This is Kurt, my nephew."

Kurt curses her in his mind. He'd almost managed to fly under the radar.

Suddenly, the brown eyes are turned on him, equal parts curious and sad, and Kurt feels like he should apologize, even though he didn't do anything.

"Right," Noah says, in that same gravelly voice. "Nice, uh, nice to meet you," he stutters out, frowning, then immediately goes back to his food. Aunt Mildred sits back down with a resigned sigh.

"Yeah," Kurt answers, somehow sensing he doesn't really need to say more.

The rest of the dinner – mostly consisting of the five of them looking at Noah as he eats – passes in a slightly less comfortable silence. Finally, when the pot is empty and everybody is sitting back with a satisfied smile on their face, aunt Mildred slaps a palm down on the table.

"Boys," she says, authoritatively, looking pointedly at Noah, "I need someone to show Kurt around the ranch." Everybody looks at her in silence. Kurt squirms uncomfortably in his seat. "I also need someone to take Rosie home," she adds, and Chris immediately jumps up, grabbing his hat.

"I'll drive you," he grins, white teeth flashing, and in a flurry of movement, they're gone. Kurt doesn't miss Steve's eye roll.

"Noah?" aunt Mildred asks again. The boy in question looks down at his hands, then out of the window, everywhere but not at her.

"I, um, I'm tired?" he says, but it sounds like a question. He finally looks up at Mildred and the two of them stare at each other in what looks like a silent conversation. In the end, it looks like Noah's won – aunt Mildred sighs, waves her hand, and Noah is through to the living room and gone up the stairs in a flash.

"Steve, darling, would you mind?" she turns to the last of her guys in the room. Kurt frowns at her, an uncomfortable shiver rattling down his spine. She makes him sound like a liability, which is ridiculous – she's the one who wanted him to come in the first place.

"Yeah, sure," Steve says, toothpick hanging out of the corner of his mouth. It's more words together than Kurt's heard him say so far.

Steve stands up, Kurt following suit, and they step outside into the cooling summer evening. The man turns right, out of the courtyard, and motions for Kurt to follow. The valley opens up in front of them again, rolling green hills, the sun just sinking down over the treetops. It's almost eerily calm, still.

A loud neigh suddenly breaks the silence, an answering chorus following it. Kurt looks towards the source of the sound, and finally sees the horses.

There's not that many of them – nine or ten, there are probably more scattered around the pasture. Kurt hasn't seen actual, living horses since he was about five, and the difference in what he sees and what he remembers is stunning.

They're tall, of course, but definitely not as tall as houses. They look calm, peaceful, slowly moving and grazing on the juicy grass, tails swishing around with a soft sound. Kurt can't really believe they'd kick or bite someone just because they came too close, like in the stories he'd heard, but that doesn't mean he's not apprehensive.

"Wanna go in and say hi?" Steve asks, sounding bored, like he doesn't really think Kurt will say yes. For once, he's right.

"No!" Kurt squeaks, a little more horrified than he'd like. Steve just huffs and shakes his head, moving forward on the path. He turns right again, off the cobblestones and onto the grass, and walks towards a pair of what are probably hitching posts. There are stray items lying all around – a brush, a bucket of grassy water, a muddy lead rope.

Steve starts talking as soon as Kurt catches up. "This," he pats a hand on the rough wood, "are the hitching posts. Millie calls this whole corner the hitching area. The only rule here is, follow the rules."

Kurt looks at him, hoping he's sending the message – what the hell are you talking about? – loud and clear.

Steve sighs. "The rules around the horses. There's usually at least four of them in here, and they don't usually make problems, but you still gotta be careful."

Then, not waiting on Kurt to get his bearings, he walks towards the back of the house. The wood rail fence separating the enclosure looks damaged there, bearing marks of teeth. Inexplicably, Steve smiles as he runs a hand over them.

"This is where we take kids who just come to look at the horses," he explains. "They're used to getting treats over here, and when they don't find any, they munch on the fence."

Kurt nods and looks around – no horses in sight. He's glad; the fence looks a little too wobbly for his comfort. Next, Steve leads him into a tall, rickety building. The ground is softer there, muddy, and Kurt silently cries for his shoes.

When they come through the doors, Kurt suddenly finds himself in darkness. He blinks a few times to clear his vision and recognizes rough shapes – huge piles of something on both sides, a couple of wooden troughs, a big white box on the opposite side, all that nestled under the highest ceiling Kurt has seen in his life.

"This is the barn," Steve's voice comes out of the darkness. "We don't use it much, just for trimming the hooves, and the dogs sleep here sometimes."

Kurt swallows. "Dogs?"

Steve chuckles. "Right, you haven't met them yet. There's four of them, but they mostly come and go as they please. Don't worry, they're friendly," he says, amusement ringing clearly in his voice. "Come on."

He opens the door on the opposite side, flooding the barn with light. He walks briskly outside, doesn't wait for Kurt to catch up. Kurt blinks when he realizes they're back in the courtyard.

"Over there," Steve points to a gaping hole in a row of neat doors that lead to the rooms for customers, "is the tack room, and the big gazebo you probably saw around the back is for customers – there's a bar and a grill, nothing much."

Kurt nods silently. Steve's shoulders sag a little more, if that's possible, and he scratches the back of his neck.

"That's it," he says, "I think somebody else is going to tell you the rules tomorrow morning."

"Okay," Kurt nods again, wrapping his arms around himself. Then, although he has to force it through his teeth a little, "Thanks."

Steve nods, clears his throat, and disappears into the house. Kurt blinks at the door as it closes behind him - that has to be the strangest person he'd ever met.

Sighing, he ignores the cold that's slowly crawling under his clothes, and walks out of the courtyard to look at the valley again. Even though the last thing he wants is to be here, the sight is oddly calming. It makes him want to call his dad, to tell him about how strange Chris and Steve are, how aunt Mildred already drives him crazy. Despite him and his dad not eating dinners together, they talk a lot, about anything and everything, especially since Kurt came out to him a few months ago.

Then he remembers – dad was the one to leave him here, not asking if he wanted to. And even if, the cell reception is so bad Kurt probably wouldn't hear anything – he'd already checked.

A pale gray horse neighs at him, dark eyes watching him curiously when he turns around. It tilts its head, making a deeper sound in its belly, and takes a few steps forward. Kurt's still at least thirty feet away, but it looks like it wants him to come closer. It neighs again.

He stands frozen, unsure of what to do. There's no one out here to see him – no one will laugh if he touches the horse, then runs scared. On the other hand, why even bother. He's never been good with animals, and if he wanted to start, he'd pick something smaller, like a goldfish.

He smiles when the horse grunts. He lifts a hand and waves, then turns around and shakes his head at himself. He hasn't even been here for twelve hours and he's already going crazy.

The morning dawns gray and cold. Kurt's not usually one to sleep late, but when he half-wakes at five and hears footsteps downstairs, he has to groan. Nobody is getting him out of bed before eight.

When he finally makes himself get up – seven fifteen, it was too light for him to fall properly back asleep – the sky outside is swirling with menacing shades of dark blue, promising a storm. He opens the suitcase that hold all his old clothes, the things that he actually plans to wear in the mud and dirt and God knows what, and puts on a t-shirt and sweatpants.

Downstairs, the smell of bacon hits him in the nose as soon as he opens the kitchen door. Rosie and Chris are the only ones there, listening to a country station on the radio.

"Morning," Kurt says, and grabs a clean plate off the counter. There are eggs, bacon and sausages on the table, together with slightly clammy cooling toast and a box of orange juice.

"Mornin'," Chris drawls happily, stretching like a lazy cat. Rosie smiles and nods.

"How'd you sleep?" Chris asks when Kurt is taking a piece of toast, leaning forward like he genuinely wants to know.

Kurt regards him with an icy stare. He'd let his guard slip yesterday – too many new things and new people threw him. He'd forgotten to show them what he actually thinks about being here.

"Fine," he says, not feeling bad at the confused look on Chris's face. An awkward silence settles over them. As long as he doesn't have to talk, Kurt's just fine with that.

When he's finishing his last toast, Chris morosely reading a newspaper next to him, aunt Mildred walks in, cheeks red from the wind.

"Ah, Kurtie, you're finally up," she grins. "Hurry up and get dressed, Noah is waiting for you outside."

Kurt's hand on his glass tightens. He downs the rest of his juice in silence, leaves his plate in the sink, and runs upstairs to take a jacket – he'd had to borrow one of his dad's. All of his were too expensive to get ruined.

Outside, the wind is picking up, the smell of rain strong in the air. Noah is standing leaning against the barn, hands jammed deep in his jeans pockets. When he notices Kurt, he walks over, moves reluctant.

"Hey," he waves half-heartedly. Kurt feels unsure again, like he's standing on a slippery slope and any step he makes might be the wrong one.

"Hi," he settles for, in the end.

They walk out of the courtyard, all the way to the parking area.

"So, um. I'm supposed to tell you how everything works around here. Millie says you're going to help us."

Kurt grinds his teeth. "Yeah."

"Okay," Noah nods, brows furrowed as always. "Come on."

There's an electrical fence running around the edge of the lot, just a single wire, but Kurt can hear it buzzing. Noah takes hold of a plastic handle on one end, unhooks it from the post it's tethered to, and waves at Kurt to come through. He barely even realizes they're walking into the enclosure – when he does, his palms automatically start sweating.

There's a slight slope where they walked in, and they trudge down slowly, until they're standing between two fenced-off areas – one of them a rectangle, the other one a circle.

"Right, so – this," Noah points to the rectangle, "is the arena, but you probably knew that. That's where we take beginners on lead lines, and the more advanced ones to learn trot, canter, circles, diagonals, what have you. Over there," he turns towards the circle, "is the corral. We mainly use it for training the young horses, or when we quickly need to separate one from the others," he's talking a little faster now, a little livelier. It's like he's getting into his element, and Kurt completely forgets to throw in a snide remark.

They walk on, up a hill, deeper into the trees until they reach the edge of the enclosure, turning instead to walk along it. Kurt's feet are already starting to hurt from the unexpected holes and bumps in the ground.

Suddenly, Noah lets out a little whoop of victory. "There they are," he mumbles.

Kurt looks vaguely in the same direction, and spots it too – the flashes of brown, white and black through the thick foliage. The horses. With nothing between them and Kurt. He instantly freezes in place.

"Oh, come on. You don't have to be scared," Noah nudges him with his elbow, voice unusually gentle. Kurt wheezes, struggling for air. Strong hands land on his shoulders.

"Hey," Noah talks to him in a firm, calm voice, probably the same way he'd talk to a spooked animal. "They're good horses. They're not going to bite you, or kick you, or whatever it is you think they're going to do. Just follow me," he says, and tugs on Kurt's shoulder. Shaking a little, Kurt does.

They round a bunch of oak trees, trunks thick, leaves humming in the wind. There, on a small clearing, is a herd of horses bigger than Kurt had seen yesterday. There has to be about twenty of them, packed together, grazing or just standing, letting the wind play with their manes.

Noah quietly does a count. "Yep, that's all of them."

"H-how many?" Kurt asks, resisting the urge to slap himself for stuttering.

"Nineteen."

Okay. All right. Deep breaths.

"You wanna meet someone?" Noah asks, sparks suddenly coming alight in his eyes, dancing in mischief. Kurt opens his mouth like a fish.

"Don't worry," the other boy smirks and whistles a low tone to get the horses' attention. Most of them don't even turn their heads, only their ears moving to catalogue the sound. A spotted horse closest to them snorts.

"Wendy," Noah drawls, like he's trying to flirt. "C'mere, girl," he rummages in his pocket, not pulling anything out, but the mare is already on her way to him. Kurt inadvertently takes a step back.

"Wendy's great," Noah says, talking to him, but not taking his eyes off the horse. "She's the youngest one we have. She's really calm, but she likes to play, and all the others are fed up with her, they just want to be left alone," he babbles on, voice light and amused and so much different than before.

It doesn't take long for Wendy to reach them, bumping her head into Noah's abdomen. He staggers back, smiling, and Kurt's breath leaves him again as he watches Noah's eyes light up in quiet fascination. It's like someone flipped a switch, turning the hunching, moping boy into…this. He almost shines, radiates happiness and peace.

"Hey, girl," he's patting the horse's neck, sliding a hand over her nose, stroking her ears. "I want you to meet someone," he says. Horrified, Kurt realizes he's talking about him.

"I—I—" he stammers, past the point of caring, because the horse is looking at him, brown eyes curious.

"Relax, you're okay," Noah says, low and comforting, and takes a hold of Kurt's forearm. Sparks immediately prickle on Kurt's skin, making it flush hot. Before he knows it, he has a palm pressed to the horse's neck. He slides his eyes shut, waiting for it to rear up, or turn around and bite him. When nothing happens for over ten seconds, he warily opens one eye.

Wendy is standing still, exactly like she was before he touched her, head turned to look at him, as if she's trying to figure him out. Next to her, Noah's grinning.

"See? All your fingers intact. Come on, pet her a little, she's not going to do anything."

Wary, limbs still a little stiff with terror, Kurt moves his hand. The horse's hair is just as soft and silky as it looks, smooth under his palm. He watches, fascinated, as the brown bleeds into white and back into brown, then brings his hand up to stroke the strong neck all over again. Noah's whispering something into Wendy's ear, large hands scratching her cheek, and she puffs in response. Her muscles move, firm underneath the thick skin.

"Now come over here," Noah says a little louder, and it takes Kurt a second to figure out he's talking to him. Almost regretfully, he pulls his hands back. The memory of the silky hair on them still tickles.

He takes a step to come stand next to Noah, face to face with the horse. Her lids are heavy, eyes almost closed in relaxed bliss.

"Let her sniff your hand," Noah says. Kurt's shaking again, but this time, he's not afraid, not really. He raises a hand, palm up, to the horse's nose. Wendy's nostrils tremble a little. She raises her head a little higher, sniffing – then, before Kurt can do anything, an enormous pink tongue licks over his hand. He manages to stifle an undignified squeak halfway up his throat.

Noah chuckles, low and amused. "Sorry, should have warned ya. Palm up is usually how you give them treats."

Kurt glares, feeling more like laughing. "Thanks a lot."

Wendy nudges his hand with her nose, breathing out a puff of shockingly warm breath. He dares to reach his fingers higher, stroking her muzzle. The skin there is softer than anything he'd ever touched, and he looks up in amazement. The horse is looking at him, and Kurt could swear that if she could, she'd smile. He drags his hand higher, to the swirl of hair in the middle of her forehead, gently through the indents above her eyes, up to her ears.

He feels the smile stretching his face and does nothing to stop it. Before he knows it, he's laughing, quiet and free and happy, like he hasn't in ages. Noah joins him soon after, eyes glinting again, and it's like nothing Kurt has ever experienced.

When Noah finally manages to persuade Kurt to move, Wendy tags along with them, bumping them in the back with her forehead. Kurt stumbles every five steps and almost falls more times than he'd care to count.

"Okay, now that you're not scared for your life, the main rule when you're walking around them like this," he motions to the herd, now to their left, "is don't sneak up on them. They have damn good ears, and they'll hear you, but if they're nervous or having a bad day or they just don't like you, they can kick. Nobody wants you to end up with a split skull."

Kurt shudders at the visual.

"If you can, always come in from the front, talk to them, so they'll know you're not a threat. Got it?"

He grins, ducking to avoid Wendy's head. "Got it."

"Good," Noah nods, smiling pensively into the distance. The sun has broken through the clouds, high on the sky. Noah's hat casts a shadow on his face, but he still holds a hand to his forehead when he's looking.

They're slowly coming out of the forest again, onto a meadow stretching almost as far as Kurt can see. The sharp glint of the electrical wire tells him they've come to the edge again. They stand there for a while, then walk downhill towards the ranch, Wendy finally abandoning them to graze on a particularly juicy patch of grass. Noah sticks his hands in his pockets and starts talking again.

"Now, there isn't that much to do in terms of work. Even the three of us, me, Chris and Steve, is too much, but Millie likes to be sure. The horses stay out all year, rain, snow, doesn't matter. They have a shelter over there," he gestures vaguely towards the house. Kurt remembers seeing a small wooden building from the barn.

"We need to refill the water troughs once a day, or whenever they get too dirty. Riding depends on whether there's clients lined up, someone can show you later today. If the horses don't work, we don't give them extra food, just the grass and hay in the shelter, if they do, there's a mix they get after they come back. I think that's pretty much it. This place takes care of itself most of the time."

Kurt nods, biting on his lip, eyes searching the distance for anything disrupting the calm. He should probably have questions, but the only thing he needs to know is that he doesn't need to slave for hours under the mid-summer sun.

They finally come down, right by the hitching posts, and Noah holds the fence door open for him. Kurt turns around, determined to swallow his pride and at least say thanks, but the other boy is already taking off towards the house, leaving Kurt behind without a word. His shoulders are hunched down, like an invisible weight has settled back on them.

Kurt crosses his arms over his chest. If that's how it's going to be, then fine. He can be cold, too. He turns to storm off, maybe go and sulk in his room for a while, when a voice stops him in his tracks.

"Hey!" It's Chris, coming down from the other side of the enclosure with a brown horse in tow, two big dogs nipping on his heels. He's smiling again, Kurt's dismissive behavior at breakfast obviously forgotten.

"Steve said you haven't seen the mutts yet," he grins, and then motions towards the big animals now sitting next to him. "These are Jazz and Oliver, and they're the calm ones."

Kurt eyes the dogs warily. They're panting, tongues lolling out, looking for all the world like little angels. He should probably know better.

"And this," Chris's voice makes Kurt look up again, "is my baby girl," he's patting the horse's flank, tying some sort of a knot around the hitching post to keep her in place.

Kurt raises his eyebrows. "She's yours?"

"Hell yes, she's mine. Don't sound so surprised."

"What's her name?" Kurt asks, daring to come a little closer. The horse looks calm enough, ears relaxed, head low.

"Andromeda," Chris grins like he just won the lottery. Kurt's eyebrows climb higher towards his hairline.

"It's a beautiful name," Chris frowns, then grumbles something as he drops a plastic box at his feet. "Steve's horse's name is Orion."

Kurt can't help the grin that spreads on his face. He forgets all about his attitude – Chris's pouty face is too priceless. "You two like the stars, huh?"

"Shut up," the man grunts, bending over to pull a strange-looking plastic glove with nubs out of the box. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Kurt crosses his arms again, defensive. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm going for a pleasure ride. Now answer the question."

"Noah was showing me around in the enclosure. I just got back," Kurt answers, shoulders sagging as he leans against the rail fence.

"Aah," Chris drawls, entirely too sleazy for Kurt's liking, and peeks out from where he's rubbing his mare's belly. "Noah, is it. Did you have a good time?" he asks with a smirk.

Kurt only hears one thing. "Wait, what's his name?"

"No, no, he's Noah, all right. He just…prefers people to call him Puck."

"Puck? What kind of a name is that?"

Chris comes over to lean next to him and ruffles his hair. "His last name is Puckerman. Now, did you have a good time?" his blue eyes are sparkling.

"Yeah," Kurt grudgingly admits. He's still standing turned away, defensive. He honestly doesn't want this giant man-child to poke at this. Why, he's not sure.

"Did you meet Wendy?"

Kurt's eyes fly up. "How did you know?"

"Oh, please. Puck's obsessed with that horse. Was here when she was born, helped raise her when her momma died two days later. He always worries Millie's gonna sell her, as if she would. She's just waiting for him to turn eighteen so she can legally give her to him."

Kurt blinks. "Wow." It's not like he hadn't known his aunt was a generous person, always giving away even things she needed. But a horse?

Chris rubs a hand over his chin. "If you ask me, he damn well deserves it. He comes here to help every summer, doesn't want anything but a room to sleep in."

"Why?"

"None of my business," Chris suddenly says, smile falling off. He stalks off to his horse and goes back to cleaning her with vigor. Kurt has to shake his head as he walks towards the house. The people around here.

It takes a few days for things to settle down, and for aunt Mildred to start poking at him again.

Kurt doesn't protest as Chris and Steve call him to help with this or that, carrying buckets and sweeping the courtyard. They usually leave him alone otherwise. Noah walks around broody, just like that first day, staring at his shoes, and the only time Kurt sees him even remotely resemble the boy he'd seen up in the enclosure is when he's riding off into the forest.

All in all, he doesn't complain, because being at the ranch is a lot easier than he'd expected. He still keeps his distance, doesn't give out too many smiles when everybody beams at him at the breakfast table. No need to get unnecessarily close.

But then, on the fifth morning Kurt's been staying at The Star Lake, aunt Mildred is the only one in the kitchen, and she's wearing an expression Kurt doesn't like at all.

"Kurt, honey," she says, accent bleeding through more than usual (at least she's stopped calling him Kurtie – that counts as a win). "I hear you've met some of the horses."

Of course she's heard. Kurt was the one who told her.

He sits down warily, pulling the plate with pancakes closer. "Yes?"

She smiles, and it's too sweet to be anything good. "Well, how about riding?"

Kurt freezes, fork halfway up to his mouth. "What about it?"

"Don't you want to try it?" she's looking at him like she honestly doesn't understand why not.

"No."

"How can you know that? You've never sat on a horse."

Kurt keeps silent. It's not really that important to tell her that while he's overcome his fear a little bit, sitting on a moving horse is not something he has plans to do. Preferably ever.

"Come on. You're going to like it, everybody does. Noah can teach you," she pokes him in the ribs, winking. He honestly has no idea what's up with all the winking around here.

"Aunt Mildred, look…"

"Kurtie. Noah's an excellent teacher, he's been riding since he was five. Nothing bad is going to happen to you."

Kurt bites his lip. He really, really doesn't want to. At the same time, there's something screaming in the corner of his mind, something that looks suspiciously like brown eyes and a happy grin that he hasn't seen in days. He feels the defeat before he fully admits it. He sighs, shoulders sagging.

"Okay."

Aunt Mildred honest to God squeals and jumps up. "Great! I'm going to tell Noah – you eat, you're gonna need the energy."

Then she's gone, and there's a pit in Kurt's stomach that's getting bigger by the second. He doesn’t even finish the one pancake on his plate, throat closing up. What the hell did he just do.

He gets up, drinks a few glasses of water which do nothing but make his stomach even more wobbly, then walks upstairs to find something to ride in. He hasn't ever seen anyone – not even the clients – wear anything but jeans. He pulls on a pair, throwing on a hoodie over his shirt, and pulls on the extra pair of boots aunt Mildred gave him his second day, after he'd almost ruined a pair of his sneakers in the mud.

It's cold again outside, clouds swimming grey in the sky. The valley still looks beautiful, the ever-present green even more prominent on an overcast day. Kurt feels a sense of calm overcome him for a few seconds, slowing his racing heart.

Noah is already waiting by the hitching posts, slumped in on himself as always, holding something in his hands. Kurt comes closer, clearing his throat to catch the other boy's attention. Noah grunts a greeting.

He finally stops fiddling with the mysterious item, giving it a glance, then extending it towards Kurt. It's a bright red halter with a black lead rope fastened to it. He freezes and stares at it.

"Am I—am I supposed to—"

"I'm going with you," Noah rolls his eyes and wow, he's extra sour today. Kurt ignores the cold sweat that breaks out on his forehead, taking the halter and crushing it in a death grip.

They start moving uphill, towards the shelter end of the enclosure. The rails of the fence look just as brittle and chewed out as they did a few days before, but when Noah opens the gate, they stay upright.

The grass is still wet with dew and slippery, no sun shining to dry it. Kurt can't see the horses anywhere, can't even hear them, but Noah seems to know where they are anyway. He walks sure, not stopping to listen, towards the trees.

Sure enough, as soon as the path clears a little, the horses are right there, scattered around the thick bushes. Noah stops, and so does Kurt, not even thinking about it.

"I think we can take Vinny," he points towards a horse that's standing a little ways from the others. Kurt blinks. It might be just an illusion, but it looks tall.

"He's the tallest," Noah says immediately, a little amusement and life creeping back into his tone. Kurt's too busy panicking to notice.

"Come on," Noah beckons, already taking off in a delicate path around the trees, and Kurt has no choice but to follow. The closer he gets, the taller Vinny looks. He's beautiful, lean and muscled with shiny dapple grey hair, but he looks like he's almost six feet.

"Seventeen point three hands high," Noah says proudly. Kurt looks at him like he's lost his mind.

"Sixty-nine inches," Noah rolls his eyes, "from hoof to withers," he points at the small bump on the horse's neck. Yeah, sixty-nine inches. Not that that makes Kurt feel better.

"How do I put this on?" Kurt raises the halter, aware of the desperation in his voice. Internally, he's banging his head against a wall. He's never going to talk to aunt Mildred again.

"Well, for one, take the lead off first," Noah chuckles. Kurt does, throws it around his neck for a lack of a better place, but he actually gets an appraising look.

"Good. Now, let's see if you can figure out which end goes up behind the ears."

Kurt looks at the horse's profile. The halter in his hands has a circle that should probably go around the muzzle, and a straight strap that's too short to go anywhere but the cheek. He slips his fingers under the longest one, holding it up questioningly. Noah grins at him.

"That's right. Go on, try it, Vinnie's used to it."

Kurt doesn't ask what's that supposed to mean. Instead, he takes a step closer and raises his eyes to see the horse looking back at him calmly.

"Hi, Vinny," he says, remembering Noah's advice. He opens the halter with his hands, sliding the circle around Vinny's nose, pulling the long end all the way up to let it rest behind his ears. Finally, he takes the strap hanging free and clips it to a circle on the other side of the horse's head. He keeps a hold on the halter, stepping back to admire his work.

"Not bad," Noah says from behind him, smile audible in his voice. "The lead goes on the circle above his chin." Kurt finds it quickly and clips the rope on, amazed. He just put a halter on a horse without ending up stomped on.

"Good work," Noah gives a little, and Kurt feels like grinning. "Now, when you're leading him, don't do it the way they do it on TV, all right? Just take the lead in your hand about halfway down and leave it loose."

Kurt does as he's told, Vinny still standing calm and relaxed. Noah clicks his tongue to get the horse moving. Amazingly enough, they're out of the trees in under a minute. Kurt walks in big steps, paranoid about the giant hooves tripping him, holding the lead rope like a lifeline and feeling just a little bit proud. If you ask him, he has a right.

Noah holds the door open when they get back up, Vinny's hooves clonking on the cobblestones. Kurt leads the horse to the hitching posts. When he stops, Vinny stops too.

"Okay, now, I'd teach you how to make a quick release knot, but that's gonna take a while. You can just drop the lead, he won't move," Noah commands, fiddling with a plastic box. He finally opens it to reveal a grooming kit, and Kurt's suddenly uneasy again.

"This is the simple part," Noah starts, standing straighter again, getting into his element. "There's only two things you need to clean a horse on an ordinary day." He motions for Kurt to straighten out his hands, then gives him a brush and something made out of rubber.

"That, " Noah points to the rubber thing, "is a curry comb, or, you know, just curry. That's what you use to clean the dried mud, dirt, anything like that. The soft brush is for after, to get rid of the dust."

He walks towards Kurt and stops just inches behind him, so close Kurt can feel his body heat. His heart immediately picks up; it's just because he's afraid to screw this up and hurt the horse.

"Now," Noah says, so close to his ear Kurt can feel his breath, "you have to be gentle, but firm with the curry, rub in circles from the neck, like this," and then his hand is on Kurt's, warm and dry and big, moving the rubber comb in a wide circular motion. Vinny puffs, obviously enjoying the care.

"The most important points are the belly and the back, because that's where the saddle goes," Noah continues, still not letting go of Kurt's hand, guiding him through cleaning the horse's side. The small flecks of dirt give easily under the brush, dissolving into dust that gets lost in Vinny's hair.

"Now try it on your own," Noah says, and Kurt can feel the smile curve just behind his ear. He fights the shiver that wants to break out and run through him.

Noah steps away and crosses his arms, obviously waiting for Kurt to impress him. Kurt determinedly grinds his teeth, slowly moving over the horse's hip. When the whole side is done, he sweeps over the hair gently with the soft brush, watching the dust fly away in the wind. He barely holds in a sneeze.

"Good. I think you're smart enough to figure out that coming around right behind him is not a good idea," Noah says, leaning against the free post and watching from underneath his hat. "So, either walk behind him in a big circle, or just go around his front."

Kurt does the latter, finding the time to pet the horse's neck. Vinny is standing completely still, breathing deep, and Kurt strokes his cheek in silent thanks.

When he comes to the other side, he repeats everything – circular motions with the curry comb, sweep after them with the brush, and surprisingly soon, all dirt is gone. He checks the belly and back twice, just to make sure, feeling Noah's eyes on him the whole time. Finally, he steps back.

"Um…done?"

"Yeah," Noah comes closer again, checking the belly and the back himself (Kurt does not pout, although he knows he did it just fine). "We clean the hooves about once in three times, or when it's really muddy, but I don't think you can handle that just yet," he grins, then walks back to something piled on the hitching post Kurt didn't notice before. Noah takes the top off – underneath, there's a gleaming saddle, looking way too intimidating for an inanimate object.

"This is the difficult part," he's full-on grinning now. "This," he holds the thing in his hands higher, then flips it over to reveal a bright pattern of colors, "is the saddle pad, which obviously goes under the saddle. Come over here," he waves. Kurt steps back to the left side of the horse.

"We always put saddle on from this side. Nothing's going to happen if you do it from over there, but research shows this is more comfortable," he laughs. "Now, you want the pad at the withers, more or less as high as it can go."

Noah throws the saddle pad on gently, moving it up and down the horse's back a little. "It takes a bit of practice to guess the right place, so, you know, it's always better to ask someone. If you put on the saddle too low, it's going to be a disaster."

Kurt doesn't stop nodding, aware he probably has to look like an idiot. He's not planning on riding ever again after this one time, but it doesn't hurt to store the information. Noah looks over his own work, then nods, satisfied. He pats Vinny's neck and goes back for the saddle.

"I'm not going to torture you with the saddle parts," he says, pulling up various straps. "All you need to know is the horn," he points to the pommel in the front, "stirrups and cinch," Noah holds up a wide black strap with a buckle. He puts everything hanging on the right side of the saddle up into the seat, then holds it down and takes the saddle in his hands.

"You need to be careful with all the fancy stuff, so it doesn't hurt the horse when you put the saddle on," and then he steps up to Vinny, raises the saddle as high as he can, and lets it drop lightly on the horses back. He fiddles around with it for a while, moving it back and forth until he looks satisfied.

He drops the cinch down so it's hanging on Vinny's other side, then reaches for it and sends Kurt a meaningful look.

"Tying the knot is not that hard. It's kind of like tying a tie," he's saying as he pulls a leather strap through the buckle, pulls it up, then tucks it into a metal D on the saddle. He crosses and loops a few other times – Kurt honestly doesn't know how to follow – and ends up with a knot that actually does look like a tie. Kurt feels a little like clapping.

"Don't worry, Steve can teach you that. He's the only one who can explain it properly," Noah is saying as he checks on all the straps. Kurt swallows the desire to say I want you to teach me, because he has no idea where did it come from.

Noah reaches behind him towards the end of one post, and comes back with a brown bridle. It's simpler than what Kurt expected, just three straps and a gleaming metal bit.

"Last but not least," Noah grins, "I'm not going to let you do this just yet, but watch."

He walks closer to Vinny, stands with his shoulder just behind the horse's head, and extends his arms. He's talking to Vinny softly as he offers the bit on an open palm, then effortlessly slides it into his mouth. Noah pulls up the bridle to hook behind the horse's ears, careful to pick out strands of mane that have gotten caught underneath it. Finally, he closes a latch on the loose strap of leather that runs underneath the jaw.

"It's not that hard, especially with Vinny, he's one of the calmer ones. You just need to give them the bit and tell them to open, they should take it. Now, the throatlatch needs to be loose, enough space so you can slide your fist under it. Hooking the bridle up over the ears takes a bit of practice, though, I couldn't do it properly for the first nine years I was riding," he laughs. Kurt would love to say he's listening, but he's mostly stuck on the sparkle in Noah's eyes, the way his teeth flash whenever he smiles wide enough to show them.

"I think we're ready," the brown eyes turn to Kurt, now alight with mischief. "Come on," he says, grabs a lead line and takes Vinny's reins in his hands.

That's when Kurt remembers what he's actually supposed to be doing. His palms immediately go back to sweating like he's about to die. They walk down to the arena, Noah motioning at him to open the door, and then they're standing there on the packed dirt. Kurt is looking at the horse, which seems to be getting taller and taller with every silent second. He can't think beyond the terror and almost turns and runs; that's when a warm hand lands right between his shoulder blades.

"You'll be fine. Stop panicking," Noah says, voice somehow deeper, a low, calming rumble. Shockingly enough, Kurt finds his muscles unclenching a little, lungs relaxing as he takes a slow, long breath. The warmth from that one point on his back spreads, chasing away the cold of Kurt's hands.

"Good. Now, you'll get up from the left side again," he lowers a stirrup as he talks. "Left foot here," he holds the sturdy triangle still. Kurt closes his eyes, willing the feeling of imminent death into the very back of his mind.

He lifts his left foot – it doesn't look high, but he's immediately surprised at the pull of muscle in his thighs. The surprise must show on his face – Noah's smirking at him.

"Okay. Both hands up on the saddle," he motions to the back and the front, and Kurt does as he's told. He feels like somebody's trying to tear him apart by pulling in different directions, his arms barely long enough to reach the horse's back.

"Now just do the logical thing – push off the ground with your foot and pull with your arms until you're up there."

It's a strange feeling, half-hanging off a horse as he is. It's almost like his muscles gave out, being forced into the strange positions, and he feels weak like a kitten when he clambers to pull himself up. At this point, Vinny seems more like a mountain than a horse.

It takes Kurt about twenty excruciating seconds to get into the saddle, expecting to finally relax when he throws his leg to the right side and slumps his shoulders. Except he doesn't get how a human body could ever get accustomed to sitting on a horse, because he feels like he's going to be split open any second, legs far too wide for it to be comfortable. He desperately wants to climb off.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it," Noah is saying as he clips the lead line on and clicks his tongue, and before Kurt knows it, Vinny is moving underneath him. It's not a bad feeling, but it's new; he can feel the horse's belly puffing out with each deep breath he takes, can vaguely make out the bones and the muscles as they pull and stretch. It's actually not bad at all.

"Okay, now, you need to sit properly," Noah says, a little louder as he lets Vinny walk out on a bigger and bigger circle around him. "First of all, you need to relax your pelvis. You can feel the horse moving, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, there's a rhythm to it. Try to get in tune with that, loosen your lower body so it moves with him."

Kurt frowns, concentrating on the soft pattern of Vinny's hooves on the ground. It's a calm walk, slow and regular, and it's not hard to feel the slight rocking motion when he focuses on it. He tries to loosen his whole body, but the only thing that happens are his shoulders slumping forward. Noah is quiet, letting him figure it out on his own.

They pass another circle. Kurt knows, theoretically, what he's supposed to do, but it feels like he'd fall off if he did it. He reaches out a hand to hold on just in case, tightens the grip of his legs, then lets the tension in his lower back dissipate.

It's like someone flipped a switch. Suddenly, most of the uncomfortable feeling is gone, and Kurt can feel himself sinking deeper, looser in the saddle.

"That's what I'm talking about," Kurt can practically hear Noah's grin.

"Now, you need to push your heels down and point your toes towards the horse. Hold in the saddle with your thighs and get your legs under your body. Straighten up, shoulders back. Try to hold your chin higher, look forward a few feet between his ears."

Kurt does as he's told, repositioning his limbs like a doll. It mostly hurts, which comes as no big surprise – when he pushes his heels down, his toes automatically want to point outwards, and forcing them in feels like he's rearranging his bones. Keeping his legs under himself is difficult, too – all he wants is to slump back and enjoy the suddenly comfortable ride.

"Good. Try to adjust to that," Noah is commenting, going on and on about how the posture changes slightly in different tempos, turning in a circle so Kurt can hear him. The last traces of the usual broody boy fall off, and he's motioning with his hands, completely immersed. Kurt can't help but wonder what happens to this Noah when he's away from the horses, why does he feel like he needs to hide. His own icy attitude is long forgotten; he doesn't feel like it has a place here, it seems petty and childish when there are people like Noah, who seem to have actual problems.

When Noah suggests trot, happily grinning as he announces it's the most uncomfortable gait, Kurt feels like someone dropped a stone into his stomach. It's been nice so far; temperature just right, birds chirping and a slight breeze, him sitting on a horse, but anything beyond the comfort of what he's already experienced just brings the anxiety back.

Unfortunately, Noah doesn't leave the choice to him, just tells him to hold on to the saddle and relax his pelvis, then clicks his tongue to make Vinny speed up. He was right – trot is uncomfortable, and Kurt feels like he's going to fly out of the saddle any second, but after a few circles, he feels himself relax and give into the tempo. It's nothing like walking, but despite everything, he feels exhilarated. The breeze in his face turns into wind, it swishes by his ears, raising goosebumps on his skin. He doesn't want to stop even when he has to.

Noah stops them after about forty-five minutes, ignoring Kurt's disappointed face. When Kurt crawls down, he suddenly understands why – his legs already feel like jelly, trembling and unsteady on the firm ground.

When he feels sure enough to walk, he pets Vinny's neck, flattens a gentle hand over his muzzle. He feels like doing the same to Noah – at least touching him on the shoulder, or between the shoulder blades like he did to Kurt. Kurt wants to say thank you, because – who would have guessed – riding is actually incredible, he wants to tell Noah he appreciates it, and can they please do this again. Somehow, it seems like the other boy could use all the appreciation he can get.

Noah hands Kurt the reins to lead Vinny to the hitching posts. They take off the saddle and bridle and give the horse a few apples as a treat. Noah goes to lead him back out into the enclosure, and Kurt watches, fascinated, as the animal huffs and gracefully takes off at a gallop back to the herd.

The thank you is still itching in his throat when Noah comes back, straining to get out, because Kurt might not really want to be here, but he's more grateful than he can probably say. Noah smiles at him – already strained, corners of his mouth barely lifting as he flips the saddle pad the soft side up to dry. Kurt doesn't want to see the tension back in those shoulders, not when they were shaking with laughter not twenty minutes earlier, and he desperately grasps at straws when he sees Noah walking away.

"Noah," he calls and freezes. He's never called the boy by name, and Chris had said—

"What?" Noah mumbles and turns around, eyes hidden underneath his hat.

"I—" Kurt stutters again – how is it that any time he's around him, he can't get a normal sentence out? "I just wanted to say thanks."

He doesn't add anything; lets Noah interpret it any way he wants. The other boy just stands and looks at him, hands in his pockets, head a little ducked. "Yeah," he clears his throat, "you're welcome."

Kurt can barely see his expression, can't really determine where the rough sound of the words comes from. He barely blinks, and Noah is gone, leaving him feeling like he'd just made things worse. The easy camaraderie they've had by the horses is gone again, and Kurt wants desperately to get it back.

Aunt Mildred quizzes him about his "brand new experience" at dinner, smiling when he tells her it wasn't that bad. She immediately promises to talk to Noah about giving him regular lessons. Chris and Steve, the only other people at the table, exchange meaningful looks – Kurt doesn't like those at all.

In the evening, the clouds finally roll away, leaving everyone with a view of a sunset over the forest that is nothing short of breathtaking. Kurt walks out of the courtyard and just settles on the grass, finding a moment to laugh at himself – a week ago, if someone had told him he would voluntarily be sitting and watching the sunset, well… But somehow, this scenery seems special. Maybe it's the silence, no noise except the breeze in the trees and the birds settling for the night. The sky looks so much more vivid out of the city lights, pale blue fading into yellow, orange bleeding into red, the sun in the middle of it like a ball of fire. It paints the grass and the forest in mild colors, closes the flowers before night descends.

Kurt closes his eyes, just breathing for a while. The air is different, too; sharper and cleaner, nothing but grass and wood and leather. It reaches deeper into his lungs, makes him feel like he could fly if he wanted to. When he opens his eyes again, the sun has moved, sinking deeper over the forest, just moments from getting lost behind the horizon.

It's only then he spots someone quietly lying about fifty feet to his right by the fence. On closer look, he distinguishes two people, arms around each other, almost completely hidden by the dusk shadows. There's something familiar about them, and it only takes Kurt two seconds to connect the dots.

It's Chris and Steve.

He feels a little like laughing; there's nothing friendly about the way they're resting, heads close together, legs tangled, none of their usual banter and giggling present. On some level he'd probably seen it since day one, just didn't want to believe it.

He's happy for them either way – when he thinks about it, he might even consider them cute.

When he looks out at the horizon again, nothing but the orange wisps of clouds, red and yellow slowly being swallowed by dark blue, he feels a pang of longing in his gut. He doesn't have anyone to watch the sunset with, and while he's completely fine with that – it's better than going around Lima looking for gay guys and forcing himself to be with one of them just on principle – it does get lonely sometimes. He can't talk about boys to his dad; neither of them is quite ready for that, and Kurt doesn't have anyone else who knows.

He lays back, too, content to wait until the stars start blinking and the buzz of cicadas rises. Chris and Steve start talking; he doesn't listen for the content, just lets the low rumble of their voices wash over him, another of the peaceful sounds that make up the evening.

He hopes they won't notice him – he doesn't want to disturb, but he's too content to move.

The next morning, Noah is nowhere to be found. Aunt Mildred frowns all the way through breakfast and leaves to go look for him as soon as all her eggs are gone. Kurt doesn't know if he should be worried – Chris, Steve and Rosie don't seem to be.

It's a Monday, no clients booked for riding, rooms empty, and after he helps Steve refill the water trough and feed the dogs – the other two are named Leo and Rio, and they love chewing on Kurt's hands – he has nothing to do. Thankfully, neither does Chris, and he offers to take him for a ride. Something in Kurt screams no at full volume; he doesn't give in.

"Sure, thanks," he smiles, and they walk around for a while, trying to find the horses. Kurt bites his tongue on remarking that Noah found them just by closing his eyes and listening.

The herd is scattered on a clearing in the denser part of the forest, grazing on tall grass. Chris picks Vinny again, keeping up a light conversation about Kurt's first time riding while avoiding rocks and holes hidden in the greenery.

They talk all through saddling and don't stop even when they reach the arena. As it turns out, Chris is almost shockingly smart, has something to say about everything from global warming to baking. Kurt finds out he's originally from Oklahoma, but him and Steve used to have a band they travelled around with. He listens, wide-eyed, to Chris's impressions of rushed Londoners and friendly Germans.

"So why did you stop?" he asks when he gets up in the saddle in only five seconds, although his muscles scream in pain.

Chris picks up the lead line and ushers Vinny out onto the circle, shrugging. "It got to be too much, y'know? We'd both rather cut our arms off than stop playing, but if we wanted to record more, they gave us all these stupid rules – wear this, don't wear that, say this, behave like that. Guess it just wasn't for us."

Kurt settles into the horse's rhythm comfortably, mulling Chris's words over in his head. His tongue itches to ask the one question, especially since performing is what he wants to do. He bites his lip, assessing the situation – Chris isn't very likely to hit him, especially since he's sitting on a horse.

"Did they have something against you guys being together?" he rushes out, before he can change his mind.

Chris doesn't miss a beat – he doesn't even look surprised. "Naw, they didn't know. If they did, I'm sure they would've insisted we break it off. We honestly had no idea what would happen if the label found out, and we didn't wanna risk it."

Kurt smiles. "Aaw," he teases.

Chris laughs. "Shut up! There are more important things than career. Now focus, I wanna see you trot."

Kurt is very impressed with himself when he manages not to fall, and keep up ever when Vinny gains speed. Chris lets him go into canter, and Kurt squeaks, but quickly realizes it's a lot more comfortable.

He's actually going fast, now; the wind hums and whistles in his ears, and even though he holds on for dear life, he feels like he could just spread his arms and fly away. It's an incredible feeling, like nothing Kurt has ever experienced before.

"Good, huh?" Chris has to shout a little to be heard, and Kurt laughs in response. It's more than good, it's amazing; yet, he still feels a little wrong, like—

Like it should have been someone else showing him this.

They stay in the arena for about an hour – Chris shows him how to hold reins, and Kurt suddenly realizes why did it seem so easy until now. He has to mind his whole body – feet, legs, torso, arms, head – while being careful to not pull too much and distribute his body weight properly. Chris pats him on the back when he sees his terrified expression.

"You'll get it sooner than you think," he promises, then helps Kurt get down and lets him lead Vinny out into the enclosure once he's properly taken care of.

When Kurt finally settles down, heart still racing from all the excitement, it's almost noon; he woke up not four hours ago, but he already feels tired. He blindly follows Chris into the gazebo and accepts an offered bottle of soda. Chris twists open a beer, and they sit on the steps saying nothing for a few minutes.

Then, Chris takes a swig and breaks the silence. "So, this place finally having an effect on ya, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Come on. Don't tell me you weren't all set on playing ice queen when you got here. Emphasis on the 'queen'."

Kurt feels the tips of his ears go hot. "How do you know that?"

"Please, son, you barely shook my hand."

"Well," Kurt starts, but he doesn't really know what to say. All his masks would be useless out here anyway.

"Glad you changed your mind," Chris says, throwing the cap of his beer high in the air. "I'm sure Puck is glad, too."

Kurt abruptly turns his head to look at the older man – he's smirking. "What?"

"You two have been sneaking around, don't think I haven't noticed."

"We haven't!"

"Oh really," Chris raises his eyebrows. Kurt doesn't really want to know what he's implying.

"Really. He always disappears before I can even say anything," Kurt grumbles.

"Idiot."

"What?"

Chris shakes his head. "I keep tellin' him to let go a little bit, you know, smile once in a while."

"Is he always like that?"

"What, moping about? Yeah, ever since I've known him. Kid's damn good with horses and a guitar, but he's way too serious for his own good."

Kurt nods, thinking. He kicks around a small pebble with the heel of his shoe. "When we're around horses, though, he's…different."

"How different?" Chris sounds interested.

"It's like he relaxes, you know? He jokes, and laughs…he just seems to much freer, you know?"

"Around the horses, you said?"

Kurt nods.

"Yeah, right," Chris chuckles, taking another swig of his beer. "You shouldn't give up on him, you know."

They don't say anything after that, sitting and drinking for what feels like hours. Chris sometimes looks at Kurt like he's trying to figure him out, blue eyes sharp in the sunlight, and they stay until it's time for lunch.

At dinner, aunt Mildred informs them that Noah has reappeared, and she thinks they should light a campfire behind the house after it gets dark. Steve and Chris, amazingly enough, jump at the idea like excited five year olds.

Kurt, even though still bemused, helps carry and pile spare wood, old newspapers and roasting sticks. Eventually, Noah shuffles into the yard, too, hands in his pockets as always, just as it's getting dark. Aunt Mildred is doing what looks like a potentially dangerous dance with a box of fireplace matches while singing a Dolly Parton song. Kurt would have thought his first instinct would have been to roll his eyes, but he can't do anything else but smile.

Soon, the sun sets, the warm colors of the sky darkening, and aunt Mildred announces that "the time has come". She sits on a log next to Kurt, then pulls Noah down next to her, and they all watch as paper and wood catch fire, small flames growing into long, fiery tongues. Chris practically bounces as he pulls out the roasting sticks and what has to be at least ten bags of marshmallows, passing everything around the circle.

Kurt doesn't remember the last time he sat by the fire like this, much less roasted marshmallows. He remembers a camping trip he went to with his dad when he was only about seven, how the ground was too hard to sleep on and the fifteen mosquito bites he counted the next morning. He doesn't recall it being like this – the air slowly cooling at his back, blasts of warmth from the fire licking his skin and stinging in a way that isn't entirely unpleasant. It feels nice; sitting there with his aunt and three wannabe cowboys, talking in voices just loud enough to be heard over insects buzzing.

By the time aunt Mildred starts yawning, Chris and Steve pull out their guitars, pushing one into Noah's hands too, despite his very loud protests. They play a few country songs Kurt doesn't know, but he doesn't really have to – both their voices are kind of incredible, and he finds himself listening with baited breath. When they play Always On My Mind, he has to blink a couple of times to clear his blurred vision. The only things that would make it better, he thinks, is if Noah opened his mouth too, but the older boy just stubbornly sits and picks at the strings.

Aunt Mildred gets up mid-Waylon Jennings song, swaying a little, and gives every one of them a kiss on the head. She walks back towards the house humming Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way off-key. Kurt's watch tells him it's past eleven, and he can't believe his eyes. They've been out here for almost three hours.

He starts to suspect something when, before the last chord even finishes ringing, Chris and Steve get up, too, wishing him and Noah a good night and literally running away, giggling like schoolgirls again. Kurt doesn't miss their clasped hands, and doesn't fight the smile that breaks out on his face.

"I swear to God, they're like thirteen year olds," Noah suddenly says, carefully laying the guitar on the ground next to him. Kurt almost flinches in surprise. He didn't expect Noah to talk unprompted.

"I think they're sweet," he says before he can come up with something better, just to keep a conversation going.

"You would," Noah murmurs. Kurt decides to ignore the jab.

"Why didn't you sing?" he asks instead, moving imperceptibly closer. He's almost drawn to Noah's body heat – with three people out of the five of them gone, the warmth from the fire escapes easily, letting the summer night chill penetrate Kurt's skin.

"I'm not that good."

"I don't believe that."

Noah just shrugs. The wind picks up, blowing into Kurt's back, forcing the flame further away from him.

"You were gone the whole day," Kurt tries to change the topic. It's a little too late when it occurs to him that maybe that wasn't the best choice.

"Up in the enclosure. Wendy was limping yesterday, I wanted to make sure she was okay."

Kurt smiles. "Is she?"

"Yeah," he grumbles, picking up a roasting stick and drawing a picture only he can see in the grass. "Yeah."

"Good."

Kurt, apparently, had picked up Noah's conversational habits – answering with one word as often as possible being one of them. He wraps his arms around himself, whishing he'd thought to bring a hoodie, but he refuses to get up and go get one. He's talking to Noah, more or less; that's all he's wished for for the past few days.

"Come here," Noah suddenly says, something like resignation in his voice. Kurt's eyes snap up.

"What?"

"Come here," Noah grumbles more insistently, unfolding the blanket he was sitting on.

Kurt warily slides over on the log, until there's barely any space between them. From this close, he can smell Noah; clean sweat and cheap shampoo and horses.

When something heavy lands on his back, immediately warming him, Kurt startles. He looks up – Noah's hands are on his shoulders, holding a blanket, eyes unreadable. Kurt smiles, soft, and his voice is quiet when he speaks.

"Thanks."

Noah blinks, fire painting shadows on his lids, heating the brown of his eyes until it looks like melted chocolate. They both freeze for a moment, breaths coming short.

"Yeah," Noah clears his throat, finally, and slides his hands off. "No problem." He doesn't move away.

They sit in silence for a while, Kurt biting his lips to stifle the grin that wants to take over his face. He feels warm from the inside.

"Sing something," he tries again.

"No."

"Please?" he doesn't pout. But he knows, just knows, that Noah's voice is amazing.

The other boy lets out a weary breath. He grabs the discarded guitar from the ground, strumming the strings almost reverently. He looks almost like a painting in the late night shadows.

When he starts plucking the strings, melody slow and sad, it only takes Kurt a second to recognize the song. He'd heard it often enough from his dad's cassette tape deck when he was a kid - He said I'll love you 'til I die,
she told him you'll forget in time. He remembers how it stopped playing after his mom wasn't there to sing along anymore.

Just as he'd thought, Noah's voice is beautiful – he gives the song as much feeling as it deserves, rounding the highs and the lows, closing his eyes when he finally loses the fear he seemed to have. Kurt watches, transfixed, and ignores how his eyes tear up. Noah looks like he was born to do this, to sing sad songs about love to no one but the fire and the sky, looking for all the world like he'd been through all that pain himself.

When he sings the last note, Kurt sweeps a hand over his face. He knows he's crying, just a little.

"Hey," Noah says, sounding like he wants to apologize, and Kurt shakes his head before he can get any words out.

"You're, um," he begins, turning to face the other boy with a final sweep to his cheeks, "you're really talented." He sounds stupid.

But Noah, it seems, doesn't think so. "I am?" he asks, completely taken by surprise, like it's news to him that he can sing. Kurt inches a little closer.

"Of course you are. That was beautiful," he says, at the risk of sounding like a pre-pubescent girl. Somehow, the atmosphere seems to call for it, the fire slowly dying and leaving them in darkness.

Noah shakes his head. "You were crying," he says, and Kurt doesn't miss the underlying concern. It makes him even warmer.

"Yeah," he chuckles, "I just…the song reminded me of my mom."

"Do you miss her that much?"

"You could say that," Kurt pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He doesn't feel like lying. "She, um…she died almost nine years ago."

He hears Noah's sharp intake of breath. "I'm so—"

"No," Kurt cuts him off, unconsciously reaching out to lay a hand on Noah's arm, "it's all right. It's good to remember her. Sometimes I feel like I'm forgetting," he says quietly, just as the last flame in the fire dies, leaving them in almost complete darkness, nothing but embers glowing red illuminating their faces.

Noah still doesn't look convinced. He frowns and bows his head, scratching on an invisible fleck of dirt on his jeans. He looks so much younger than he is, almost like a lost little boy. Kurt silently prays that he didn't ruin anything.

"You want to go inside?" he asks, only just noticing that Noah is only wearing a t-shirt, too, and there are tremors rolling through his shoulders.

"In a minute," he replies. Then, to Kurt's absolute shock, Noah reaches for where Kurt's hand is still touching him, and wraps his own fingers around it. Kurt almost forgets to breathe.

The insistent buzzing of the cicadas gets louder, carrying over the humming wind in the trees, sounding like it comes from all directions. The forest is menacingly dark in the distance, tall and looming like in a horror movie.

Kurt has never felt safer.

After that evening, Kurt feels like a breakthrough has happened. Noah doesn't disappear again for a whole week, sitting at the breakfast table every day, waiting to take Kurt riding. Chris and Steve are having a field day, poking him and asking him questions in falsetto voices.

Somehow, when they walk outside and head into the enclosure, every day it feels like they're closer and closer. Noah starts talking about something else than horses – music, his little sister, his school – and Kurt listens and soaks everything up with rapt attention. Noah says more words in an hour than he's said to Kurt in the whole previous week.

As for riding, Kurt actually gets better with every day. He's learned how to start walking and stop, how to turn the horse, how to hold every part of his body that might have been sticking out. But, naturally, he's getting bored with the arena, and when Noah finally, finally suggests they go on a trail ride, Kurt almost jumps with joy.

When the morning finally comes, Noah swarms him with instructions – lean back when you're going downhill, lean forward when you're going uphill, always duck branches towards the horse's neck. Kurt catalogues everything for later use, barely able to stand still as they clean their horses.

Finally, when everyone and everything is ready, they walk up the hill to the electrical wire and mount. Kurt grips the reins tight, determined not to let them slip after all the stories he's heard from Steve. When he looks around, he can't ignore the subtle clench in his gut – there's nothing moving as far as eye can see, only forests and meadows, a vast expanse of space Kurt could get dragged through if something goes wrong.

"Hey," Noah reaches out to poke him in the shoulder, "don't worry. If something happens, I've got you, okay?"

Kurt nods, suppresses the tremors in his hands, checks if his saddle is tight enough, and then they're off. Noah leads at a steady, slow pace, and they're under the canopy of trees in less than five minutes. Everything looks better there – there's only one path to get lost on, and Noah is smiling reassuringly at him over his shoulder. Soon, Kurt relaxes enough to enjoy the untouched nature around him; he even dares to hold the reins with only one hand for a while to pet Vinny.

"Are we going somewhere specific?" he asks when the trees overhead get more sparse and slowly shrink to prickly bushes. They tickle when they brush Kurt's calves.

"It's a surprise," Noah calls from the front, laughter audible in his voice.

Even from horseback, the forest seems never-ending. Kurt spots a fox slithering through the trees, a squirrel sitting in the understory, hears a raptor's shriek echo through the hills. They pass an old trailer converted into beehives, a clear forest stream that happily trickles beside them, the trees get taller and shorter and disappear into clearings and meadows. Kurt doesn't see or hear another person besides the two of them, and can't help but shiver when he thinks how far from any civilization they probably are.

"Almost there," Noah suddenly says and stops at what could pass for a crossroads. He seems to hesitate, then finally chooses a narrow, twisting downhill path. Kurt swallows. The path is barely wide for a horse, Kurt's feet scraping tree trunks, but Noah doesn't seem concerned, leaning back and chewing on a piece of straw he picked up a few minutes earlier.

Finally, when they reach bottom and the path expands, Kurt focuses on getting his breathing in check before looking around. When he does, he nearly forgets to exhale again.

They've stopped in a small valley, hidden between the tallest oaks Kurt has ever seen. It's wide, but completely cut off by the thick forest on all sides. The grass seems a little greener just on principle, and there's a small lake that reflects the sky, glistening as the light breeze strokes its surface.

"Nice, right?" Noah is grinning next to him, shoulders relaxed and face open, and if Kurt wasn't sitting on a horse, he'd probably hug him, just because.

"It's amazing," he breathes, and carefully lowers himself to the ground. He walks all the way to the lake and sits down on the soft ground, letting Vinny graze. He can smell the water – dirt and grass and the freshness that hangs in the air whenever rain is coming.

Quietly, Noah sits down next to him, their legs almost touching. Kurt's hands flies to Noah's knee as he turns around, trying to emphasize his point.

"Thank you, Noah," he says. He's not sure why, but he feels like it's important. "Really, thank you."

He gets a small, nervous, but genuine smile in response. "Sure."

They lapse into silence again, comfortable as ever. The horses are tearing off grass and chewing behind them and Kurt thinks he can hear the lake water tinkling – maybe if he looked closely, he could find a few tiny fish.

Kurt's tempted to lie back for a while, relieve his aching muscles. His legs almost don't hurt anymore, but he's just spent an hour and a half in the saddle.

Before he can decide what to do, at least excercise his ankles because they feel like they're going to fall off, there's a rustle next to him.

"Hey, Kurt?"

"Yes?" all his attention immediately snaps to Noah. He's never heard a tone like that before; small, vulnerable.

"I, um, can I tell you something?" Noah's fiddling with the grass at his feet, tearing the blades off and flinging them away.

"Of course."

"When you told me about your mom," he sucks in a breath through his teeth, "I…thank you for, you know, trusting me with that."

Kurt frowns, reaches out to squeeze Noah's shoulder. "It's—well, you're welcome."

"I just thought…I thought I could maybe trust you with something, too?"

Kurt blinks, feeling his heart clench like someone punched him in the gut. He moves closer, body slotting along Noah's in silent support.

"Anything," he says, honestly.

"I know, um," he laughs with no humor, "I know what Chris and Steve say about me—what you think, that I'm, you know, mopey and weird?"

"Noah, we don't—nobody thinks you're weird."

"Yeah, well. I know I ain't exactly a ball of sunshine."

Kurt has to smile despite himself.

"The thing is, I have my reasons, and I never thought I'd tell anyone, because it's nobody's business. But…it's been getting worse this year, I just feel like I'm gonna explode any second, you know?" Noah suppresses a tremble in his voice. Kurt waits with baited breath.

"I—my dad, he…left. When I was six."

"What happened?"

Noah shakes his head, running a hand over his eyes. "Dunno. He just told my mother he couldn't take it anymore and walked out the door."

"Is that why…?"

"Naw. It was me, I mean, I was a crappy son. That's why he left."

"Noah, you can't know that," Kurt squeezes his shoulder again, desperate to give comfort in any way he can.

"I can," his voice is resolved. "He left because of me, and my ma still blames me for it. It's not like she's wrong, but…I need to get away once in a while, that's why I come here."

Kurt nods in understanding. "Why won't you let anyone close?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Noah."

Noah mumbles something, something that sounds suspiciously like don't wanna screw up anyone else. Kurt's chest constricts.

"Did you try to get in touch with your father? Maybe that could help," he tries, uncertain.

"He can't really come back from where he's gone."

"Where did he go?"

Noah takes a deep, shaky breath – it looks like it physically hurts him. "Jumped off the hospital roof in Nancy."

It feels like everything has stopped; even the air has gone still. Kurt stops denying the tears that well up in his eyes.

"Oh, Noah."

Noah draws his eyebrows together, blinking rapidly, and Kurt just doesn't care anymore. He reaches out, curls his arm around Noah's shoulder and pulls him close, trying to calm the shaking of the other boy's shoulders. God, he can't even imagine – Noah was six years old, a child. To know his father has jumped off a building, to think he jumped because he didn't want to be around his son…

Noah's breathing calms down a little bit, still too shaky, but slower, more regular. Kurt runs a hand over Noah's shaved head, wishing he had something to make this better.

"Um," Noah clears his throat, tears that haven't fallen thick in his voice. "Do you think I could maybe tell you something else?"

Kurt furrows his brow, but doesn't let his confusion come through. "Yes, of course you can."

Noah laughs, sounding somewhat – embarrassed? Kurt lets go of his shoulders, lets the other boy straighten up and look at him with raw eyes.

"I've kind of wanted to kiss you since the first time I saw you."

And the world stutters to a stop again.

"You w-what?" Kurt stammers, suddenly feeling awkward and itchy in his own skin.

"You heard me," Noah's calm, amused confidence is trickling back; Kurt is the one who has no idea what to do.

"B-but why?"

"Have you seen you?"

"I…I don't know what to say."

Noah looks away, gaze travelling far out over the lake like he actually sees something fascinating on the other shore. "You don't have to say anything."

Kurt considers his options. He can say no, but he can't really come up with a reason why. Noah is good-looking and kind, when he feels like it, and he just confessed what was probably his deepest and darkest secret to Kurt, of all people. He wasn't going to force himself on Kurt, just inform him that yeah, he kind of finds him attractive; that's probably what tips the scale in the end.

Kurt straightens up, pulling his shoulders back. "You can, if you want to."

Noah frowns at him. "No. I mean, you have to be really, really sure. And you're not."

"Don't tell me what I am. If you want to kiss me, kiss me. I want you to kiss me."

Noah sighs, scooting closer and reaching out a hand. It's just as big and warm as it looks when it caresses Kurt's cheek, a thumb lightly touching his bottom lip. Noah is close, almost too close for Kurt to properly focus his gaze on him. His eyes are still like melted chocolate, honest and beautiful.

"Sure?" he asks again. Kurt exhales and nods.

In the next second, there's a feather-light touch on his lips, the sweetest, most chaste kiss Kurt could ever have imagined. Noah breathes out through his nose, staying for a while, and when Kurt doesn't pull away, he kisses him again. There's a little more pressure this time, Noah's soft mouth on his, moving almost imperceptibly. A fiery pit opens in Kurt's gut; he wants more.

He reaches his hands out, too, cradling the back of Noah's head. Noah gives a laugh of surprise, moving his other arm to curl it around Kurt's waist, tongue licking lightly on Kurt's bottom lip, coaxing him to open up. Kurt does, meeting Noah halfway, trying to figure out how to get his teeth out of the way. He doesn't really feel the need to mention that this is his first kiss.

It doesn't take them long to find a rhythm, tentatively biting and licking at each other's mouths, exploring.

Kurt feels like he's drowned in Noah, in his heat and his smell, safe in his arms. The sun is strong in his back, sitting in a valley in the middle of a forest, and there's nowhere he has to be for six more weeks.

Once the dam is broken, there doesn't seem to be a time when Kurt doesn't want to grab Noah and kiss the hell out of him. They make out behind the barn, Wendy looking at them bemusedly from behind the fence; they make out in the front yard at sunset; they make out in the hallway between their rooms, hoping Chris and Steve are too preoccupied to peek their heads out.

Right when Kurt would have preferred it to drag, time starts to fly, weeks spent riding and flinging dirty trough water at each other and baking cherry pies with Rosie blend together into one of the most vivid of Kurt's memories. Before he realizes, he's lying on the grass with his head on Noah's chest and he only has two weeks left. It's starting to wear on him – he doesn't want to go. He doesn't want to leave the horses and even the nature, or Chris and Steve and their antics. And most of all, he doesn't want to leave Noah.

Kurt doesn't really know what love feels like. He doesn't think he's quite there yet, but he has fourteen more days; if they're as amazing as the past four weeks have been, he has no doubt he'll get there lightning fast.

As it is, all he wants to do is stay, right here, breathing in Noah's aftershave. Childishly, he thinks that maybe, Noah will have an answer. So he asks.

"What will we do when I have to leave?"

He knows he can't ask anything of Noah, just as Noah can't really ask anything of him – they're both going to start their junior year in high school, and Noah loves The Lake Star beyond anything else. They're just going to have to figure something out. Honestly, Kurt has no problem with long distance (and it's not even that long), and even if nothing comes out of it, at least he wants to try.

He can feel Noah stiffen underneath him, the arm stroking his back going still.

"Do you want to…end this? Us?" he asks, probably thinking he hides the tremor in his voice well. Kurt props his chin up on Noah's chest, determined to look him in the eyes and show him he's telling the truth.

"No, Noah. That's the exact opposite of what I want."

Noah relaxes. "Think we can make it work?"

"I think we can try," Kurt grins, tearing off a stray white flower and tucking it behind Noah's ear. The older boy hums in agreement, closing his eyes to the sun shining bright down on them.

It's that simple.

Kurt lets his eyelids fall, too, pressing his ear to Noah's chest, the steady beat of his heart calming and assuring him in a way words couldn't.

They are alive, two constants in a universe of obstacles, two beating hearts that want to find their way back to each other. As long as that doesn't change, they can do anything.

With the warm rays on his back and a cold touch of grass underneath his fingers, Kurt lets himself fall asleep.

They're going to be all right.