Puck had no idea what everybody's problem was. Yeah, okay, he might've been bullying Hummel for the better part of his life, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a change of heart.

Hummel was cool. And if Puck hung out with him more than he did with Finn, or Sam, or Mike, well, it was because Hummel had class. And money, which meant they could actually go to Breadstix at least once a week and have more than an appetizer.

There wasn't anything weird with another dude buying him dinner.

Right? Right.

Except, everybody else seemed to think Puck and Kurt were were sneaking behind their backs like gay ninjas. Star-crossed lovers. Romeo and Juliet. Jane and Tarzan. Whatever.

What they were doing were absolutely not dates. Finn had no right to walk into the cafeteria on sloppy joes day, pull Puck outside by his collar and spend thirty minutes lecturing him on all the places Burt Hummel had his shotguns (and mines, and hand grenades, and a couple Soviet tanks, judging from the absolute terror in his voice) hidden in.

Santana had no right to corner him in the bathroom (boys', obviously) and welcome him to the dark side.

Sam had absolutely no right to sing a Taylor Swift song and dedicate it to the two of them.

In all seriousness - everybody was going crazy.

Of course, Puck wouldn't mind if it was just him. He could pull off dating a pair of tentacles and still be a badass.

The problem was, he could see it was getting to Kurt. He was nervously biting his lip and wringing his hands every time Puck came over, now, and he usually talked him into staying inside and watching an action flick (which Puck immediately insisted should be followed by a musical, because Kurt was sad, dammit). He stopped blushing and protesting indigantly whenever Mercedes saw Puck close and waggled her eyebrows suggestively. These days, all he did was smile like his world was falling apart underneath his hands and avert his eyes.

Puck hated it. It always made breathing a little harder, his chest feel a little tighter and his eyes water - he hated it.

Not talking about it, apparently, was not helping things. Kurt started cancelling with no explanation, avoided him in school, and sat as far from him as possible in glee.

Needless to say, Puck hated that, too, and desperate people take desperate measures, which is how he found himself promising Finn unlimited game time on his Xbox if he got out of the house on Friday afternoon. Five minutes later, Rachel called him to thank him, and while Puck mentally facepalmed at the thought of Finn telling her why they were going on a date, instead of playing at being the perfect boyfriend, he was also mentally patting himself on the back for doing good Jew service.

Which was how, about an hour after school ended on Friday (and Kurt, as expected, basically teleported to the Navigator in his haste to get away), Puck found himself standing on the Hudmels' doorstep with a tub of Cookie Dough Ben & Jerry's (Kurt's favorite comfort food, although he would never, ever admit it) and a DVD of The Princess Bride (Kurt's favorite movie which he, for some reason, didn't own). He wasn't sure what was going to happen, but he was, at the very least, getting an explanation.

Ringing the doorbell, he didn't really expect the door to burst open less than five seconds later and a grumbling Kurt to stand on the other side.

Puck's heart immediately plummeted somewhere into Carole's precious Nasturtiums. Kurt's eyes were red and tired and Puck knew with a startling certainty that he'd been crying.

"W-what are you doing here?" he squeaked immediately, stepping back into the shadows of the hallway.

Puck shrugged. "Don't know if you noticed, but we haven't hung out in a while."

He didn't wait for a permission, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

"I brought ice cream," he tried to grin, but even he could tell it wasn't very convincing. Puck refused to admit it to himself, but he was completely lost - he had no idea what to do to just erase that goddamned look from Kurt's face and keep it away forever.

Kurt's sigh was so quiet it almost got lost in the dim light. "We need to talk, Noah."

And, well. Puck didn't like talking. It usually meant he was in trouble, or somebody wanted to chat about feelings, which was even worse.

Except, this was Kurt, and in Puck's mind, that was a good enough reason for anything.

"Okay," he shrugged, and followed the other boy into the living room, illuminated by the TV, which was turned on on a sports channel.

Puck swallowed. It was even worse than he thought.

"So..." he started, standing awkwardly, the ice cream in his hands suddendly feeling like a burden.

"Noah," Kurt interrupted, then waved a hand towards the couch in what was probably an invitation. Puck sat down, settling into the now familiar spot between two giant lumps right in the middle.

"Noah," Kurt repeated, almost falling down next to Puck, the bluish light from the TV making him look tired and way too skinny. "I think everybody's right."

"What?"

"We go on a lot of non-dates."

Puck thought about it for a while. They'd gone out together pretty often before Kurt started avoiding him, and it was usually one of the fanciest places in Lima, since the diva had refused to 'stoop to everybody else's level'. And, well, Puck never thought about them as dates. Or non-dates. It was just...going out with Kurt. Having a great time, laughing at other people's expense, roasting breadsticks on the candle flames and flinging bits of food at each other over the table. They were the highlights of Puck's week, and also not a big deal.

"So?"

"It doesn't bother you?"

Puck scowled. "Why should it?"

"Because you're a straight jock with a reputation?" Kurt was looking at him incredulously while draping a blanket over his shoulders. Puck caught a glimpse of goosebumps on his pale forearm before it was hidden underneath the wool. It made his stomach wobble in a weird way.

"Who gives a shit?" Kurt cringed and Puck rolled his eyes. "I mean, why does anybody else care? It's nobody's business but ours. I like going out with you, so I'm sure as hell gonna keep doing it. Fucking McKinley can do whatever they want."

"You like going out with me?"

"Dude, I'm sitting in your living room on a Friday afternoon with a lapful of melting Cookie Dough. That should probably give you a clue."

Kurt blushed. Puck had to blink several times to make sure he wasn't imagining things, but no, there it was - a clear tinge of red, spreading over Kurt's cheeks, down his neck and dissapearing into the tartan blanket.

What the hell.

"I, um...I like going out with you, too," Kurt stanmered, looking almost shy, and Puck was sure he'd just entered the Twilight Zone - this wasn't how Kurt Hummel usually acted. Kurt Hummel also didn't make Puck's insides squirm and rearrange themselves and giant mutant butterflies fly almost up to his throat - no matter how adorable he looked.

Adorable. Puck wasn't going to think about that. At all. Never. Again.

"Well, that's...that's good, I guess," he stuttered when he realizes it was his turn to speak. He suddendly felt a lot less sure than five minutes ago.

Kurt was chewing on his bottom lip, white teeth catching and releasing it, full and red and shining with spit, and Puck's dick twitched in interest.

Well, whatever. At this point, it was pretty clear this was not reality. If it was, it had to have some awesome ninja skills, creeping up on him like that.

"Why are you avoiding me, then?" Puck remembered to ask. It was, after all, pretty much the whole point of this visit.

"Uh, it's...I mean, I...oh, God," Kurt blushed even more (not reality, Puck was allowed to think words like 'cute', alright?). He appeared to be thinking about something, before taking a deep breath and trying again.

"The thing is, I realized I would really, really like them to be."

Puck blinked.

Oh.

Oh.

"What...exactly do you mean?" he asked, pinching himself several times, but it didn't seem to work. Kurt was still there, now completely red, looking small and vulnerable like a kitten wrapped in his giant blanket.

"You're gonna make me say it, aren't you?" he groaned.

Well, duh.

Kurt heaved another enormous sigh and closed his eyes, as if he was waiting for the Apocalypse to happen.

"Noah, I'm in love with you."

Yeah, definitely not reality. In reality, time didn't screech into a halt like this, stealing all the air out of Puck's lungs and all the thoughts from his head. In reality, Kurt Hummel was completely content on his own, waiting for a fabulous guy to sweep him off his feet in New York. In reality, a tub of ice cream was dripping water into the Hudmels' sofa cushions, they were probably already watching The Princess Birde and Puck's chest didn't constrict; his eyes didn't water.

In reality, nobody loved Puck.

"You. You're in love with me?" he managed to half-whisper after what seemed like ages of suffocating silence and slow-motion shadows from the TV painting the walls.

Kurt nodded and slowly opened his eyes, teeth drawing his bottom lip in again. There must've been something about Puck's face, because after a tense second of drowning Puck's eyes in the ocean blue of his, his features relaxed a little bit, and he slid a few inches closer.

"But...how? I mean, what the hell?"

Kurt huffed. "Oh, come on. You're goregous. Funny. Smart, when you feel like it. You braid your sister's hair every morning before she goes to school and pick your mother up from work every afternoon. You love everyone in glee, even though they're anything but nice to you. You walk me home every time we're out. And you're a closeted romantic. That's a perfect guy, right there."

Perfect. Puck was desperately trying to convince himself he'd misheard, but the word rang crystal clear in the quiet room.

Kurt called him perfect.

Kurt was in love with him.

Kurt called him perfect.

Yeah, Puck's head was spinning, and not in a pleasant I-drank-a-few-beers-let's-dance kind of way. He could hear his heart hammering into his ribcage, the erratic thump, thump, thump somehow shaking his whole body, resounding in his ears and deafening him.

Kurt was in love with him.

Puck's mind was racing, and he knew exactly the direction. There was a tiny, repressed, hidden corner up there somewhere, the one containing everything Puck wanted, but couldn't have - a father, Beth, a better job for his Ma. Kurt. It was a corner hiding his biggest secrets, chained and locked away, wrapped in plastic, so the sharp edges wouldn't leave so many scars.

They were the things Puck couldn't think about if he wanted to stay sane, and yet thought about every passing second, the pain bright and sharp and never letting him forget just how human he was.

And Kurt. Kurt was there.

Puck didn't even notice how.

And maybe, just maybe, he could have him. If he reached for him - if, for once in his life, he grabbed and held on to what he really wanted.

The next thing he knew, his mouth was moving out of it's own volition.

"Can I kiss you?"

"What?" Kurt squawked, blue eyes wide and startled, a reflection of a football game in them making them even bigger and alive.

Puck could see it clearly now, like a blindfold had fallen off his eyes - just how beautiful Kurt was.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked again, voice still shaking a little. He didn't even let himself think about being refused - he'd turn tail and regret it for the rest of his life, as per usual, and he knew it.

"Are you...are you sure?" Kurt asked, admirably calm compared to thirty seconds earlier, his voice so gentle Puck felt the sting in his eyes come back.

Instead of responding with words, he reached out and curled a hand around Kurt's neck. It was warm, drawing him in like a flame in the middle of a sea, the pulse underneath his fingertips racing. Puck took a second to steady himself, to be sure this was what he wanted, and wasn't surprised to find every one of his senses on the edge, eager to touch, smell, taste.

When he pulled Kurt in and connected their lips, it was unlike anything he'd ever felt. The quivering in his stomach grew into a full-blown earthquake, sending shivers down his spine and tremors into his fingertips. He didn't even try to keep his eyes open - they slid shut smoothly, like a lock clicking into place, like that was the way it was supposed to be.

The touch was tender, barely there, but Puck could still taste Kurt's cherry lipbalm, the smoothness and warmth of his lips, the feeling of perfect that washed over him. If this was how Kurt saw him, Puck was going to need a lot of convincing he was worthy of a feeling like that.

He pulled the other boy closer, hearing the blanket rustle and a content sigh slide out of Kurt's mouth. Puck licked over Kurt's lips, parting them with ease, and then he was inside Kurt's mouth, and heart, and feeling like he could easily melt into him and stay forever. He could barely breathe, but not because of a lack of oxygen.

"Oh my God," he could hear his own voice say as he pulled away, and then, in a heady rush of something Puck could only describe as joy, he let the tears flow. Who cared. Who in the world could possibly care, when Kurt Hummel was kneeling in front of him on the couch, stars in his eyes, touching his lips like he couldn't believe.

"Does this mean..." Kurt whispered, as if speaking out lout was somehow inappropriate for the moment.

Puck really, really couldn't breathe. He couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't speak. Kurt Hummel was right there, at the tips of his fingers, open like a book, and he was his.

"God, I love you," he gasped, finally, pulling Kurt's lips back to his, pretty certain he wasn't letting go.

When Kurt let out what sounded like a half-laugh, half-sob, and wound his arms around Puck's neck, the feeling only intensified.

If this wasn't reality, then Puck never, ever wanted to wake up.