A/N: This was written for The Fic I Didn't Write Challenge over in the Puckurt community on LJ; for the full Author's Note with links to the prompt and other info, you can find the master post at http : / puckurt . livejournal . com / 1491278 . html. First, massive amounts of thanks and lifelong adoration for my awesome friend and beta, nubianamy, who spent many nights watching me write this in googledocs, asking questions and challenging my plot, and picking up the innumerable times I misspelled cappuccino. She also provided musical inspiration in the forms of Eva Cassidy, Adam Lambert, and Five For Fighting. I couldn't have done this without her! Second, I've seriously upended the Glee timeline here to make it fit my purposes. As a result, the actions and attitudes of my characters reflect the time and places where they grew up.
Prologue
Washington, D.C., September 1996
The taxi dropped Kurt Hummel into the unexpected warmth of the early afternoon, and peeled away before he'd even pulled his suitcase onto the sidewalk. He was still reeling from his first airplane trip, and from the distinct culture shock of being anywhere but Lima, Ohio, but he managed to haul both his backpack and garment bag in addition to his suitcase over to the large double doors of the Senate Page residence hall. He was about to heft one of the doors open when the squeal of another taxi caught his attention. The vehicle was already back into traffic, and the tall, dark-haired boy who'd gotten out was yelling. "Thanks a lot, asshole!"
Kurt laughed to himself and called out to the boy. "At least he let you get your bags onto the sidewalk."
"Yeah, well. I guess they're not much for hospitality here." Kurt watched the boy's biceps bulge under his gray t-shirt as he hefted a large suitcase, a guitar case, and a backpack that looked as stuffed as Kurt's own was.
"It's not like home, that's for sure." Kurt managed to pull the door open and ushered the other boy through ahead of him.
"Thanks," the boy said, and moved his luggage out of the way so that Kurt could follow him into the dim lobby. Kurt almost missed the soft baritone that drifted after him. "Where's home?"
"Nowhere important." Kurt shrugged. "Just Ohio."
"No shit. Me, too." The other boy dropped his backpack and held his hand out to Kurt. "Noah Puckerman. Dayton."
Kurt huffed into his bangs and took Noah's hand. It was warm and slightly rough. "Well. We're practically neighbors. At least as far as Ohio is concerned. Kurt Hummel. Lima."
"I'm sorry." Noah made a face, which Kurt mirrored.
"Yeah. Me, too." He piled his luggage, and made his way to a large table, where a woman was sitting with boxes and packets arranged in front of her. She was a step ahead, and slid a packet across the table to Kurt. "You're on the boy's floor, room 3. Class schedule, work schedule, name badge, key card, meal card." She tilted her head at him. "Don't lose any of those. It doesn't matter how many times I tell you kids to keep track, someone's always lost theirs by the end of the second day. Elevator's that way." She nodded around the corner, and Kurt started in that direction as the woman started to give Noah the same speech. He loaded his bags into the elevator and held the door.
Noah's eyes were wide with gratitude as he rounded the corner. He fumbled with his packet and jabbed the button for the third floor. When the doors closed, he rested his head against the elevator wall and closed his eyes. "Welcome to Washington," he muttered.
Kurt offered a light laugh. "I don't think we're in Ohio anymore, Toto."
By the end of the first month, Kurt was exhausted. His day started before dawn, because classes at the Page School began at 6:15. He and the other 29 pages went to the Capitol after classes, and worked until at least 4 pm. More often, though, they were dragging home after dark, only to stare down at least three hours of homework at night. Kurt stopped sleeping sometime in the middle of the second week, which was nothing new; he'd always been insomniac when he was stressed. Which was why he couldn't have been happier to find out that his roommates, who were all from places easily accessible by car or train, were heading home for the long Columbus Day weekend. The residence was going to be practically empty. Fall was in full swing. And Kurt had plans.
Sleep, for one. Homework, for another. But the siren call of the weekend was going to be the freedom to explore his temporary home.
Friday afternoon, Kurt was contemplating sweat pants and a t-shirt, a video, and ordering Chinese when he heard faint music drifting down the hall from Room 1. When he knocked softly, the door inched open to reveal Noah, sitting in the middle of the floor with his guitar in his lap, plucking out what Kurt thought was an old Sting song his dad liked.
"Good song." He nodded at the guitar. "You're really good."
Kurt thought Noah might have blushed, but he wasn't sure. When he spoke, his voice betrayed nothing. "I just mess around, mostly."
"Do you sing?"
"Nah. I mean, not outside of my house. My Ma and my sister like it." Noah ran a hand through his close-cropped curls. "Do you?"
"Sing?" Kurt moved from where he was leaning against the door frame a little farther into the room. "Yeah. In my school's glee club. We're pretty good." He looked at his hands, thinking of his friends back at McKinley and the solace of the choir room. "Our director thinks we might be able to go to Nationals this year. I'm missing the first half of the competition season, but this was more important."
Noah let his fingers drift over the strings, into another song Kurt half-knew, like a memory he couldn't catch. "I'm missing all of football season. But this?" He grinned at Kurt. "I'd never admit it to my friends, but this is so much better than stupid football."
Kurt grinned back. Even in Glee Club, he was a little bit outside of things for lots of reasons, but here with the other pages he was with kids who shared one purpose. "I know. This is so much better than Glee Club, too."
Noah set his guitar aside gently and propped his head in his hands before staring at Kurt. "How big a political geek are you?"
Kurt felt like he was being challenged. He wasn't used to that. His friends and classmates just listened past his ramblings and laughed it off like one of his little quirks. Like it was cute or something, instead of the thing that was going to get him out of Lima fucking Ohio and into a state house or governor's office. Or the White House. He dug deep, to the thing that nobody would believe about a boy who was brushing elbows with senators and other political bigwigs in elevators and hallways every day. "The Supreme Court is back in session on Monday."
Noah drew in a breath, and his eyes sparkled lightly. "You can get in, when they're hearing oral arguments, for like 15 minutes or something."
Kurt nodded, felt color high in his cheeks. "I want to go. I have to go. I can't leave D.C. without doing that."
Noah rubbed his hands together and grinned. "Excellent."
"But what about you?"
Noah shook his head. "I'm here. That's all I need. That's enough, for now."
Noah hadn't believed it, not when he first told Kurt that quiet weekend in October. He hadn't believed a lot of things then, when the city was so new and he didn't quite feel like he fit in his body, or his mind. But as the fall wore on, he fell into a certain kind of confidence within himself, and it was like all the things that had been holding him back from everythinghis whole life were just gone.
He and Kurt both went home to Ohio for winter break, and it didn't take long for Noah to realize that while he had grown during his four months in Washington, everyone else in his life was exactly the same. The whole two weeks he was there, in the small apartment where he lived with his mom and his 10 year old sister Sarah, he felt like he was breathing underwater. He felt stupid, like he'd been given an out, an exit strategy, and he'd come backto fucking Ohio. Who did that?
Apparently you do, he thought to himself on the last night of Hanukkah as he listened to the noise of his mom and sister frying latkes in the kitchen. He sat in front of their clunky, aging computer and waited the eternity it took the stupid thing to boot up and dial into the internet. His AOL inbox was full of email, most of it from guys on the football team, but the most recent one made him smile.
From: youngdems_1995 at aol . com
To: politicalfootball at aol . com
Subject: Rescue Me
Noah-
I hope your break is good.
I'm excited to get back to D.C. next week, but then I think about having to come back
here at the end of January and I get anxious.
There's more out there for us than Ohio, right?
If I don't hear from you, I'll see you at the airport.
-Kurt
Noah clicked on the reply button, and composed a short reply through an unexpected smile.
From: politicalfootball at aol . com
To: youngdems_1995 at aol . com
Subject: Re: Rescue Me
Kurt-
I know exactly what you mean. I didn't think it was possible to change so much in one semester. But apparently I have.
And everyone else here? They're exactly the same as the day I left.
There has to be more than this. And if there isn't, don't tell me. I don't think I could handle that.
Of course I'll see you at the airport. But since your insomnia has worn off on me, you might be able to catch me in chat wicked late, if you want.
-Noah
He half wanted to wait there, to see if a reply would come soon, but he could smell the potatoes, and the idea of a plate of his mom's latkes with applesauce and sour cream was too big a pull. He logged off of AOL, but didn't shut the computer off. He'd be back later, when everyone else was asleep, and maybe Kurt would be there too.
Kurt closed the door behind the last of the relatives and slumped back, letting his head fall against the door. He closed his eyes and just breathed.
"You okay, honey?" Carole's voice from the kitchen doorway was gentle.
"Yeah, Carole. I'm okay. Just tired." Kurt rubbed a hand over his eyes. He wanted to disappear into his room, wanted to see if he had an email from Noah. Wanted to be special instead of just different.
"Do you want a cup of tea, or some warm milk? You didn't eat dessert. There's still some apple pie." Carole looked about as tired as Kurt felt.
"I'm pretty full. But could you leave the pie out? I might have some later." When the house was dark and quiet and he couldn't sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept through the night.
"Of course. I'll leave the vanilla and cinnamon out for your warm milk, too."
Kurt smiled lightly, and crossed the living room to give Carole a hug. She was never going to take his mom's place, but she was a really great step-mother. Her hair tickled his nose, and she smelled like baked fruit and lemon dish soap. "Thank you," he whispered in her ear.
She patted his shoulder when he pulled away. "Get some sleep, honey. It was a busy day."
He ran a hand through his hair and started up the stairs before turning and speaking softly. "You, too."
When he reached his room at the top of the stairs, he ducked inside and shut the door before Finn could hijack him for video games or girlfriend problems. He changed from his holiday clothes into sweatpants and the Georgetown t-shirt he'd bought on a weekend excursion with some of the other pages while his computer powered up, and almost started in pleasant surprise when the computerized chime and voice told him he had mail. He actually had four messages. Three were generic "Happy Holiday" emails from other pages, and one was from Noah. He read Noah's reply, and smiled faintly at the idea of chatting. They weren't terribly close friends in D.C., but sharing geography meant a lot sometimes, and they always fell into easy companionship when they were together. Kurt thought that he considered Noah a friend, and everyone, including himself, knew he was very short of friends and had been for a long time. He opened a chat window and added politicalfootballto his buddy list, and then left the window open while he finished getting ready for bed. He wished he had a laptop so he could chat from the comfort of his bed, but he knew he was lucky to have his own computer, and he supposed there were worse things than sitting in a desk chair for a few hours.
He knew there were, when he really thought about it: standing along the walls in the Senate chamber at midnight during a filibuster, to start. He stiffened with discomfort at the thought; there had been more than one night like that leading up to the winter recess.
Kurt was half-chasing that thought around in his head, trying to reconcile that experience with the life he'd be returning to in a month, when his message window pinged. Noah. Kurt wasn't sure what to do with the tiny flutter in his stomach, or the way his breath barely hitched at Noah's presence in space with him. He pulled out his chair and settled in.
politicalfootball: How's your break?
youngdems_1995: ugh
politicalfootball: it can't be that bad
youngdems_1995: three words for you: Great. Aunt. Mildred. She kind of smells like mothballs and rubbing alcohol, and she still pinches my cheeks like I'm two.
politicalfootball: My mom made latkes tonight, for Hanukkah. They're delicious, like seriously my favorite thing about Hanukkah. But they make everything smell like fried potato.
youngdems_1995: I've never had a latke. We had the whole family over tonight, and there was lots of beer and things that were breaded and fried. My mom used to make homemade spaetzle.
Kurt swallowed at the thought of his mom. There was no way around it; even eight years later, thinking of her, losing her, what that felt like, still made him cry. He tried to stay away from those thoughts in public, or around anybody who wasn't his dad.
politicalfootball: used to?
Kurt stared at his cursor, blinking steadily in the message box. He hadn't told Noah anything about his mom, really. Identifying Carole and Finn as his stepmother and stepbrother had implied plenty, and Noah hadn't asked anything beyond that. Now he was going to have to say something. He closed his eyes against a prickle of tears and continued on, grateful for the almost anonymity and distance of computer screens.
youngdems_1995: she died. when I was 8.
Kurt waited for a reply. And waited. He let his head fall forward onto his arms, cursing his overwhelming need for honesty. He worried that he'd just completely messed things up by bringing something serious into a way to escape for a little while.
politicalfootball: I'm sorry. I didn't know.
youngdems_1995: It's okay. I don't tell just anybody.
politicalfootball: thanks, then. for trusting me.
Kurt's breath caught again, and his pulse quickened. He shifted in his chair, and tried not to think too hard about the way just chatting with Noah was making him feel. Just before he'd left for Washington, he'd started to understand some important things about himself, about the loneliness he'd always felt and didn't understand. He was pretty sure that he was gay, but he also knew that being gay in Western Ohio was something nobody wanted to be, so he kept his realization to himself. And he was going to have to continue keeping it to himself, because he felt lucky to be growing a friendship with Noah, and he didn't want to ruin it with whatever this was that he was feeling. Attraction, his brain told him, but he shut the thought away as quickly as it appeared and turned his attention back to the computer.
In his daze, he'd missed a follow-up from Noah.
politicalfootball: you ok?
youngdems_1995: yeah. just been a long day.
politicalfootball: do you want to go?
Kurt took another deep breath, and thought that the best idea might be to say yes, log off, and go to bed. But he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep.
youngdems_1995: I should, but I don't want to.
politicalfootball: what do you want?
youngdems_1995: you don't know what you're asking.
Noah sat in the dim light of the computer screen, holding his breath. For the first time since getting back to Dayton, he didn't feel restless. Instead, he was pinned to his chair by the unexpected connection he was having with Kurt.
He was pretty sure that Kurt was gay. Not that Kurt would say anything, and Noah sure as hell wasn't going to bring it up, because the one thing he'd learned from his cousin Jonah was that you just didn't doshit like that. Back when Noah was in 8th grade, and Jonah had stayed with them for a few weeks the summer he came out to Aunt Rita and Uncle Jerry, he and Jonah had talked about the gay thing. Rather, Jonah had talked about the gay thing and Noah had listened, and filed all the information away. And yeah, maybe somewhere in the very deepest corner of his mind he'd wondered what it might feel like, to like boys that way. But really, when you were basically raising your little sister and managing the house while your mom worked double shifts to pay the bills, there was no time to worry about things you couldn't control. So Noah had just blinked and moved on, like the thought had never crossed his mind.
Until now. Until all of a sudden it was like Kurt could fucking read his mind, and his thoughts went directly to his fingers, bypassing his filter altogether.
What the hell was he doing?
He barely knew Kurt, outside of a handful of conversations and the shared uniqueness of being both Ohioans and pages. But what he did know, he liked.
Noah flexed his fingers and drummed them lightly against the keyboard. Started to type, deleted it all. Huffed a breath out into the air, and tried again.
politicalfootball: I might. Know what I'm asking.
He had to wait on Kurt's reply. He was shaking, nervous and excited at the same time, like if he got the response he wanted then absolutely everythingin his life was going to be illuminated in brilliant clarity. Finally, after what was surely only minutes but felt like eternity, it was there.
youngdems_1995: I can't do this for "might know". At least not online like this. Goodnight, Noah.
Noah's brain was still tripping over Kurt's words when his computer told him, in no uncertain terms, that youngdems_1995 has logged off.
Crap.
Kurt was running. It was easier, he told himself, better. He needed to protect himself, protect his aspirations. And he couldn't face Noah, not after abandoning him that night. It hadn't taken much effort; they were all so busy with the end of the term that not online became not in this elevator and not in this common room and definitely not at this dinner table. And then they were less than a day from going home, the page's residence a mess of luggage and already-packed-away stifling navy blue suits and crazy plans for the whole crowd of them to take over the Chinese place a few blocks away. In the midst of the chaos, Kurt could hear Noah, still fiddling with that same Sting song as he passed by Room 1 with his basket of clean laundry.
He tucked himself inside the room and just stood there, waiting. When Noah looked up, Kurt smiled. "You still sound really good."
Noah just eyeballed Kurt's laundry. "You seriously washed your clothes before packing?"
"I know it's all going to smell like jet fuel when I get home, but I can't stand the idea of putting dirty clothes in my suitcase." Kurt wrinkled his nose. "I'm just weird like that, I guess."
"You're not weird." Noah's voice was soft. He looked at Kurt. "Put that damn basket down, and come sing with me. You know this one, right?"
Kurt nodded, and set his basket on the floor just inside the door. He let his eyes dart around the room. The floor next to Noah was out. Instead he perched hesitatingly on the edge of Noah's bed. "Why do you want me to sing?"
"I need to know how it sounds, with someone else's voice, and you're the only singer I know."
"Okay." Kurt tried to relax, and nodded to Noah, who began the gentle introduction. The song actually fit Kurt's range well. He didn't embellish at all; Noah's guitar didn't need it.
You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in the fields of gold
Kurt couldn't look at the softness that was playing on Noah's face, so he closed his eyes into the second verse.
So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold
Noah had been listening to Kurt hum to himself every day for the past five months. He wasn't even sure Kurt knew he was doing it, but it was like air to Noah. He didn't care about anything else. He didn't want confessions or truths, he just wanted the four minutes of this song, of Kurt singing with him.
Will you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in the fields of gold
See the west wind move like a lover so
Upon the fields of barley
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth
Among the fields of gold
Noah really didn't sing, except for at home to his Ma and Sarah. But he loved the bridge of this song, so he let his voice mingle hesitatingly with Kurt's.
At the first hint of Noah's soft baritone, Kurt's eyes snapped open. Noah had a good voice, clear and true. Kurt locked his eyes on Noah's face and didn't look away, pulling Noah into the words with him.
I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in the fields of gold
We'll walk in the fields of gold
Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in the fields of gold
When we walked in the fields of gold
When we walked in the fields of gold
After the last note had died away, lost in the noise of the corridor outside, Noah crinkled his eyes at Kurt. When he spoke, his voice was low, on the edge of intimate. "I don't care. Whatever you couldn't tell me, I don't care. I just . . ."
Kurt slipped off the bed and onto the floor, stretched his legs out alongside Noah's. He stared at his sock-clad feet. "Just what?"
He waited, which felt like it was becoming a theme between the two of them. Noah was curled protectively around his guitar. "I just don't want you to think that I'll run away, is all. I want to be your friend, Kurt."
"I don't have a lot of friends." The admission hurt, more than Kurt had expected it would.
Noah let out a harsh laugh. "I don't think I have many friends anymore, either."
"I don't think I'm ready to tell you yet." Kurt let his head fall back against the mattress. "Honestly, I don't think I'm ready to really tell myself, either."
Noah nodded, like he knew exactly what Kurt meant. "I get that, man." He laughed shortly. "I so get that."
And the thing of it was, Kurt believed him.
Brown University, April 1999
Noah pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head and plotted the fastest route from his Intro to Political Theory class back to his dorm. He was so over the rain, and there were still two weeks left in April. His brain was about ten steps ahead of him, already thinking about the big Student Government conference over the weekend, and wondering how late he'd have to stay up tonight to finish his work for Monday, since he'd be tied up with the conference for the next three days. He had plans to meet up with some of the other kids in the GLBTA to watch Will & Grace later, and that Keith kid in his Chem lecture kept pestering him for an actual coffee-with-a-capital-C-date instead of just a casual friends kind of thing, and fuck but he didn't have time to be shopped for his boyfriend potential right now.
When he stopped to unlock his door, there was a big note in purple dry-erase on his whiteboard. N- Clearing out for the weekend, up to BU to see some high school friends. Back Sun. nite. Hope the conference rocks. –M
Ah, Matt. His almost-elusive roommate who, for a kid from California, had more friends at East Coast colleges than Noah had friends at all. Small blessings, Noah thought to himself as he opened the door and settled into their room. At least now he wouldn't have to worry about keeping Matt up at night for a few days. He'd never been able to shake the tendency towards night owl-ish-ness he'd learned from Kurt back in their page days, but it came in handy in college, that was for sure.
Noah powered up his laptop while he unpacked his backpack, tossing his battered notebook and Politics text into the middle of his bed, where they connected with his Lit and Spanish books. So much fucking homework. The timing for the conference couldn't suck more.
He kicked his sneakers under his desk, and plopped into his chair to check his email. He skimmed his new messages, mostly more back-and-forth about the conference, plus an email from his Spanish prof cancelling conversation hour for Monday (awesome!). And there, amidst all the extensions, was the all too unfamiliar presence of an email from Kurt, time stamped sometime before dawn this morning. Noah dealt with all the other messages first, because while emails from Kurt were rare, they were always a treat.
From: kehummel gw . edu
To: njpuckerman brown . edu
Subject: Providence!
Noah-
I hear there's a student leaders conference near you this weekend.
Oh, right. At Brown.
Convenient, that I have a friend who goes there.
A friend who I'm sure would love to share some space on his floor for a few days. I'll be arriving sometime after 8 pm tonight, assuming we don't get lost in New Jersey, and I have my own sleeping bag.
Notice that I didn't give you a whole lot of warning so you couldn't say no.
-Kurt
Noah's heart did an abbreviated time step, and he smiled. He hadn't seen Kurt since last summer, and even then it had only been for a brief lunch when Kurt was down in Dayton picking up some parts for his dad's garage. They always fell into a light, easy context with each other, but Noah wasn't sure what was going to happen this weekend. A lot had changed for him since that last lunch.
He knocked off his Spanish translations and close to half of his lab report before dinner. When he got back to the room, he took the time before he went out to pick up the clutter of the week, and then forced himself to finish his lab report. He was scrabbling under his desk for his sneakers when there was a knock on his door. He tried to get up too fast, and cracked the back of his head on the underside of the desk.
"Motherfucker." He was still rubbing his head and wincing when he opened the door.
"Well. It seems the Ivy League has done nothing to cure your potty mouth." Kurt was three steps back from the door, slightly sodden from the rain, a backpack over his shoulder and a sleeping bag at his feet. And he was smiling.
"Kurt."
"I hope you got my email. Oh, god. You got my email, right?" Noah watched panic and pink spread across Kurt's face.
"This afternoon. It's fine, really. I was going out, but . . ." He waved his hand into the room, to his desk chair in the middle of the floor and his sneakers abandoned, still under the desk. "You're here." He felt his smile grow bigger with every second.
"I'm here." Kurt shifted from foot to foot, and Noah finally engaged his brain enough to pull Kurt into the room and shut the door behind them.
Noah dabbled at his politics reading while Kurt took a shower, and even though it was early-ish by both their standards, they were in bed before 11. They had talked about a lot of things, and around even more things, but Noah knew they'd have plenty of time for the important stuff later.
Except that they didn't.
The conference kept them both crazy-busy, and it wasn't until the party on Saturday night that they even really had a chance to be awake and in the same place for more than the duration of a workshop. Noah found Kurt sitting on one of the benches outside of the campus center enjoying the unusually warm evening.
"You okay?" He held out the can of Diet Coke he'd snagged on his way outside. Kurt took it and nodded in thanks.
"Yeah. Tired." Kurt shook his head. "It's kind of been a long year."
Noah sat next to him. "I'm glad you came. It's been nice seeing you again."
Kurt sighed into his soda.
"What?" Noah wasn't sure why he suddenly felt defensive.
"I need to ask you something." Kurt sounded more serious than Noah had ever heard him.
"Shoot."
"Are you gay?" Noah let Kurt's words hang between them. He felt silence settle over him, and his brain was buzzing. He'd never actually said it. Even to the GLBTA. He's just started showing up at meetings, and felt like everything else was implied. If there was one person he had to tell, openly and honestly, it was going to be Kurt.
He turned and looked Kurt dead in his eyes. Took a deep breath. "Yes. I'm g-gay."
Kurt slumped back in the bench and let out a huge breath of air. "Oh, thank god. I was afraid I was reading things wrong, because I apparently have the worst gaydar known to man, but - I mean – I've kind of wondered for a while."
"Yeah." Noah chuckled softly to himself. "You helped me figure it out, you know."
"Really. When?"
"That first time we chatted over IM. It was so easy, and a little flirty, and then I just got what Jonah had told me, how when you're ready to know, the knowing is easy. And then it all made sense."
Kurt shook his head in confusion. "Who's Jonah?"
"Oh, right. He's my cousin, my gay cousin. He lives out in Seattle now, with his boyfriend."
"But Noah. You never said anything." Kurt sounded sad, like there had been so much lost opportunity between them when they both knew that wasn't even close to the truth.
"I wasn't ready. Not then. " Noah put his hand in the empty space between them, and tried not to smile when Kurt's thumb barely brushed his own. "What about you?"
"I'm still not sure I'm ready. I don't know how to be myself and still want the things I want in this world." But Kurt covered his hand anyway. Noah didn't mind. They had plenty of time.
Baltimore, MD, June 2002
It was out of his way, really, but Noah felt like he couldn't leave the East Coast after graduation without a stop in Baltimore to see Kurt. It was supposed to be a two day visit on his way back to Ohio and an entry-level job with the state Democratic Party, but 20 minutes after Kurt rescued him from his perch on the front stoop of Kurt's apartment building, things were so tense that Noah considered jumping back into the car and driving straight through to Columbus without stopping.
It was, typically, the exact same fight they hadn't been having over the phone and in emails and IM's for most of the spring. It was about Noah's future.
Kurt tried to appease him into staying with the promise of Thai takeout and a quiet evening, so Noah dropped his duffel bag in the corner and tried to make himself comfortable on Kurt's tiny couch while they waited for food. Kurt worked on keeping the mood light, regaling Noah with tales of his latest break-up, but that only made Noah think about the sad and silent goodbye he'd said to Owen last week. It was never going to be a lasting thing, Noah had known that going in, but he hadn't expected the actuality of the break-up to hurt as much as it had. Maybe it was because Owen had initiated it, and his reasons still stung: I can't move to Ohio, N had rung in his ears for days afterward. And here he was, getting the same judgment from Kurt.
Noah tried to deflect, by asking about Kurt's job as an aide to a young state legislator, but it made his own choice seem so glaringly wrong.
"I could ask around, if you want. Try and get you something out here." Kurt picked the diced pepper out of his Thai fried rice.
"No thanks. Why don't you just order it without the pepper?"
"Too much work."
Noah snorted. "And this isn't?"
"Don't change the subject. You're selling yourself short. You're good at what you do. You worked on that city council thing." Kurt waved his fork in the air.
"And now I'm going to work on other city council things, and school things. Local politics, K. Everyone has to start somewhere."
"Somewhere isn't Columbus. It's Boston, or L.A., or New York."
"Or Washington." Noah could feel a headache forming between his eyes.
"Yes." Kurt's voice was suddenly oddly cool.
"Look. I know Ohio isn't good enough for you. If I had more options, it wouldn't be good enough for me either. But I don't have a fucking choice, Kurt." Noah crumpled his napkin and tossed it into the middle of his plate. He stood and turned to look out the single window in Kurt's studio. The sidewalk was cracked and there were weeds poking up in spots. He heard the slight scrape of Kurt's chair, and then Kurt was there, a calming hand on his arm.
Kurt's touch was fire, but Noah really couldn't think about that right now. The timing was never going to be good between them. He pulled his arm away a little too fast, and Kurt looked at him with hurt eyes. "I just don't understand why you're being so stubborn about this."
Noah shook his head. "You wouldn't, Mr. Full Scholarship. I can't ride the tails of Senate Page and an honors thesis from Brown for the rest of my life, and I can't afford to live by my ideals. I have loans, Kurt. Even with a scholarship, the Ivy League isn't cheap; my dad's a deadbeat asshole and my sister will be off to college in two more years, and I want to be able to help her if I can. I have to make my own way in the world, and if that means going home to Ohio and candidate meet and greets and endless hours of voter registration then that's what I have to do." Noah couldn't tell what was causing the slightly sad look on Kurt's face.
"I just. I always thought we'd be doing this together." Kurt wrapped his arms around himself.
"Someday, K. Someday we'll be doing it together. We just have to wait a little bit longer." Noah felt like he didn't have a choice; if he didn't hold onto that, he'd never survive his exile in Columbus.
Columbus, OH, Halloween 2007
Noah ran a hand through his hair, sipped at the cooled coffee in his Brown Alumni Association mug, and tried not to think too hard about how long it had been sitting on his desk. It was closing in on 9 pm and he still had at least two hours' worth of work. He hated campaign season, and wondered absently whether it would be a good idea to sublet his apartment for the next year and just live at the office.
The Democrats were going to eat their young before this was all over, and that never played well in Ohio. The party needed Ohio, and if anyone could deliver, it was Noah.
He was young. Too young, some people thought, but that was what made him so effective. He could walk into a high school auditorium or a college quad and have the instant credibility that came with being under 30. The same people who bemoaned poor turnout among 18-25 year old voters could turn and point to Noah as the one who got it right in Ohio. And Noah knew that he just had to hang in for one more election. If he could get it together, get his people out and mobilize and fucking hand the party Ohio on a silver platter, courtesy of those same kids the bigwigs thought were too apathetic to care, he'd finally, finally be recognized and rewarded.
But he had to survive another year, first.
Noah sighed, sunk into his chair and pulled out the first of three polls he needed to work through before he could go home. Two pages in, he looked up as a shadow crossed his doorway. Kurt, his khakis and button-down wrinkled and his tie half-undone, leaning against the door frame and smiling through tired eyes.
"Hey, stranger." He sounded like Noah felt.
"K." Noah nodded. "Come on in. Please." He held up the sheaf of papers he was attacking with a red pen. "Polling."
"Ah, so I'm rescuing you then." Kurt practically dropped into the rickety folding chair that served as Noah's "guest" chair.
Noah let his voice go so soft that he didn't think Kurt could hear it. "You always rescue me."
Kurt just nodded, because they'd been doing this dance of offhand comments and ill-timed chemistry since they were 16. It was just the way things were between them.
They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Kurt stood and planted both his hands on Noah's paper-covered desk. "I have a proposition for you."
"No."
"Don't say no before you know what I'm going to ask," Kurt scolded, his tone light.
"One more year, K. If I can prove myself with this, here, then I'll be in the mix. Make the jump to the national party." Noah knewit was true.
"White House, Noah. White. House.How can you say no to that?"
"I think you've been drinking the Kool-Aid too long. Your woman is one of eightcandidates. Why would I leave a sure thing here to take a chance with what might be the first failed campaign of the season?" Noah shook his head. "I can't do it, Kurt."
"Sure you can. I know you think you owe the state party something, but you can bet that if the tables were turned, the state party would have no such loyalty. Come join the campaign. The Congresswoman wants you." Kurt turned on his best, most charming smile.
"The Congresswoman doesn't know me from Big Bird." Noah leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes against the fluorescent light.
"Okay. Point. But she does know me.I'm the only one who's been with her since her in the days in the State House." Kurt took a breath. "I'm not an aide anymore, Noah."
Noah's eyes snapped open. "What, then?"
"Speechwriting." Kurt's face lit up. "It was kind of a fluke, one day when half the office was out with the flu." He shrugged a little self-effacing shrug and kept on. "Turns out I'm good at it. But therein lies the problem. We need a campaign manager."
Noah knew that Kurt had been half-managing the upstart campaign that was existing on a bare bones budget of five and ten dollar donations, mostly because nobody else wanted the job. The implication being, of course, that nobody anywhere wanted anything to do with a too-liberal single-term congresswoman who was basically thumbing her nose at the party faithful. Even so, Noah's heart thudded in his chest from a combination of fear and excitement, but he still shook his head. "I can't, Kurt."
"I know you're not one for taking risks. But, god, Noah. Take this risk. Take it with me." Noah could feel Kurt's energy from across the desk, and it was almost contagious. "You have a gift with the demographic we're trying to reach. Every poll we've done tells us the same thing. If voters under 30 get out in the primaries in record numbers and vote for us, the other 7 candidates split the votes and we get the nomination."
Noah shook his head. "That's not how it's done, K, and you know it."
Kurt's gaze turned molten in seconds. "Fuck how it's done." He turned towards the door, and when he wheeled back to face Noah he was positively brimming with passion. And Noah was suddenly, insanely, overwhelmingly jealous. "This is our time. This is our chance. Do you remember when we used to talk about what it would have been like if the Kennedy brothers and Dr. King hadn't been assassinated?"
Noah nodded, remembering late night phone calls in college and the all too infrequent calls that came now, Kurt on his cell phone in the back of a bus on a dark highway, and the way they would talk with reverence about what might have been and where would we be now. The possibility, the ideathat things could be different, was heady. "I remember."
"This is our chance to have that. Maybe not out last chance, but our bestchance." Kurt sat again, and jiggled his leg. "Please, Noah."
Noah sighed and dropped his head into his hands. When he finally looked up at Kurt, his head clear, there was only one thing to say. "Give me the night to think about it."
"We've got an event in the morning, and then we're on the bus to Indianapolis at noon." He winked at Noah. "I'll save you a seat."
Damn, Kurt was pushy. "I haven't said yes yet."
Kurt stood stepped to the door. He looked pointedly at Noah and nodded. "You will."
Election Night 2008, Baltimore MD
Noah had been closed up in his office for two hours, alternatingly pacing and popping Tums and coloring in the whiteboard map that hung on his wall. The East Coast and a chunk of the Midwest were already a patchwork of red and blue, and the first firm results were starting to trickle in from the Mountains and West Coast. But through it all, there was Ohio, stark white against blue Pennsylvania and Indiana and red West Virginia and Kentucky. He could see Kurt, tucked into a corner plugged into his iPod and typing frantically on his laptop, working last minute edits to the only speech that mattered: the acceptance. Noah didn't want to think about what would happen if they ended up needing the concession speech that had been sitting, neglected, for the last week.
The crew at MSNBC were suddenly all talking over each other, and Noah watched the area west of the Mississippi light up mostly red, with beacons of blue in Colorado and Nevada, and New Mexico the ominous gray of Noah's least favorite term, too close to call. He sighed and started coloring, and then worked his vote tally in the empty space at the bottom of the map. He had just finished the last white speck of Texas when his iPhone buzzed across his desk. He grabbed at it, thinking it was a call, but it was only a text. The best text. From an NBC staffer he'd networked with during the campaign who kept him in a better loop than he'd have been in otherwise.
You've got Ohio.
Noah looked back at the TV, but all the reporters had poker faces and Ohio was still white. He opened a new message window and texted Kurt.
Get in here. I think it's starting.
He gnawed three more Tums, and bounced on the balls of his feet. When his door opened, he pulled Kurt inside and handed him the blue marker. "Color Ohio, please!"
Kurt smiled at him. "As you wish."
Kurt was still scribbling when Noah's phone buzzed again.
You've got about a minute before your world explodes. Congratulations.
Noah wrapped his arm around Kurt's chest and held his phone up. He felt Kurt go boneless and sink backwards against him for the briefest of moments. When Kurt turned to face Noah, his eyes were brimming with tears. Noah could see him, trying to form words, but none were forthcoming. Noah just pulled Kurt into his side, and turned them both to face the TV. "I think we're going to want to see this."
The political reporter's voice was thick with emotion. "With polls closed, or about to close, in all states, we are ready to call the 2008 presidential election for Democratic Congresswoman Kelly Jackson."
Kurt was crying in full, then, and Noah could hear cheers and whoops erupting from the volunteer party up the hall. Noah felt numb with disbelief. He held Kurt closer, and talked into his hair.
"Thank you. Thank youfor talking me into this."
"I told you, this is our time now," Kurt said through tears. "We can make the change, now."
Noah just turned Kurt to face him and started at him for a few seconds. He could feel his blood pounding, his pulse racing. He could see a slideshow of every missed opportunity and bad chemistry and worse timing, and he didn't even think about it. He grabbed Kurt's face between his hands and kissed him. Hard.
He heard Kurt gasp, and felt him lean in and, for the briefest of moments, kiss him back. Noah's brain jumped on the thought of Kurt's kissing me like he'd never been kissed before. No, his mind reasoned. You've never been kissed by the man you love before.
Oh. Oh. Love.
Noah let himself fall into that idea for a moment, relishing the feel of Kurt against his body, under his hands and mouth. But just as suddenly as the realization hit him, Kurt was gone, across the room with his hand on the doorknob, muttering about finishing the speech.
Noah crumbled in Kurt's absence. He was suddenly adrift, feeling the keen loss of something he hadn't even known he'd wanted. No, not just wanted, he thought as he listened to the party down the hall and the chattering of the newscasters on the TV. Needed.
He ran his hand roughly over his face and sighed. The time was never going to be right for them.