The Moulin Rouge: A nightclub, a dance hall, and a brothel ruled over by Will Schuester. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures where the rich played with the young and beautiful and handsome creatures of the underworld. The most handsome of all these was the man who I love—loved: Puck.

Sadly, I have to go with the past tense on that verb not because I don't love him but because I shouldn't. I shouldn't love him because I know he's long gone from this world, but moving on from the best thing to ever happen to me, even if he wanted me to, just seems impossible.

So they say one of the best ways to move on is to talk through what happened, and I promised him I'd write our story, his story. Actually talking about this past year, though, that seems like way too much. There are too many things I can't even talk about because I don't know if they really happened or not. Writing it down, however, and filling in the blanks with my own pen seems like a good enough substitute for me. I'm trying my best to record everything down as it happened and not embellish at all, but the human mind is a funny thing and I'm sure there are some mistakes here and there. And I wasn't there for certain parts so I have to just use my own imagination, but I'm trying my hardest to remain truthful to what happened.

Well, I guess I better actually stop blabbering on my Mac and start writing about what happened now. Here goes nothing.

I moved to New York City one year ago, in 2000. I was a fresh-faced kid straight out of college, just one of the state schools in Ohio. My dad had a heart attack my junior year of high school and since my mother had been dead for over half of my life and he was still single, I wanted to be near him just in case.

I had started my secondary education as a theatre major, ready to chase after that spotlight like I had in my high school's Glee club. But then I got tired of it. I tried fashion my second semester, but the program was lackluster to say the least. But my required writing course? To my surprise, I fell in love with it. So I kept up with it and graduated with a creative writing degree, cum laude.

Part of me wanted to stay and help my dad, but he was healthier than ever at that point and making eyes at a woman who had come into his car repair shop and, well, I couldn't say no to living out my dreams. So I headed over to New York.

As a starry eyed twink with a love of musical theatre, I had expected to live a bohemian life. I'd be poor for a while, but I'd be rich in experiences with a great, diverse group of friends who'd take me on wild adventures. I'd live and breathe the city until I would eventually find a sweet, equally as feminine man to share the rest of my life with in a domestic partnership, a not-married-but-as-close-as-the-Republicans-will-let-us-get relationship. And I'd sell my stories or screenplays or plays to the major publishers along the way until I was rolling in cash from sells and the royalties of the TV shows and movies and doll lines they'd make from my works.

Then reality set in. Living in an apartment, even my small (not cozy but really small) and dank apartment cost a lot of money in a place like New York City. The place was unofficially a home for artists of all types, constantly bursting with various noises of instruments and monologues being read, artists constantly graffiti-ing the walls. My work wasn't winning me any accolades or jobs, so I knew I'd have to get a real job. After a week or two of searching, I found a job as a receptionist in a doctors' office due to my high speed typing abilities. And maybe because my dad knew one of the doctors and gave him a sweet deal on his tires every time he came in before he moved to New York. But I like to think my sweet smile and impressive résumé swayed him more.

Soon my schedule fell into place. I worked, as Dolly would sing, 9 to 5, went home, ate, took a shower, moisturized, read for a bit, then I locked my door with all three locks, turned off my lights, climbed into my bed, and slept just so I could start the whole day over: lather, rinse, repeat. My whole life had become a set of directions on a set of shampoo and conditioner. It wasn't fair. I was supposed to have romance and excitement. I was supposed to learn about truth, beauty, freedom, love, all of which I had never experienced in my life. I was supposed to have a life story worth telling, and at that point I couldn't even imagine writing anything. How could I write a story when absolutely nothing story-worthy was happening? How could I write about truth, beauty, and freedom if I hadn't experienced them? How could I even type the word love on my Macbook if I had never been in love?

But, finally, inspiration hit me. In fact, it almost hit me right on the head. In the form of a blonde, fit woman.

Now I am as gay as they come, so I don't know how a straight guy would react to a woman falling through their ceiling and narrowly missing falling completely by some pulley system holding up their sleeping body. But I know I reacted by freezing and looking up through the hole she created before screaming my head off.

My screaming was cut off by a knock at the door. I paused and looked at the girl. She seemed completely fine, just snoring softly, all her bones in the right order. Well, that was a good sign, so I got off my bed and answered the door only to find a short guy dressed as a wizard.

"I—"

"How do you do?" The short man with a curly head of hair greeted. "I am Blaine Anderson. So terribly sorry, we were rehearsing a play upstairs. I believe that my star is hidden in here?"

"Um…yeah," I said slowly, leading him to my room.

"Ah, yep, that's Brittany all right," Blaine said, going over and climbing up on my bed. "You'll have to forgive her," he told me, "She's narcoleptic; one minute she's fine, the next she's asleep. I think that's why she seems so out of it, I think she's just constantly caught up in that weird area between awake and asleep." He slowly stroked her arm before turning to me again, "Sorry, didn't catch your name."

"K-Kurt Hummel," I stammered, confused and nervous to be in this situation. Thank God I didn't have work the next day.

"Kurt, huh? Nice to meet you," Blaine smiled as Brittany finally came to. "There's my star dancer!"

"What happened? Did the aliens come back for me?" she murmured. Blaine just shook his head and didn't respond as they worked together to get her untangled from the wires. With the ease of the supposed amazing dancer she was, Brittany jumped onto the floor next to my bed in a crouch.

"C'mon, Britt, time to go back upstairs and practice more for our play." He turned back to me and explained, "It's called Spectacular, Spectacular and she's our lead actress—she dances like a dream and she can carry a tune. C'mon, Britt." He pulled at her arm and got her standing with him, both of them heading out the door.

I was beyond confused; confused enough I almost let them leave. Then I got a hold of myself; I had to join them. They were making a show and living an artistic life, they were living my dream. What excuse did I have to not follow them back upstairs?

"Wait!" I called out, travelling the short distance they had travelled. Blaine looked up at me, expectant, whereas Brittany looked near ready to fall back asleep.

"If it's about the hole, I don't know what I can do. Britt just did a leap and it collapsed. I think that's the landlord's problem—"

"I just was wondering if you need any help with your show. I actually graduated with a creative writing degree and I have a theatre background if you don't need help writing it."

Blaine's face split into a grin and he replied, "Kurt Hummel, I think you could be a great use to us."

"How can he help us write this?" A man in a wheelchair hissed to Blaine as I sat on their bed, trying to avoid the hole in the floor. Brittany was passed out again on the bed (I wasn't sure if that was her narcolepsy or if she was just bored by the conversation that had been going on for about half an hour). "He didn't even go to Tisch for god's sake, what experience does he have with musical theatre writing? It's not like he's an expert."

"Artie," Blaine started softly, "Just shut up and drink your whiskey, okay? We could use the help of someone who knows how to write, not just from a drunk who directs well and a photographer like me."

"So you really are the Blaine Anderson I've heard about? The up and coming photographer?" I asked in excitement. The two of them looked at me in confusion, as if they had forgotten that I was there. "I just, um…I went to an art showing once of new artists and your work was the best I had ever seen. The way you capture the movements of the dancers…it's just incredible."

Artie made an hmph noise and muttered something about inflating his already large ego before taking a swig of whiskey. Blaine straightened up and smiled, pulling on the bowtie he had put on top of his costume.

"Well, thank you Kurt Hummel. I'm glad you liked my work. I'm hoping to strike it out into the performing arts with this work, but we can't seem to get this right," he explained, pulling out some sheet music from his desk. "Tell me what you think of these lyrics." He cleared his throat delicately and read, "I believe I should attempt to flee away from these restrictions of life via broomstick—it's about witches, you see."

"That is absolutely awful Blaine, we've already decided you can't write worth shit, man," Artie grumbled. "I mean, there are so many better ideas, like, I should fly away to escape my troubles, damn what physics say."

"Oh, like that's so much better," Blaine growled. The two launched into a fight, shouting out lyrics to each other. Brittany stirred and mumbled something about a Lord Tubbington. I just shh-ed her and pet her arm comfortingly. She smiled tiredly and slipped back into her dream world.

I looked around at the scene I was in, two grown men arguing over lyrics as one of them was dressed as a wizard—or I guess he was a witch, rather—while there was some sort of rope system along the ceiling as if they were hoping to fly (which must have been what held Brittany up from further injury, at least). As they argued about flying and physics, something came over me, some tingly, warm sensation.

I don't always write amazingly well as you can tell from this, but sometimes something just takes over me and before I knew it, I was singing a melody and the words, "I think I'll try defying gravity."

Blaine and Artie snapped their heads towards me. "What did you just say?"

I repeated, this time louder and more confident, using my full singing voice back from my performing days. "I think I'll try defying gravity."

"I think I'll try defying gravity…I love it!" Blaine said. Even Artie had to smile at that, adding, "Keep going, man!"

"I think I'll try defying gravity, I think I'll try defying gravity…and you won't bring me down!" I sang, beaming as the two men beamed at me.

"Now those are lyrics we can bring to Schue!"

"Schue?" I asked in confusion.

"Will Schuester," Blaine explained, "He owns the Moulin Rouge; it's a club."

"Strip joint," Artie corrected. "It's basically a strip joint for the sexually fluid. But Schue's getting money and they're changing it into a theater. The strippers will still work there, but he wants us to write the inaugural show."

"At…at a strip joint?"

"Well…whorehouse," Artie shrugged. Blaine hit him on the shoulder when he saw my shocked face—I was from Ohio, after all, and this all sounded beyond insane and just plain dirty.

"It's not a whorehouse. Yes, Schue has the performers more or less for sale, but…but in general it's just a burlesque show, nothing too bad," Blaine said hastily, afraid to lose me, apparently. "Those dancers I took pictures of? They work there! I'm not allowed to take pictures of the leads because of Schue's business policy of seeing the leads, but, um, nothing to worry about!" Blaine cleared his throat awkwardly and ran a hand through his gelled up hair with nervous energy.

"S-so I'm supposed to convince him to take our show? What do I do? Just show him a script?" I asked.

Blaine looked at me with scrutinizing eyes that raked up and down my whole body. Finally he asked, "When you're not in pajamas, do you have a nice suit?"

That's when I snapped back to my usual catty self. My hip went out as far to the side as it could as my arms crossed and I snapped, "Do you want McQueen, Gucci, or Dolce and Gabbana?"

"I like this kid," Artie laughed, "The boy has sass."

The plan was, Blaine explained, for me to dress up and woo one of the stars with my beautiful poetry and convince them I was an up and coming writer with a great story to tell. Once I told them the obvious fact that I was as gay as Castro Street on Pride Day, Blaine said I wouldn't have to try to woo a girl, I'd just meet with the male star, Puck, "The Sex Shark". It sounded like a strange name but I was assured that it was obviously a stage name and not his given name, and apparently he was as fluid with sexuality as they came, so he would totally go for it.

I was nervous, sure that I couldn't persuade him to take on our show, but Blaine was sure my feminine features combined with my suit and endearing poetry would win over The Sex Shark. With that, they lit up a bong and I had my first hit of marijuana. Apparently some people don't feel anything the first time, but I swear it must've been laced with something because I'm not sure how else Brittany had turned into a little Tinkerbell-esque figure. The little green fairy danced and flew around the room singing about defying gravity until I finally passed out in a drug-addled heap.

The next day I was dressed in my finest McQueen suit and top hat and was sitting in the smoky haze of the Moulin Rouge, flanked by my new friends. The songs were written and although Blaine hadn't set up an appointment with Puck—none of us could afford it—he was positive I could steal Puck's attention and sneak off with him instead of his assigned client.

The old set up of the Moulin Rouge was quite unusual to me. There were seats and tables in a semi circle around the edge of the club that servers weaved in and out of as well as a bar at one end. On the other end there was a large stage, larger than I expected in the place, and in front of that was a dance floor that both the workers and the audience used when there wasn't a major performance on the stage.

The club was, as I mentioned, run by Will Schuester, and he performed in many of the numbers with his New Directions. There were The Sex Shark and the Asian Sensation (really named Mike Chang) and a few male singers/instrumentalists who were instructed to never dance unless the girls were doing the work for them: Finn Hudson (who also drummed occasionally), Joe Hart (who played guitar), Sam Evans (another guitarist), and Rory Flanagan (an Irish immigrant). They were all for sale to clients, but the girls were the ones who were bought most often. There were several girls, but the leads were clear and all equipped with a nickname of a specific fetish or kink they could portray in the acts (and in the bedroom if anyone paid enough): Rachel "Blushing Virgin" Berry, Tina "Asian Lolita" Cohen-Chang, Quinn "Blondie" Fabray, Mercedes "Bold and Beautiful" Jones, and Sugar "Spoiled Little Girl" Motta. But the real star of the girls was the sultry, sensual Santana "Legs in the Air" Lopez. Apparently there was controversy within the cast because Santana used to sing lead and had the most clients until Puck slowly made it up the brackets to the star. She was extremely bitter and was willing to do anything to bring him back down.

This was all explained to me by Artie over a glass of scotch, so I took it with a grain of salt. Blaine seemed to hang onto and agree with every word Artie said, though, until The Asian Sensation came on and he was a pile of goo watching how the guy could move. I have to admit that the guy could dance. But before I could comment on anything, Tina came out to join him on the number and Artie was about as lost to the world as Brittany seemed to always be. Soon all the dancers (minus Puck) were on stage, Schue joining them in a white tux at the center of the stage as he sang some stupid cabaret song I couldn't recognize. His workers all danced around him and he felt up the girls and guys as they passed by, much to the delight of the crowd.

"Don't you worry, you will be back there soon enough with Puck and he will love your poetry!" Blaine exclaimed as the dancers backed off. "See, Puck's about to make his entrance—they push him up from under the stage—and you will be great—here he comes!"

I looked back from Blaine's excited face to the stage and gaped as what had to be the most handsome and downright hot man I had ever seen was raised to center stage, a guitar slung across his shirtless body, his jeans baggy and riding low and his hair shaved into a short Mohawk.

Suddenly I was very nervous. I was a complete virgin past a few kisses and my own hands and fingers. How was I supposed to charm a guy who was practically pure sex?

Artie saw I was struggling and called a waitress over. "Give my boy here a…ummm…" He looked to me, "Kurt, man, what do you drink? Rosé or some shit?"

I snapped out of my daze long enough to say, "Long Island Iced Tea." When I turned back to the stage, I witnessed what had to be the most thrilling performance of my life.

Puck easily started the guitar solo of his song, smiling as he heard Sam and Joe come in for support as he progressed, Finn soon drumming along with them. Sugar and Quinn joined Rory and Mike, respectively, on the two platforms raised above the stage. The two girls danced around the boys to the beat and the boys did the bare minimum, just helping twirl them. Rachel, Mercedes, Santana, and Tina went to mic stands by the band, shimmying and shaking their hips as Puck started to sing.

"He was a fast machine, he kept his motor clean, he was the best damn man that I ever seen," he sang, "He had the sightless eyes telling me no lies knocking me out with those American thighs." He popped his hip out a bit and winked into the audience, men and women alike whooping in joy. "Taking more than his share, had me fighting for air, he told me to come but I was already there," Puck continued, gyrating his hips in a crude way against his guitar as he kept on playing and singing, "'Cause the walls start shaking, the Earth was quaking, and my mind was aching, and we were making it."

He kicked a leg up as he jumped, landing on both legs safely. "And you shook me all night long," Puck sang, the ladies at the microphones backing him up as the girls dancing on the platforms shimmied into the guy's faces. "You shook me all night long!" He finished the chorus, the ladies on the platform and at the microphones leaning over and shimmying towards the audience (and nearly falling out of their dresses in the process), Mike and Rory gyrating behind Quinn and Sugar, much to the delight of the audience.

"Working double time on the seduction line, he was one of a kind, he's just mine, all mine," Puck continued into the second verse, pushing his guitar to rest against his back and the sling to press into his chest. First Rachel came up to him, standing on one side and letting her ass press into his hip as she leaned her hands onto her knees. "He wanted no applause," he sang and Mercedes went to his other side, pressing her breasts against his shoulder, "Just another course, made a meal out of me and came back for more. Had to cool me down to take another round." Tina came up to Puck and took the guitar off of him completely, handing it quickly to a props worker before getting back into position behind him, her hands on his chest. "Now I'm back in the ring to take another swing," he continued, thrusting forward as Santana crawled under his legs to be in front of him and then turned to her back.

"'Cause the walls were shaking," Santana kicked her legs up (she was "Legs in the Air" for a reason after all), "The earth was quaking," Puck pushed her legs open as the other girls on stage stepped back and Quinn and Sugar headed back to the main stage, the boys trailing them. "My mind was aching" Puck ran his hands over her thighs before closing them with a smirk. "And we were making it and you," he pointed to a random spot in the audience as Santana rolled off to the side and bounced up to her feet, "Shook me all night long! And you," he pointed to another spot and then ran that hand down his chest and over his crotch as he gyrated and sang, "Shook me all night long!"

With a wink he turned around and headed backstage for a costume change. Joe took a solo on the guitar while the girls either danced with one of the boys or teased the audience with little peaks of skin with their dresses. Santana did her usual "bit" of leaning towards one of the girls (that night she chose Quinn) and flirting with her. Quinn easily flirted back for show, letting Santana run her hands over her curves as some men called out horrifying things.

I was amazed at what I was seeing. No one I knew was so sexual, definitely not freely so. But everyone, from the people on stage to the ones in the audience, just found things that were hot, hot, plain and simple. No one cared what gender it was, no one flinched when Mike and Rory started gyrating together to compete with Santana and Quinn. No one cared that they were watching people who were, more or less, prostitutes. No one cared that a man had been singing about sleeping with another man. No one had any shame in that club. It was all about making a living (for the performers) and having a good time (for the audience). It was simultaneously terrifying and spectacular.

The waitress returned with my drink and I pushed it to my lips, forcing myself to get some alcohol in my system to loosen up enough to fit in. I had barely taken three sips when Blaine took his eyes off of the Asian Sensation enough to notice I was drinking. He glared at Artie and promptly took my drink away despite my protests.

"We can't have you liquored up if you're supposed to charm Puck!" Blaine hissed.

"Aw, loosen up," Artie teased, "We're at the Moulin Rouge! If the kid turns straight like you do when you drink, no one will even bat an eye!"

Blaine turned red and started moving his hand as if to point at Artie for a reprimand. But his hand was holding a drink and before he could stop it from happening, the drink spilled onto the suit of the man next to us, a bald man with glasses. I later found out he was Sandy Ryerson, nicknamed as The King due to the amount of power and money he had in the seedier parts of the City due to his dealing of marijuana—what he called "The Chronic Lady". He was who Puck was supposed to meet that night.

Blaine immediately started ranting an apology and waved his napkin around, much to the man's distaste. "I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry! Kurt!" He turned to me, waving the napkin uselessly, "Can I use your napkin, please? I want to help this gentleman!" I watched him flail about for a few more seconds before finally handing him my napkin with a wave of my wrist. He nodded and turned back to the man.

The guy had stood up and looked ready to leave. Blaine shook his head and waved the napkin as he stepped closer, "Please let me help! It was all my fault, sir, I'm sorry!"

—

As Puck was strapping on a new belt for his costume change, Schue came over to him. "Okay, Puck, your client tonight is Sandy Ryerson," he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"The King?" Puck asked, incredulous, "You really got him to show up? Which one is he?"

Schue looked out into the audience through a small space in the curtain. His jaw tensed as he saw Blaine Anderson flapping a napkin in his direction, probably scaring Sandy away. "That Anderson kid is waving at him madly—I swear to God if that man scares him off…"

Puck pushed Schue away and looked out into the audience. He quickly spotted Blaine in the masses and he was waving at…well, he seemed much to young and fragile looking to be a drug lord. Pale and skinny and a bit nervous looking.

"Are you sure?" Puck asked. Schue looked out again and saw Blaine shaking a napkin at Sandy and nodded. "Okay…" Puck trailed off.

The guy seemed like one of those rare twinks they'd get with too much money who needed a good fucking, but Puck could never be sure. "So what's this guy's type? Submissive?" he looked down and bit his lip, "Loud and praising?" Puck faked a moan of so good, "Or completely dominating?" He growled for an example.

Schue shrugged, "Seems like a dominating person who wants someone else to dominate in bed." Puck grinned; that was totally his forte after his experience with Quinn. The resulting pregnancy almost lost both of them their jobs, but eventually Beth came into the world and then was adopted by a sweet woman named Shelby, a former Moulin Rouge worker who had finally made it out into the real world of performing, leaving the dirty, dark place behind.

"And he'll invest in the show and the club?" Puck asked for confirmation, slipping on his vest.

Will nodded. "Of course he will. Especially after a night with you, after all," he said with a wink. "We're all counting on you, Noah—"

"I know. And don't call me that," Puck said, snapping the buttons into place.

"And just think about it; with his money, we can put on a real show in front of a real audience and you'll be—"

"A real performer," Puck finished, smiling in spite of himself at the ultimate dream he had. He imagined a day when Beth would be able to visit him at work. He wanted to be able to send his sister to college in the city, like she wanted, and not have to worry about her going to the Moulin Rouge and seeing him. He wanted to be a real performer and perform for crowds who wanted to hump him because he was talented and hot and a complete badass, not because they could buy him off.

He didn't think his dreams were that lofty.

Puck slipped on his top hat and nodded. "Let's do this."

—

Puck came back onto stage as the guy next to us was finally creeped out enough by Blaine to leave. Puck's eyeliner was heavier, but the main attraction was on his outfit. His jeans were tight enough to make out every bulge (and every bulge was impressive); he had a dark vest on top of a white tank top; and a top hat was placed on his head on an angle. He practically screamed confident.

The girls, Mike, and Rory went upstage and just sang back up as he repeated the phrase you shook me all night long. He thrust into the air and wiggled his hips and flexed, working the audience into a frenzy as he pointed into various spots in the crowd. It was clear that he was choosing someone and everyone wanted to be the one he chose. Each time he sang the phrase he moved farther into the crowd, jumping around the tables and making everyone anxious.

But, finally, he was at my table. He grabbed onto my hand and pulled me up, my knee bending as it landed at his hip and he held it up. We looked as if we had planned it, ending it a dance pose as the music stopped.

"Dance with me, handsome?" he said quietly as if he were only talking to me even though his microphone was sending the words to the whole club.

I gaped, uncharacteristically silent (I was starting to fear that all of the oddities I had experienced were making me completely change character). How was I supposed to say anything when his crotch was so close to mine? I was a virgin and here was this hot guy holding me and pressed against me; it took all my will power not to lay down on the table and present myself like a cat in heat, let alone the power it would take to nod.

"Aw, did I scare you?" he asked, smirking. "I'll make you feel better, I promise. Just let me…work my magic," Puck said, the look in his eyes making it even harder (in more ways than one, I must add). He put my leg down and turned to the audience, "How about we cheer on our poor newbie, huh? Let him know you aren't bitter over my choice." The audience started to cheer and Puck smirked, turning to me. Even though any of the audience would've loved to be chosen by him, they were quite okay with watching us together instead. It was nice to know, invigorating, and I felt my love for being the front and center of attention come back.

"Yes," I finally said, "Let's dance."

He smiled at me and, still looking into my eyes, snapped his fingers. The band left the stage and the speakers started blaring some rap song I didn't recognize. Puck placed my arms around his neck and asked, "Mind if I lead?"

"For now," I replied, "But if you so much as bump into the new shoes I bought especially for this event I am taking over."

Puck raised an eyebrow. "Fiesty. I like that."

I started to smile back when Blaine came in and ruined the moment. "Puck! I see you've met my new friend—"

"I've got it, Anderson," Puck snapped back. Before Blaine could say anything else, Puck whisked me away and we started dancing around the club.

For a while, every time I turned to the table the whole gang was clapping and cheering me on, even Brittany seemed aware of what was happening. Then as the song changed to another and another and another, they slowly were drawn to the dance floor. Blaine watched Mike shyly, trying not to ask for his attention but totally wanting it; Artie had Tina in her lap (I thought she just accepted a chance to not be on her feet for once that night but it turned out that her and Artie knew each other and were constantly in between being friends and being more than friends); and Brittany was dancing without abandon with various guys and girls (including Mike at one point, much to Blaine's frustration) until Santana finally pulled her in and Brittany didn't feel the need to dance with anyone else.

Meanwhile, I told Puck, "You're pretty good at this, actually. I expected to have to take the lead by this point."

"Years of practice," he shrugged, smiling. "But thanks. And thank you for your interest in our show, we really need it."

"Well, it simply sounds exciting to me and I'm so glad to be involved. I've been trying to get into the artistic world for months, that is why I moved out here, after all," I replied. "It's just hard finding work in it and before you know it, you're doing things you never planned on doing just to make ends meet."

Puck gave me a sympathetic look, "I know what you mean. At least you have the money to do it now, right?"

He dipped me and I couldn't help but smile as I came back up. "I guess I have some sums, just need to fix the hole in my roof. I just hope you like what I do and decide to keep me around."

He just laughed, "Oh, I'm sure I'll love it."

"Well, we should make sure of that first, shouldn't we?" I asked as we passed by Sugar calling some old client daddy as she pouted her lips and leaned forward to show some cleavage. I tried to ignore it so I could recite some of my songs, but then I saw Finn and Rachel looking at each other sadly as she went on dancing with some bushy haired guy and he sort of danced with some lady, obviously in love but forced apart for work reasons. As we passed I heard the creepy guy ask if he could take her panties home despite how uncomfortable she looked under her fake smile. Then we passed by Sam, now shirtless, being instructed to get down on his knees for money by some creepy lady who laughed at his embarrassment.

"Hey," Puck said softly, gently pulling my chin back to look at him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I said, "Just…I was wondering if maybe we could do this in private?" Being around all of these people who had to demean themselves just to make a living made me feel awful and made it hard to recite songs.

Puck smirked and raised his eyebrows, eying me up and down. "Oh really now?"

"Yes, just you know a private poetry reading."

"A poetry reading?" He repeated in confusion. Then his eyes widened in recognition and he repeated, "Oh! A private poetry reading!" Chuckling to himself he agreed, "Well, I do love a good 'poetry reading' after dinner," as he thrust his hips into mine. I blushed wildly and cleared my throat awkwardly as he pulled away. "I'll meet you up in my room later, I just have to finish off my part of the show," he said with a wink before he turned away.

Rachel finally managed to get the guy she was dancing with to let go of her and she joined Puck on stage. Holding up an handheld mic, she asked the crowd, "How's everyone enjoying themselves?" The crowd cheered and she laughed energetically, "That's great! Now if you don't mind, Puck and I would like to sing something special for all of you." The crowd cheered more, making her burst into a smile. Apparently even though Santana had the highest numbers, Rachel was the real singing star of the girls and everyone loved to hear her voice. The speakers started blaring a karaoke track and I couldn't stop myself from whooping with the crowd.

"I got chills—they're multiplying," Puck sang as he walked towards Rachel, handheld mic in hand, his body mic removed. "And I'm loosin' control, 'cause the power you're supplying—IT'S ELECTRIFYING!" He fell down to his knees and fanned himself before turning back to the audience and winking.

"You better shape up," Rachel started, walking towards the audience, "'Cause I need a man, and my heart is set on you!" I didn't see where she was pointing, but I was pretty sure by how she smiled that Finn was at the end of her point. "You better shape up, you better understand to my heart I must be true!"

"Nothing left, nothing left for me to do," Puck chimed in as they both walked into the audience.

"You're the one that I want," they sang, Puck pointing to me as Rachel pointed at her client for the night as the other workers sang back up around the club. "Oo-oo-oo, honey, the one that I want…oo-oo-oo, honey! The one that I want…oo-oo-oo! The one I need, oh yes indeed!"

Rachel marched over to some random guy and put a hand on his shoulder. "If you're filled with affection you're too shy to convey, meditate in my direction," she let her hand go down his chest and almost to his crotch as she finished with a whispered, "Feel your way." Rachel popped back up with a wink and then went to her client.

"I better shape up," Puck started to sing and I jumped, not realizing he had worked himself right behind me, rubbing up against my ass, "'Cause you need a man."

"I need a man who can keep me satisfied," Rachel echoed, but I couldn't concentrate on her anymore, not with how Puck was thrusting against me.

"I better shape up if I'm gonna prove…"

"You better prove that my faith is justified."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure down deep inside," she sang, going into the chorus even though Puck had stopped singing.

I turned around. He had backed away from me and soon started coughing, sweat pouring down his face. Then he passed out straight into the arms of Sam Evans. Sam looked around in a wild panic before pulling the unconscious Puck up into his arms in a bridal carry and running him out of the room.

Soon the rest of the audience was looking over and whispering, trying to figure out what had happened. Santana stage whispered loud enough for most of the club to hear, "I bet Puck won't be giving his fill tonight!"

"Don't be mean, 'Tana!" Sugar hissed at her, looking off to where Puck was dragged away.

Rachel nervously went back up to the stage as the crowd's whispers grew louder. She looked at them blankly for a while before pouting and saying, "You guys didn't let me finish my song!" The crowd fell silent and she went on, "Puck was just trying to give me a solo, after all. Maybe you should let me sing something for you guys to make it up to him, what do you say?" As the group cheered she smiled in relief that they accepted her lie and she nodded at the men running the sound. The speakers started playing a backing track to "My Heart Will Go On" and I made my way back to my friends to find out what to do next.

—

Sam placed Puck on the couch backstage and watched him in concern. Puck had gotten the lead partly because of his endurance (and partly because of his bad boy stage persona that really was a hit with all the buyers) and the whole time Sam knew him, he never saw him even sweat. Now the guy was feverish and warm and hadn't even moved since he fell into his arms.

"Excuse me," a timid voice said next to him. Sam looked over and made room for Emma Pillsbury, Schue's long time girlfriend and the closest thing the club had to a nurse. She removed a small bottle of smelling salts from her purse and kneeled down next to Puck. After a few moments of those under his nose, Puck moved and groaned, slowly opening his eyes to focus on Emma.

He made a face as he remembered what had happened and he heard Rachel belting out her emergency back up song. "I really hate that song," Puck muttered.

"Yes, well, everyone loves hearing it, even if Titanic came out a few years ago," Emma said, trying to be as polite as possible even though Rachel wasn't there.

"Yeah, and that Jacob guy hasn't heard her sing it before, though, and he'll probably love it," Sam shrugged, handing Puck a water from the nearby cooler.

Puck rolled his eyes as he slowly sat up, "I bet he's wetting his pants over it right now." He took a gulp of the water and wiped the sweat from his head.

"I should get back to work, I guess," Sam said. "Good luck with the King," he added to Puck before leaving. Puck nodded in acknowledgement and finished off his water.

"Let's get me ready for the King, then," he said. "God, it makes me sound like I'm talking about Elvis or something…"

"You sure you can go through with it tonight? Maybe you should rest—"

"The show must go on, remember?" Puck said, standing up, "You know Schue would never let me take a night off; you're practically married to the man." Emma looked like she wanted to argue but eventually she sighed and nodded before going to Puck's wardrobe to find the right outfit for his night with the King.

—

My friends had advised me to go on to his room because Puck always goes on with the show no matter what due to Schue's philosophy. So I waited nervously inside of his room, examining the walls. He had posters up of some old school bands like AC/DC and the Stones, stuff my dad loved and I grew up listening to. There were very few pictures of anyone, but there was one of a pretty little baby with blond hair and the same eyes Puck had. Puck was holding her up and kissing her cheek while an older brunette woman watched with a smile. In the same frame there was a picture of Quinn playing Pat-A-Cake with her, their smiles identical. I felt a pang in my heart as I picked up the frame to look more closely.

"Sorry if this isn't poetic enough for you."

I turned around and nearly dropped the frame as I saw Puck. He was wearing dress pants and a mostly unbuttoned dress shirt, both in black, looking sexy and stunning. Before I could comment, however, he frowned and walked over to take the picture frame from me.

"I didn't mean to intrude, I'm sorry," I said immediately. "It's just your…your daughter? She's really cute."

Puck softened and gave me a sad smile before looking back at the pictures. "Yeah, she's something special. We don't see her much, but her mom and I didn't last too long anyways," he said quietly before putting the frame back down and pulling at my hand.

"Want some champagne?" He asked, pulling me towards the table set up for us. "Maybe some supper?"

"I'd just, um, rather get it over and done with while I still can," I said.

"Okay," Puck sighed, climbing onto the bed and sprawling out, "Then why don't you come over here, hmmm?"

"I'd prefer to do it standing," I replied. As he started getting up I shook my head, "You don't have to stand. Sometimes it's long and you should be comfortable." Puck looked at me like I had grown an extra head so I figured it was best to explain how my songs were different than most musical theater pieces, completely obvious to the fact that he thought that we were going to have sex.

"What I do is quite modern compared to everything else I know, but I think you'll like it if you give it a chance," I explained.

"Oh, I'm sure I will," Puck smirked.

I turned away from him and looked out the window to find Brittany, Blaine, and Artie out there. They mouthed at me to keep going and I turned back around, hoping Puck wouldn't see them. I cleared my throat and tried to recite one of the songs, but nothing came out,

"Sometimes it can, um, take a while for inspiration to come," I told him.

He grinned and nodded, "Let me help, then." Before I could fully process what was happening, Puck was standing right in front of me and reaching for my zipper. "Does that inspire you?" Puck asked before throwing me onto the bed, my fly undone. I was too bewildered and confused (and turned on) to fight him and he climbed on top of me, straddling my hips, "I need to 'feel the poetry' in me—or do you want to feel my poetry in you?" He chuckled and ground his hips against mine.

Finally I pushed him off and yelled, "All right! Okay!" I stood up and took a deep breath and zipped up my pants. Then I started reciting one of the songs from our show, "Your eyes make the stars look like they're not shining. Your hair falls perfectly without you trying—how's that? Is that what you want?"

"Oh, yes! Poetry! Naughty words, of course, keep going," Puck groaned.

I was still confused but I kept going, reciting my own song. "You're so beautiful and I tell you everyday. I know when I compliment you, you don't believe me, and it's so sad you don't see what I see—"

"Such good words, so dirty," Puck kept moaning, reaching a hand towards his pants, his hips rolling up to meet it.

Suddenly that warm feeling took over me again and I sang out, "When I see your face," and Puck opened his eyes and looked at me, actually taking in what I was trying to tell him. "There's not a thing that I would change, 'cause you're amazing just the way you are." I joined him on the bed and continued, "And when you smile the whole world stops and stares for awhile, 'cause you're amazing just the way you are."

"His lips, his lips," I sang, running a finger over his pouty lips, I could kiss them all day if he'd let me. His laugh, his laugh, he hates but I think it's so sexy. He's so beautiful and I tell him everyday.

"Oh you know, you know, you know I'd never ask you to change. If perfect's what you're looking for than just stay the same," I sang as I stood up, grabbing his hands to make him join me. "So, don't even bother asking if you look okay, you know I'll say…"

With that I started dancing him around the room as I sang the chorus again. As I led him around and he started to smile, I felt my heart rate increase and I didn't even care that my friends were watching from an open window and silently cheering me on. As I wrote the song I had tried to imagine the perfect man, and there he was, right in front of me. I wasn't just singing this song for no reason; I had chosen that one to recite because I had completely fallen for Puck. And when I finished, I looked into his eyes and knew he was feeling the same thing.

"I can't believe it," he said softly, his arms around my neck like I had held him earlier on the dance floor. "I'm in love with a young, sexy, talented, rich man."

"Rich?"

"Not that that's important," he said quickly.

"…I'm not rich."

"…But you're the King. Your drug empire is huge—"

"No, I'm a writer," I said.

"A writer?" Puck asked, confused.

"Yes, a writer," I repeated. "Blaine said—"

Puck pulled away, "Oh fuck, no, you're not one of Blaine's poor little artist friends, are you?"

"I guess I am?"

Before Puck could freak out more, Schue's voice came booming from the door, "Right over here, Sandy…"

"Shit!" Puck whispered. He turned to me, "Hide! He can't know you're here!" I dashed under the table and hoped that the tablecloth would cover me and that the guy wouldn't want to eat. To this day I don't know why I didn't just go out the window since we were on the ground floor, obviously.

"Puck!" Schue called out, knocking on the door, "Are you ready?" The door opened and he asked, "Where did you go?"

"I was getting myself…prepped," Puck said. The way he said it definitely implied something dirty to it and Schue seemed pleased with that.

"Well, I best be going then and leave you two alone," he said, leaving the room and closing the door.

"I imagine after everything you did onstage tonight you'd like a drink," Sandy said, walking towards the table.

"No!" Puck yelled. "No, I, uh…I don't need anything now that you're finally here."

"Oh," Sandy said, sounding quite pleased with that. "Well, I'll have some champagne if you don't mind—"

"When I see your face there's not a thing that I would change," Puck said in a rush, "Because you're amazing just the way you are." Sandy turned to face Puck and he continued, "And when you smile the whole world….stops and stares for a while. Because you're amazing just the way you are."

"That's beautiful," Sandy said after a moment, sounding a bit choked up.

"It's from Spectacular, Spectacular. Now I truly understand what those words mean now that you're here," Puck said, stepping closer and closer until their feet were right next to each other. I couldn't see their faces, but I could hear what I was sure was kissing. "Fuck me," Puck muttered.

"Wha—"

"No! You're right; we should wait until opening night, shouldn't we?" Puck said. "I can only perform those words if I hold myself back from ravishing you," he said, pushing Sandy towards the door. "You must go!" Despite Sandy's protests, he was soon out of the door and I crawled out from under the table.

"Do you have any idea what would've happened if you were found?" Puck asked me. "Do you not realize how much power he has? His bodyguards? His whole gang of workers?"

"I don't know who he is, I'm from Ohio and just moved here a few months ago," I said.

"Ohio?" He tilted his head, "I'm so sorry you ever had to live there. Ew. I visited once when I was a kid; it was so boring."

I laughed. "It's extremely boring, I can promise you that."

"I mean, I'm from New Jersey which is kind of the worst place on Earth, but at least it's not Ohio," Puck said shaking his head. Then he sighed, "But seriously, this guy is dangerous and powerful. You're lucky he didn't catch you. And you really need to go, like, now."

I stepped over towards him, "But what you said earlier, about you being in lo—"

"I forgot my hat," Sandy said, coming back in. He took one look at us so close together and glared, "What in the name of Josh Groban is going on here?"

"Sandy!" Puck exclaimed, "Meet the writer of the show! I was so inspired by meeting you that I had to call him in on short notice!"

"How did he get here so fast?"

"He was walking right outside, the rest of the crew should be coming by shortly," Puck lied. But my friends heard him and Blaine came in through the window.

"Sorry, we might need some help getting Artie in through the window," Blaine explained. But Brittany simply picked him up and carried him in, put him down, pulled his wheelchair in, and then placed him in it. "…Or maybe not. Anyways, let's take it from the top, shall we?"

"I am so sorry, Sandy," Schue said, running in through the door. I hadn't known it, but he had been spying on us and when he saw me he ran over in a hurry.

"It's okay, Schue, Sandy knows all about our emergency rehearsal," Puck said, giving Schue a look that said just go with it. "The rehearsal to work with our new writer," he continued, moving his head in my direction, "Since Sandy loves his work so far. Which is why he'll invest."

"Invest?" Schue asked. Then he lit up, "Invest! Ah, yes, Sandy, let's go to my office and do some paperwork—"

"What's it about?" Sandy asked. "If I'm going to invest, I need to know what it's about."

"It's about, um…Blaine?" Blaine looked at Mr. Schuester and gaped.

"It's about love!" I finally blurted out. They all turned to me. "It's about love and how it overcomes all obstacles. It's set in, um…" I looked at the posters around the room and finally said, "Los Angeles!

"And to make it as current as possible, it's a gay love story. You see there's a, um, stripper, a male one, that's Puck's part," I went on since no one seemed to stop me. "And he's supposed to sleep with a-a record executive! Because then his band can finally sign a contract. But through a mix up he thinks that this young, penniless…waiter is the executive and he falls in love before he realizes who it really is."

"I'll play that guy!" Brittany said. As everyone stared at her she said, "What? I can totally play a guy part, I even sleep with girls all the time."

"Right…" Blaine said.

"Okay, but what happens next?" Sandy asked.

"So the two must hide their love so the executive doesn't find out and cancel the contract," I said.

"And the waiter also plays guitar and the guitar only speaks the truth!" Artie slurred. "That's Blaine's part—see, he's totally small enough for Brittany to hold."

"That's definitely not really part of the script—"

"I love that idea!" Sandy exclaimed in excitement.

"It's my favorite part I've ever had!" Blaine exclaimed.

"So he gives it all away to the exec, right?" Sandy said, sitting down in one of the chairs and watching intently.

"Yes!" Schue said, providing his own idea, "And there'll be a wild, long dance scene that truly embodies the hazy underworld we all love."

"But what happens in the end?"

"Let me help you picture it," I said. I moved Puck and Brittany together, holding hands and the others went off to the side. "The two are pulled apart by the exec's evil powers that be, but in the end the stripper can't deny his feelings for the man he truly loves." I gazed at Puck for a moment until he started looking at me, that look he had given me earlier in his eyes again and I knew I wasn't imagining that.

"Anyways. The band decides that getting a record contract that way is wrong, so they help distract the exec long enough for the two lovers to escape," I continued. "And the guy gets pissed and throws a fit but they don't care," I finished.

"Ahhh! Why would he not choose me?" Schue cried out dramatically, throwing himself on the floor.

"Oh, no one could play him like you," Blaine said.

"And no one's going to," Schue replied.

We all turned and looked at Sandy, waiting for him to say if he would invest in this makeshift musical. Finally he said, "I like it."

—

Later that night the workers and my friends all partied in the Moulin Rouge. They drank and laughed and were merry, but I locked myself up in one of the offices with my laptop in an attempt to fix the musical to be about what we told the King it was about. But around 3:30 AM, as the party went on, I went outside to get some fresh air. I cracked my knuckles and entered the night air with a yawn. It was then that I saw Puck hanging out on the first level of the fire escape.

"Hey," I said softly, walking up the steps to join him on the fire escape.

"Hey," he said back. His arms were leaning on the rail and he had a beer bottle in his hand but it looked fairly full. I just stood next to him and leaned my hands on the railings.

"I figured you'd be partying, celebrating your success and all," Puck said.

"I'm not really the partying type. Plus I had to make changes to the script to make sure it fit the new plot," I explained. "Blaine originally wanted me to write about witches."

Puck snorted, "A musical about witches? Sounds like an Anderson idea."

"I guess," I said, "I don't really know him. Or Artie. Or Brittany. Or anyone. All I know is that I have to quit my day job to focus on this, I guess."

"What do you do?" Puck asked.

"Oh, I'm just a receptionist. I needed something to pay rent, you know."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know that," Puck said.

"So did you…did you take this job to just pay rent or was it to help your daughter?" I asked.

Puck was quiet for a while, judging me to see if it was worth telling me the full story. And I guess I passed this test. "I got this job to make money until I could make it big on my own as a singer. I met Quinn and we went out a few times and she got pregnant. We almost lost our jobs, but it turns out a lot of sick guys will pay to have sex with a pregnant chick," he said looking straight ahead. "She went kind of crazy from it, she wasn't used to getting as many clients as me, y'know, since she was a background singer and dancer until then. Then Beth was born and Shelby, this woman who used to work here, adopted her and it's cool because she'll actually let us see her when a lot of others wouldn't let prostitute parents near their kid." Puck finally looked at me and asked, "Why do you care?"

"I just liked how happy both of you looked in those pictures," I said. He tilted his head and studied me more and I asked, "What?"

"Just out of all the things to look at in that room, you chose those pictures," Puck said with a shrug. "It's just strange."

I kept watching him closely, trying to work up the nerve to ask him the question on my mind. After a while he said, "Anderson is right, though; you're pretty damn talented." He pushed the bottle to his lips and took a short sip.

I smiled, "I know. But thanks for the encouragement." After another silence I finally worked up my nerve and asked, "So, what you said in there, that you…that you love me. Was that true or just…?"

"Just an act?" Puck filled in for me. I nodded and he said, "Of course."

"It felt and looked real."

"Listen, Kurt…" he sighed, "I'm a prostitute. I don't try saying I'm an escort or anything, I'm a hooker, okay? I'm paid to tell whoever I'm sleeping with whatever they want, and that little poem or yours showed you were a romantic, so I went with that. Of course it was just an act."

"I guess I'm just kind of stupid for thinking you'd love me," I sighed, taking my own opportunity to look out into the distance dramatically. "I'm fabulous, mind you, but you're definitely more…experienced than me. I've barely kissed any guys."

"Not even kissing? How much of a prude are you?"

I rolled my eyes, "I'm not a prude; I just never had an opportunity. I lived in a small town and knew no gay guys. Then I went to college and I got busy with school and checking in on my dad on the weekends so I didn't get a chance there, either."

"Your mom couldn't take care of your dad?"

"My mom died when I was eight."

"Oh…sorry."

"Not your fault," I said simply.

"Gotta be weird growing up without a mom when you're as flaming as you are. No offense," Puck said.

I couldn't stop myself from letting out a laugh at that. "Thanks for being honest about it," I said. "I guess it wasn't the easiest, but my dad accepts me, he just doesn't understand why I'd rather listen to Liza then Mellencamp."

"Well that makes two of us," Puck teased with a laugh.

The streetlights were glowing brightly in the dark light of the city. I was watching a neon sign blink out in the distance when Puck finally spoke again. "You know, it's nothing personal," he said quietly. "I just can't really risk falling in love because of my job and all. There are so many gay men in this city waiting for a guy like you, though."

"But a life without love? You're seriously going to commit yourself to that?" I asked incredulously. "That's ridiculous! Don't you know the Beatles? All you need is love, right?"

"Says the boy who's never been in love," Puck pointed out.

"Touché," I said, looking down at my hands. Then I looked back to him and I said defiantly, "I know you feel the same about me that I feel about you, though. And I know that scares you."

"…Look, Kurt, I have to live somehow, and I can't do something that'll hurt my ability to do my job," Puck said, climbing up the stairs to the next level of the fire escape.

"But look at how we ran into each other like this, how we met by a string of coincidences and misunderstandings. I think it's destiny, and I don't believe in things like that," I said, following him up the stairs. "Give me a night to change your mind, please."

"You can't afford a night with me, Kurt," he said, patting my cheek condescendingly. He put his hands on the railing in front of him and I did the same, slowly letting my closest hand move until it was on top of his.

"Your stomach just did a summersault, didn't it?" I asked breathlessly with a cheeky grin.

Puck yanked his hand away and shook it out. "Are you always this much of a free spirit? You don't seem like the type."

"I'm definitely more prissy, or so I've been told," I agreed. "But something about you makes me act crazy. I guess it could be—"

"Don't you say it, don't you dare, Hummel; I know you aren't really in love with me," Puck said.

I stared at him for a while, eyebrow raised. Did he really think I didn't love him? That I was just talking like I was just for the sake of it? Was he that in denial about love existing anywhere? "

"Oh no, I love you. And I can prove it." With that I ran up the remaining two flights of the fire escape to the top, hearing Puck follow after me.

"Are you crazy? This is totally not safe, dude, this ladder totally isn't stable—and how does this prove anything?"

"It proves I'm doing stupid things, therefore I'm in love," I said, holding my arms out and letting the slight breeze flow around me like I was in Titanic. To accompany the action I sang out, "Near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on," in the most dramatic way possible.

"I think it just proves you're a drama queen. And that maybe you really were partying in there and got a hold of some champagne."

"It also proves that you love me because you chased after me to make sure I was okay," I added after a moment, crossing my arms and turning to face him with a knowing smirk. As he stared at me I continued humming the chorus of the song.

Puck started heading down the stairs after a few moments of not being able to come up with the right thing to say. I followed after him. By the time we reached we reached the next level he said, "I get that I'm a badass and you're the innocent little boy, whatever, but I don't get you, princess. You haven't even known me for twenty-four hours and apparently you're in love with me? You really think some sort of relationship can be built from that?"

"I think stranger things have happened," I said. "Like a small town boy getting thrown into a world of sex and clubbing after a woman fell through his ceiling."

"What?"

"Brittany fell through my ceiling, that's how I met everyone. So I think this whole side of my life is going to be strange. So, yeah, stranger things will happen."

Puck continued going down the next flight of stairs and I chased after him. "You know the jealousy would get to you."

"I can't help but notice that you're only giving arguments for why I can't handle it. I'm pretty sure you realize you love me," I said, saying the word love in a sing-song voice.

Finally we were on the ground and Puck turned to face me. "Fine. One night. I'm not promising anything. But one night, free of charge, and then you can get over this stupid obsession, okay?"

Before he could say anything else, I took his face in my hands and kissed him gently, doing my best to tell him how I felt with just my lips on his. When I pulled away I looked at him right in the eyes and smiled softly. After a second he smiled back and I knew he had finally let me in.

"You're going to be bad for business; I can tell," he whispered against my lips before kissing me again.

"Do I still get that night?" I asked with a cheeky grin. Puck rolled his eyes and nodded, still smiling.

He took me to his room and he locked the door tight. "Are you sure?" Puck asked.

"Am I sure that I want to lose my virginity to someone I love? Yes, yes I am. I'm already twenty two after all," I pointed out. I threw off my suit jacket, "I've stretched myself before; I won't break or tear."

"So romantic," Puck said making a face.

And this is one thing I'm not going to detail. I'm not going to say how many fingers he used or anything like that. All I need to say about it was that it was tender but still hot, sensual but still sweet, and that it was the perfect way to lose my virginity.

Afterwards, we were facing each other, my right hand holding his as his left hand laid tangled in my hair, my head burrowed into his chest. I was nearly asleep when he said, "Noah."

I looked up, confused. He said, "Noah Puckerman. That's my real name. I wanted you to know that."

I smiled and gave him a short kiss, "Thanks for telling me."

Puck shrugged and then grinned. "I figured if you were going to yell out a name again it might as well be my real one." He screwed up his face and moaned in a high pitch voice, "Puck, harder Puck, oh Puck, more Puck!"

"Shut up, you ass," I said, taking a pillow and hitting him on the head, "I don't sound like that!" He launched himself at me as we both laughed, pinning me underneath him, my hands crossed at the wrist over my head.

"Round two?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow. I kissed him in response.

—

"Making the Moulin Rouge a true theater will cost a lot of money," Sandy said, "So, in return, I want a contract that binds Puck to me and me alone."

Schue gaped for a moment. "Sir, that's, um, technically illegal. The actual contract can't happen, but I can make a promise that he won't be with anyone but you. A written one, it just can't be a legal document."

Sandy frowned but nodded. "Fine. In exchange then I want the deeds to this little club."

"Sandy, I don't think that's necessary—"

"I'm not taking no for an answer. Puck will be mine and if anything goes wrong, I'll have one of my thugs take it out on you to make it clear," Sandy said. "I'm not a jealous man, William, I just don't like people touching my things." He clenched his hat tightly, looking about ready to break it. "Are we clear?"

Schuester stared at him, freaked out more than he expected to be by the man. "Crystal, Sandy."

—

Puck was supposed to have dinner with Sandy that night, but instead he went to my place for dinner, rewrites, wine, and some more fun.

We just needed Blaine to leave at some point to enjoy the last part.

"So the exec finds out, as we talked about," I said, reading through the script on my Mac, "And he goes mad with jealousy and makes the stripper tell the waiter that he doesn't love him."

"Oh, no!" Puck said dramatically.

I jumped out of my chair and did my best Brittany-as-a-man impression and declared, "'Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love!' he'll cry out. And then he throws money at him a la La traviata and call him a whore."

"Brilliant!" Blaine called from the kitchen (at least he was making us food).

"And then the magical guitar says—"

"Hey, don't steal my line, Hummel!" Blaine called from the kitchen, walking in with some food on a tray. "If I have to play this stupid part, I'm getting my full amount of lines, thank you."

I rolled my eyes and took one of the chips from the tray, "Fine, Blaine, tell Puck the line." As I popped it into my mouth, Blaine said, "'The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.'"

Puck raised an eyebrow, "Isn't that a Nat King Cole song?"

"…Maybe," I said. "It fits with the plot, though."

"Hey, I'm not complaining, I just can't let you get too big of a head, can I, Princess?" Puck teased.

"Blaine?" I asked without turning around. "You might want to go before you catch me teaching Puck here a lesson in how big his head is."

"Kurt that's the worst sexual innuendo ever," Puck said bluntly as Blaine laughed.

"I've gotten better, though, right? Less Bambi and more…I don't know, who's the most sexual Disney character?"

"Aladdin," Blaine said right as Puck said, "Jessica Rabbit."

"Well, as much as I hate being called a girl," I stood up and struck a vampy pose, letting my hands splay on my hips. In my most sensual voice I said, "I'll be your Jessica Rabbit, dahling."

Puck looked from how I was looking at him and biting my lip and then turned to Blaine. "Yeah, you may seriously want to leave now, Blaine."

"All right, all right, I'll leave you two alone. See you at rehearsals tomorrow," Blaine laughed as he left. "Don't tire yourselves out!"

As soon as the door was closed, I pounced on top of Puck. "Ah, rabbit's got some claws, huh?" Puck said in that low, hoarse voice he used right before the real fun started.

"'I'm not bad,'" I insisted in my best attempt at Jessica Rabbit, "'I'm just drawn that way.'"

"Ooo, I like it when you're bad," Puck growled before flipping us over as I let out a laugh as his hands gripped my ticklish spots on my side.

We barely managed to stop ourselves from tiring each other out.

—

The best part of this affair was that finding an excuse for the writer to spend time with the lead wasn't hard whatsoever. Time after time we'd tell Sandy that Puck had lines to run or that he had to help with edits or that his monologue wasn't up to par or we needed to do more character research. And, to be fair, he was doing character research. They say to write about what you know and I definitely was doing just that. I was telling the story of a sex worker of sorts falling for a poor man who needed to hide it from a powerful man. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize he was playing himself.

And thank God Sandy was no rocket scientist. While Blaine knew flat out, everyone else just suspected or knew from their own reasoning. Sandy, however, was completely oblivious. But no one felt a need to tell on us and Sandy was never the wiser.

Things were going great until one day we took it too far.

—

"The dinner is all prepared for you, Sandy, you and Puck will be dining like kings," Schue said.

"You can eat it yourself, William," Sandy cried out desperately. "His affections are waning!"

"Impossible!" Schue insisted. "Puck loves you very, very much. He knows you want to make him a star and he's ready for it." Just then, Will looked up to see Puck and Kurt up in the rafters, kissing like they needed each other for oxygen. Before Sandy could realize he saw something bad, he looked back to him and smiled sympathetically.

"I know his work's important, but why is he always with that writer?"

"He just wants to make a good debut for you, sir, to make sure he makes you proud. But I'll tell him to take tonight off for you. Eight o'clock in the main dining room. He'll love it. You'll love it. I promise," Schue said.

"…Fine," Sandy said. "I'll be back here at eight, right on the dot." Schue nodded again and Sandy left. As soon as the main doors were closed, he ran up to the rafters, ready to knock some sense into Puck's thick skull.

"I'll be there at eight, I promise," Puck called after Kurt. But when he turned around he ran into his boss.

"Are you insane, Puckerman?" Schue said tensely. "Sandy has the deeds to the place and he's ready to make you a star and finance you into an actual performing career. And you're risking not just your future, but the future of your coworkers and your family just to fuck some twink with a crush on you?"

Puck blinked repeatedly, trying to come up with an excuse. "Mr. Schuester, don't be ridiculous—"

"I saw you two making out like you were a couple of teenagers in a romantic comedy. I run a business, not a high school," Schue said heatedly. "You have to tell the boy that this little crush is over. Now."

He started walking away when he heard a peculiar gasping sound. He turned around and managed to grab a hold of Puck before he could fall over completely, passed out again.

Will ran him down to his room with the help of Sam. Emma ran him to the the ER when Puck didn't wake up from the smelling salts.

"What did you tell the King?" Emma asked as they waited for the doctor in the hospital room. She smiled softly, "Puck was right; it sounds like you're talking about Elvis."

"I said Puck went to confession with a rabbi. To be cleansed of his sins and be pure for the Duke."

"I didn't think the Jewish faith had confession."

"I'm pretty sure it doesn't," Will sighed. "But the guy doesn't realize that Puck is sleeping with someone else, so what's to make him realize that Jews don't Confess?"

Soon the doctor arrived and ran a few tests. When he finished he turned to Will with a grim face. "He's dying."

Will felt his stomach drop as Emma held a hand to her mouth, trying to stop herself from crying. "I…Puck's dying? I don't understand…how?"

"Well, he's not dying, there's a way to fix it, but it would require surgery he can't afford due to no health insurance," he corrected. "You said he had pneumonia awhile back? Apparently he never got better, he just wasn't contagious anymore and powered through it. He has fluid in his lungs and there's no way he can afford an oxygen machine. Without insurance I can't even tell you how full his lungs are because I'd need an X-ray for that. There's nothing I can do."

Schue bit his lips and looked over at Puck. He looked so peaceful, it was hard to believe that he was dying. "How long does he have?"

"A few weeks maybe, but by the sound of his lungs, it may be less than that," he said. "I'm so sorry."

"How do we tell him?" Emma asked quietly after the doctor left, staring at the health pamphlets on the wall opposite Puck's bed. "I don't think there's a pamphlet for that."

"He can't know, Emma," Will said, closing his eyes as he felt Emma turn to him with a glare. "The show has to go on. He has to keep this charade up or else a whole lot of people will be out of jobs. He needs to keep the show going." He turned to Emma, "Emma, you know I don't want to do this. I want to let him spend his last few days in peace, I want to donate all of the money possible to keep him going, but it's not fair to everyone. What will Quinn do if she has no job? Mike? Finn? Sam? Santana? Tina? All of the kids need this job, you know Mike can't go home because he chose to be a dancer and Quinn would have to live on the streets, she has no college education. Broadway is dead and Rachel wouldn't be able to find a show to be in, not even with her voice. These kids need this show to make it, and the only way we'll get the money for it is if Puck's the lead. And you know that he won't donate money to Puck, he doesn't see Puck as a person, he sees Puck as a pretty doll he can keep on his shelf and have sex with. If he finds out Puck's sick, he'll leave and we still wouldn't be able to afford any treatment."

Emma shook her head, tears forming, but she said nothing. She knew they needed to keep up the charade for the good of everyone else. She just wasn't sure how she'd be able to lie to Puck.

So when Puck woke up and asked where he was, she turned to Will. "You just had another fainting spell; you need to hydrate yourself more. Nothing to worry about," Will said before leaving to let Puck get clothed so they could leave. As soon as the door closed, Will's smile dropped and he ran a hand through his hair. He had never hated himself more than in that moment.

—

"Where were you yesterday?" I asked the next day as we sat in my room. Puck was looking out the window and drinking from a large bottle of water.

"I told you, I was sick. I got dehydrated and had to go to the hospital," Puck said. But I couldn't believe him even though I wanted to. It was the first time I felt any sort of jealousy over his job and it scared me how much anger I felt over it.

"You don't have to lie to me," I said quietly, looking at my hands.

Puck didn't even turn back to me when he said, "We have to end it. Everyone knows, including Schuester. If Sandy finds out…" He turned to me, "On opening night, I have to have sex with that guy, Kurt. And you'll know it and the whole night you'll be thinking about it and you'll go crazy. Just like I did when I had to watch Quinn with those creeps, Kurt. Thankfully I just managed to fall out of love or else I might've done something stupid. I can't risk it with you."

"…Then I'll write a song—"

"Kurt, damn it, not everything can be fixed by one of your songs, okay?" Puck said, standing up. "You're a great writer, but you can't rewrite my past or what I have to do with Sandy."

"I know I can't, Noah," I said, using his real name, the name I called him when we were alone. "I know," I repeated softly, walking over to him and running my hands over his arms, "But whenever you hear it or hum it or sing it, you'll think of me, you'll think of us, and it'll be okay. I'll sing it and remember that you're just doing your job and I won't get jealous. I mean, that'd be like me getting jealous if you had to work late at an office."

"No, it'd be more like if you got jealous over me having to fuck my secretary," Puck argued. "Things don't work like this, Kurt; we have to end it before he hurts you. Or before I hurt you." Puck started to leave, gathering his stuff.

I felt that sensation run through me again, the warmth of creativity. Suddenly I opened my mouth and sang, "Never knew I could feel like this, like I've never seen the sky before…"

Puck turned back around and I knew, just like I knew when I first kissed him, that he was back in.

The next day we started the work on the new scene. The waiter wrote a song for the two of them, a secret love song they could sing to remind themselves that they had each other. While I don't think Brittany sang it nearly as well as me, the song was beautiful, better than any song I had ever written in my life.

We added it to the end of the show, the final song that they sang with each other, backed up a huge chorus as the executive cried to himself over losing Puck's character. For the first time I got chills when I saw my work on stage and I watched happily from the audience, catching Noah looking at me every now and then.

And if it wasn't for Santana's meddling, I'm pretty sure we would've had a happier ending.

—

"Come what may," the chorus sang as Puck and Brittany sang out, "Yes, I will love you until my dying day."

Santana raised an eyebrow as the King kept watching in enjoyment. How stupid was this guy, really? Puck kept eye fucking the country boy so much she was wondering if there was such thing as an eye condom. And the marks on Puck's neck? Please, he was totally screwing around with him and the guy didn't even realize.

And maybe Santana was mean, but she didn't think Sandy, as creepy as he was, should've been left in the dark. And maybe she just wanted revenge because she should've been lead of the whole place instead of some stupid Mohawk'ed loser who knocked up the girl she liked and then ran his hands over Brittany on a daily basis—not that Santana liked Brittany, she wasn't going to fall for someone who wasn't a fellow worker like her, and she wasn't even gay or anything, but Brittany seemed keen on her and—

Santana just didn't like the asshole.

"If you ask me, the ending doesn't make much sense," Santana said, leaning over Sandy's shoulder, her breasts pressed against his shoulder. "Why would Puck run off with the poor writer—whoops, I mean guitar player!" She smirked and walked off, hips swaying. She was sure he didn't swing her way, but maybe he did and would throw some money her way if he saw the goods.

—

As the song ended, Sandy stood up. He knew what Santana had implied and as he watched me looking over at Puck, he knew it was true.

"I don't like this ending," Sandy said simply.

"Don't like the ending?" Schue repeated, standing up. "What's wrong with the ending, Sandy?"

"It doesn't make sense," Sandy said, obviously infuriated. "The stripper has a choice between some lustful waiter and an executive promising him success and all of his dreams. How is the waiter with the guitar somehow more trustworthy than the guy offering him financial security? I think he should make the smart decision and go with the executive. Once the waiter has sex with him a few times, he'll leave him and the stripper will have an even more pathetic life." My skin started heating up.

Blaine moved his head back in surprise. "Um, sorry sir, but that ending doesn't really reflect the ideals this is supposed to promote: truth, beauty, freedom, love—"

"I don't care about your stupid ideals!" Sandy yelled and I felt my blood boil. "Why wouldn't he choose the executive?"

"Because he doesn't love you!" I yelled. It took only a second of the silence that followed for me to realize what I said. "Him," I corrected, "He doesn't love him. The executive."

Sandy set his glare on me and I actually felt afraid of what that man would do to me. "Schuester," he said through a tense jaw, using his last name for the first time. He turned to him, "The ending will be rewritten without the lover's secret song and with the stripper choosing the exec and therefore making all of his friends' lives better. It will be practiced in the morning so at tomorrow night's opening it will be spot on."

"Sandy, I don't think—"

"Schue," Puck said, appalled, "You guys are being so rude to the King over here." Puck stepped out of place and walked over to Sandy. "How about you and I have some dinner tonight and we can come up with a much better ending?" Puck licked at his lips and Sandy was putty in his hands.

"I don't want you sleeping with him," I whispered as soon as we were backstage. I pulled Puck to his separate dressing room so spying eyes couldn't watch us anymore.

"He could ruin this whole thing, Kurt," Puck said. "You know, you promised me you wouldn't get jealous, you promised, and now you're giving all of that up." He started getting out of his costume to get in a more suitable outfit for the night.

"I know, I just…" I couldn't think of anything else to say.

Puck sat by me and ran a hand over my knee in a comforting motion. "Come what may, come what may…" he sang softly.

I looked back up at him and sang with him, "I will love you until my dying day."

He kissed me softly, letting his thumb brush against my cheek. When he pulled away, his eyes were sparkling with laughter. "I know you have a big enough head, but that song really is fantastic."

—

That night Puck went to his room for a private dinner with Sandy, a dinner I was sure would end with a very good dessert for Sandy (yes, I know I'm still horrible at innuendoes). The rest of us ate cheap sandwiches and waited in the theater.

I was trying to just wallow in misery by myself in a corner when Santana found me. "Oh, don't worry, Miss Plath; you'll get your endin' just as long as Sandy get his end in."

"'Tana!" Sugar cried out from across the room. Santana just laughed and before I could stop myself I lunged out for her, pulling at what I was sure was a weave.

"Ow! Get off of me, you fucking twink!" she yelled, scratching after me. It wasn't my proudest moment, fighting a woman, but I knew she was the one who told Sandy and I wasn't in the best state of mind. Thankfully Finn pulled me off of her and Brittany held onto Santana, trying to calm her down. I kept trying to kick at her for a while until Finn and Sam managed to calm me down.

"Kurt, that's bullying, and that's not acceptable," Brittany said, staring me down.

"I think your girlfriend has done worse, Britt," I replied.

"She's not my girlfriend," Brittany said, crossing her arms. "I'm stupid, but even I'm not stupid enough to go out with and fall for a hooker. Why do you think Artie has never made things between him and Tina serious? Or why Blaine won't even ask Mike to dance? Because we all know that no one can handle the jealousy and anger that comes with dating a prostitute."

"Brittany—"

"Here, Kurt, how about we do some karaoke to ease our nerves, huh?" Santana said, grabbing my hand. I followed her onto the stage, squinting as the men from the light booth shined a spot light on us. "Oh, you know what track I want," Santana laughed, nodding to whoever went into the sound booth.

The intro sounded familiar, but it wasn't until Santana started singing that I fully knew what song it was. "Roxanne, you don't have to put on the red light. Those days are over; you don't have to sell your body to the night," she sang. She seemed very pleased with herself and as the audience made up of my friends and her fellow workers started jeering and laughing and cheering her on, I felt heat pool in my cheeks. I was a fool to these people, an idiot, I had let myself believe in love and according to them, I had made the wrong choice. I was about ready to start crying when Santana thrust a microphone in my hands.

As the back up vocals started on the track, I could swear they were actually saying Puckerman instead of Roxanne. The jeers of the crowd started to get to my head and I started singing, pulling myself right into the game just like Santana wanted. "I loved you since I knew you. I wouldn't talk down to you. I have to tell you how I feel; I won't share you with another boy. I know my mind is made up, so put away your make up. Told you once, I won't tell you again…" I choked up before I could finish.

I dropped the microphone, barely hearing the noise it made through monitors, and ran out of the building, ignoring everyone calling after me. I needed to go home and just stop thinking about the club, about Santana, about him.

As I left I passed by Puck's window. He saw me and gave me a soft smile before mouthing come what may. I nodded before running away, tears pricking at my eyes. I was never so grateful to be in a city where no one cared if you cried than right then.

—

"You have to understand," Puck said as he walked into his room, Sandy sitting on his bed. "The most creative people have the craziest imaginations. He thinks we have some sort of affair," he scoffed. "I play along because he's talented, but I don't feel anything for him. He's a boy, and I don't need a boy." He turned to Sandy and looked him up and down lecherously, "I need a man.

"Besides," Puck reasoned, "We only need him until tomorrow. Then we never have to see him again and we can have our own happily ever after, just like the stripper and his true love. Don't you think?"

Sandy grinned. "I definitely agree, baby," he said. Puck ignored how creepy and foreign that nickname sounded coming from Sandy's voice. "And just so you know," he said, walking to Puck, "Once this is a success, I'll be able to make you a star, whether you want to be a rock star or a Broadway singer or whatever. You'll be able to stop this life and your daughter will be so proud."

Puck faltered for a moment. "Y-you know about Beth?"

"Darling," Sandy said, running a hand down Puck's arm, "I know everything about you." Puck watched him with wide eyes at the tone of his voice, goose bumps forming on his skin.

"It's getting kind of chilly, don't you think?" Puck said with a forced air of laughter. "How about I close the windows before we eat?" Without waiting for permission, Puck went to his window and started closing it when he saw Kurt across the street.

At that moment, he realized he couldn't go through with it. He couldn't have sex with Sandy and have his slimy hands all over him and in him and pretend to like it. He couldn't compliment him and beg for more or give him more, not anymore. Puck couldn't exist anymore, he was just Noah, and Noah Puckerman was in love with Kurt Hummel, and that was that.

But before he could say anything to Sandy, the man saw Kurt for himself and Puck, unprepared for his attack, was thrown towards the bed. "The penniless waiter makes an appearance, huh?" He pushed Puck onto the bed, "You made me believe you, you made me fall in love with you, and this is how you repay me? I'm not leaving until I got what I paid for, you whore!"

Sandy, however, was no match for Puck's muscles. Puck pushed him off and sprang out of the bed. "Sandy, don't do this; I have a show to do tomorrow," he tried to reason, backing up towards the door.

Sandy was raving mad. He ran for Puck and pressed him against the door, pressing his hips against his and ripping at Puck's shirt, the sleeve falling off. Puck tried pushing against him but he felt weak, like he could barely breathe. He was starting to panic; Sandy was ripping clothes off of him and he knew what Sandy was planning to do. But before he could even cry out for help, Sandy was hit over the head by a bottle and fell to the ground.

Puck looked up to see Sam standing in front of him, bottle in hand. "Let's get you out of here; Schuester can come up with some cover." Puck nodded and the two went out the window and started walking to Kurt's apartment.

"Why'd you come over?" Puck asked as they waited for some cars to pass through traffic.

"I was going to find Kurt and make sure he was okay since he got shook up by Santana being, well, Santana," Sam explained. The traffic cleared and they kept on their way, "And I saw what he was doing and I jumped in to try to stop it."

"But why?"

"I care about you two," Sam said. Puck watched him as they walked on, not sure if Sam meant he cared about them as a couple, about them separately, or if Sam cared about them in a more than just friends way. "It's like the show, you know? Yeah, getting the production on is pretty cool, but making it big by dealing with a douche like him? Not the way I want to do it. I got your back, bro."

—

I answered my door and found Puck there, breathless, with Sam behind him. Puck came in and hugged me tight. "I can't do this anymore, Kurt," he whispered. "Sandy saw you and saw how I looked at you and—Kurt, I don't want to be with him, I can't go through with sleeping with him tomorrow night, I just can't."

"Then you don't have to," I said.

"Kurt, it doesn't work that way—"

"We'll leave, Noah," I said, not sure if Sam knew his name or not, but I needed him to know I was really talking to him. "We'll leave by the morning and run to where he can't find us. They can have someone else play your part; everything will be fine."

Puck didn't say anything for a moment, but then he said, "We can stay with my ma and sister in New Jersey in the meantime." He pulled back and looked me in the eye, "Let's do it."

After a short kiss I looked at Sam, "Sam, help him pack, please, and make sure no one sees."

"Got it, Kurt," he said. As they started to leave he turned back and said, "Mail me when you get somewhere safe? So I know you're alright?"

I was surprised; I didn't realize Sam really cared about Puck or me since he was always so quiet. "Sure, Sam. I can do that."

—

When Sam stepped out to find something Puck needed to pack, Schue and Emma got inside Puck's room. "Save it, Schuester; you can't convince me to stay," Puck said. "That jackass tried to rape me, I'm not staying here."

"You have to," Will said. "Look, Noah—"

"Don't call me that. You of all people aren't allowed to call me that!" Puck yelled, turning on him. "You made me think as soon as I got here that all I was good for was my body, that even my singing wasn't worth it unless I was covered in tight leather. But I'm worth more than that and I'm worth more than you, you jackass." Puck turned back to his packing.

"He's going to kill Kurt, Puck," Schue said. Puck stilled but said nothing. "He's powerful enough he can do it and you know he can. He'll hunt you down and kill him if we don't do his ending and if you don't sleep with him."

"He can't scare me," Puck whispered. He raised his voice, "No, I'm not scared of him. And I don't need him or you because Kurt loves me, and no matter what you say, I know you truly don't care about me and you never have and Sandy thinks I'm a plaything. Kurt loves me, so I'm leaving with him."

He zipped up his bag and threw it over his shoulder. "Bye Will. Bye Miss P. It's been good knowing you. Except, you know, not at all," Puck snarled before heading towards the window.

"You're dying, Puck," Will called out desperately. Puck stopped and Will went on, "You know it's true."

Puck slowly turned around and looked at them. "Emma?" he asked, knowing she would tell him the truth. Emma looked up at him with her wide eyes shining and nodded.

Slowly, Puck sunk to the floor. The fainting spells, the coughing, and all of those pains in his ribs…he was telling the truth. "I'm dying," he repeated softly. What was he supposed to do? He had to pay for his sister's college, for Beth's college, he had to be there for Kurt, he had so many things left to do in his life, and now he would never have the chance.

"Noah," Will said softly as he kneeled by him, and for once Puck didn't argue with the use of his real name. "Send Kurt away; it's the only way to keep him safe from Sandy's thugs. And if you're sweet on Sandy these last few days, I can probably get him to give money to Beth and to Sara. I'll make sure they never know how you earned it, I promise. But only if you can get Kurt to leave. I know you can act the part, Noah; here's your chance."

Puck looked up, fighting his tears—he wasn't going to cry, not even over his own impending death. "Okay," he agreed, "Can you guys leave so I can…get ready?"

Will looked reluctant to leave but Emma nodded and pulled him up. As soon as the door closed, Puck wiped at his eyes and put on his Queen CD. He needed Freddie's help to get ready for the biggest act of his life.

—

I answered the door, bag packed and a letter to my landlord sealed up. But Puck wasn't holding any bags. "Where's your stuff?"

"I'm staying…with Sandy," he said. "After I left he offered me everything I could ever want. I can't give that up, Kurt. Not for some silly little infatuation."

"What-what are you saying, Noah?"

"Don't use that name anymore, Kurt," Puck said. "I'm not Noah, I'm not who I used to be. I'm one of them, Kurt; I'm a whore, okay? You knew who I was when you went after me. And I can't leave where I belong, Kurt."

"No," I said, unable to believe what Puck was saying, "No, what about last night? Last night you said—"

"This is my home."

"Something must be wrong—tell me the truth, Puck, tell me," I pleaded.

Puck looked me square in the eye, cold and unmoving. "The truth is I'm the stripper and I chose the record executive. That's the real ending." He turned and left without a word, even as I called out his name after him. He never looked up, never reacted.

The next thing I remember I was in my bed, staring at the ceiling as Blaine knelt next to my bed. He had found me in the doorway, crying, and he put me in my bed as I explained the story. "Things aren't always as they seem," he said soothingly.

"Things are exactly as they seem," I said in a monotone voice, not letting my eyes leave the ceiling.

"Look, I know I'm just your sidekick on this adventure and that this sounds stupid because I'm desperately single right now…but I know about love. And Puck? Puck loves you more than most of us could ever hope for," Blaine said.

"Leave me alone, Anderson." When he didn't move I sat up and turned to him, yelling, "GET OUT OF HERE!"

Finally he left me alone and I wallowed in my misery. But what he had said, that Puck loved me, kept sneaking into my mind. I was starting to doubt what Puck had said and I knew there was only one way to find out the truth.

I had to go back to the Moulin Rouge one last time.

—

"The man really loves him, I know he does!" Blaine exclaimed as he walked up to the highest rafters where he'd make his last entrance. He shuffled along, silently cursing his guitar costume the whole time.

"Well, how about for starters that one of them is rich and the other—" Brittany was cut off as she fell asleep and rolled down the stairs in a narcoleptic moment.

"So you agree something's off about it, too?" Blaine said, "Ah, but what is it!"

He finally made it to his spot and watched from his perch. It was truly a beautiful production. It was too bad Kurt wasn't there to see his work put together.

"The boy is here!" Blaine turned his head and saw one of Sandy's henchman whispering to Schuester.

"What? But I told him that Puck to make sure he'd show up so he wouldn't get killed!"

"Well, he'll be killed soon enough."

A light bulb turned on over Blaine's head (figuratively, all the light bulbs really above his head were on and lighting up the stage). That was it! Sandy was going to kill Kurt and that's why Puck sent him away! Now after the show he knew he could tell Kurt everything and it would be alright. But wait…Kurt was there.

He just had to hope Puck could make Kurt leave again.

—

I managed to sneak backstage during the show. I knew where Brittany would be waiting for her next entrance and, much to my luck, her narcolepsy had taken over and she was passed out. I quickly removed her outfit from her and changed into it in order to not be found out as quickly. I wasn't making good decisions anymore, pushed into insanity from jealousy and rage and grief.

The play was well underway, leading up to the new ending of Puck "marrying" Schue's character (none of the states had legalized gay marriage, but it was a happy thought). I grabbed Puck's arm as he walked by the backdrop near where the doors were for the set, "I've come to pay my bill."

"You shouldn't be here, Kurt," Puck said in a panic.

"You made me believe you," I went on, insane with grief and jealousy.

Puck pulled away, "I have to go on stage, Kurt. And you have to leave. I'm serious."

"He's taken, Kurt," Emma tried telling me as she attempted to take Puck away from me and put him on stage. But I just pushed her away and she ran to try to find help.

"I just think I should be able to pay you like everyone else does."

"Jealousy as forced the guitarist-slash-waiter into hiding!" Schue announced from the stage.

"It's not worth it, Kurt, just leave!" Puck tried to push me away, but he was weak at that point, too weak to fight. He gasped as he saw a gun pointed my way, something I didn't know about until later.

"I want to pay you, Puck, so you'll tell me again. Tell me you don't love me!" I nearly shouted.

"Open the court room doors and let my future husband in!"

The doors opened and we were exposed to the audience, me holding onto Puck, dressed in a white tux, and me in Brittany's outfit but missing the fake beard she had put on.

The whole room was silent, audience and actors alike. Finally Will declared, "A ha! Even though he is wearing a disguise, I am not fooled! It is the waiter driven mad by jealousy!" The whole audience laughed and cheered and there it was, just like the night before, I was being laughed at by people who were judging me, judging my actions, when they were no better than me.

I threw Puck down to the ground, "This man is yours now." I took out my wallet, throwing various dollar bills at him. "There. I've paid my whore." As the audience gasped I went on, "I owe you nothing and you are nothing to me." I turned to Schue, "You can take him." Then I turned back to Puck and said the line I had written in the earlier version, "Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love!" I could practically hear Blaine fretting about what his line was from where he was waiting for his entrance, having completely forgotten the original script.

I started walking out through the aisle, a completely broken man, as Schue declared, "See! He doesn't love you! Look how he's fleeing!" The audience turned to me and murmured as I past, probably knowing all to well that I wasn't acting. "Now, it's time to declare your wedding vows up to the heavens!" he continued as he helped Puck up.

But before Puck could say his line, Blaine fell from his place in the rafters and held on for dear life, crying out, "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return!"

The room fell silent again. I stopped in my tracks, the old words still managing to affect me more than I thought possible. Then I heard a small voice.

It was Puck.

"Never knew…I could feel like this…like I've never seen the sky before…" Artie seemed to pick up on what was happening and he got the band to start playing with him. "Want to vanish inside your kiss, everyday I'm loving you more and more…"

I moved just my head to look behind me. Puck was watching me, the same look he had given me again and again, the look I knew meant he truly loved me. He took a deep breath and started singing words I could never hope to write, words right from his heart. "Listen to my heart, can't you hear it sing? Come back to me and forgive everything!" He smiled as I turned to face him completely and he went back to the original lyrics, "Seasons may change winter to spring…but I love you…till the end of time."

"Come what may," I sang and he echoed me as I started walking back. "Come what may," I repeated, running up the stairs to the stage.

"I will love you until my dying day," we sang to each other, holding each other, breathing each other's air.

"Kurt he's got a guuuuun!" We saw Blaine swing from where he was and land on the ground, a gun flying across the stage floor. Tina ran off screaming and Blaine yelled, "He's trying to kill you!"

The audience just laughed and Blaine smiled sheepishly, trying to play it off. The chorus and the orchestra went into the original finale, a sort of mash up of all the songs that were on the show, one of the best musical moments I had written. I took over Brittany's part, singing just the way you are as the ensemble kept on singing around me.

"Wait, wait!" Brittany said, entering from the set's doors in just her underwear and fake facial hair. "Uh…nevermind. Keep on working," she said, joining the female chorus as the finale went on.

Unbeknownst to me, Tina was watching the henchman and managed to knock him out before he could shoot me again. At that point in time I was too focused on singing as they ensemble lifted me and Puck into the air as we sang the full reprise of "Come What May", none of us noticing the gun flying through the air and landing in the aisle.

Sandy was leaving when he heard the gun land behind him. He stopped in his tracks as the metal clanged against the wood on the floor and slowly turned around. If his henchman wasn't going to kill me, he would do it himself.

He turned around and quickly grabbed the gun. He ran down the aisle chaning, "My way! My way!" completely insane like I had been moments before—Puck just had that effect on people, especially when you were in love with him. But Schue finally showed how he cared about Puck and punched Sandy square in the face when he reached the stage, knocking him out cold and letting us finish our reunion/finale.

We hit our final notes and the curtain closed. The audience jumped to their feet and applauded. NO matter how much longer I live and how much more I'll go through, I know I'll never hear a sound that better describes thunderous applause than that crowd's reaction to my work. Our work.

I kissed Puck over and over as they cheered until we were told to get into place for curtain call. I backed off, slowly heading where I knew Brittany had been placed for the curtain call. But before I could let go of Puck's hand, he started gasping and coughing and he fell to the floor, fighting for air.

I immediately knelt down and held him. "Puck? Puck, what's going on—someone get a doctor, please!" I held him tightly, "Fetch a doctor and hold the curtain, please."

"I'm sorry, Kurt," he gasped out. "I'm dying. I'm s-so sorry…"

I held him tighter, refusing to believe what was obviously the truth. He was pale, weak, and barely breathing. He obviously wasn't going to be alive much longer, but I held onto him for dear life, held onto him as if my hold would keep him alive. "No, no, shh, it's going to be alright, you're night dying, you'll be fine." I smiled at him as I started to shake, "I love you."

Puck smiled back, still stunning despite how weak he was. "You have to go on, okay, Kurt? You have…you have too much to give to let me stop you," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Quinn?" He cried calling out, but his voice was too weak to travel far.

Quinn heard anyway and crouched down next to his head, petting at his Mohawk. "Let him meet Beth, please," Puck whispered to her. Tears from Quinn's eyes started trailing mascara down her face but she nodded in agreement. "He'll be a good dad for her, don't you think?" Quinn nodded again and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You live happily ever after, okay? Get out of here, find someone to settle down with, and tell Beth that Daddy loves her."

"Of course," Quinn whispered through her tears.

"Now let me…" he gasped for breath, "Let me talk to this idiot some more." Quinn laughed quietly through her sobs and nodded, standing up and going over to Mercedes and crying into her dress, trying to muffle the sobs as much as possible.

Puck wheezed a bit but finally told me, "Tell our story. It'll make you money, get you work."

"No," I whispered, starting to cry. "This isn't…this isn't happening, you're fine, Puck, you're fine."

"Promise me, Kurt…that way I'll be with you, always."

"I promise…I promise, Puck," I sobbed out, still holding him tight as he got colder and colder.

He smiled softly. It was barely there, but he was still giving me that look to prove he loved me. "Call me Noah, Kurt. That's who I really am."

"I promise, Noah," I repeated for him.

"And promise…promise you won't get a big head," he gasped out, startling a laugh from me.

"Even on your death bed you're an ass, Noah," I whispered, running a finger against his cheek. He let out a choked out laugh, his eyes full of laughter, just like I had come to love.

He kept on gasping for air as I held on and cried. After a few moments that seemed both too long and too short the gasping stopped and Puck was cold and limp in my hands. Dead.

—

I can't tell you how long I cried that night. I can't tell you how or when I managed to let them take Puck's body away. I can't even tell you who spoke at the funeral.

I know that Puck was cremated and that his ashes were thrown illegally into the ocean. It's what he wanted; he wanted to break the law one last time, even in his death, and he got it.

Sara, his sister, and his mom attended the funeral. Quinn introduced me as Puck's boyfriend and they gave me big hugs, glad to know that he was loved by someone in his last moments on Earth. It took all of my strength not to cry into their dresses; they looked so much like Noah.

Quinn later took me to meet Shelby and Beth. I still visit them often. Beth is growing up to look more and more like her mom, but she has the rebellious smile and laughing eyes of her dad. She's going to have men and women alike going after her when she's older, just like her parents.

It's been a year since Noah's death now. My friends have moved on much better than I have. Rachel got a job on Broadway and her and Finn finally got to start dating. Mercedes found a record executive, one of the good ones, and I'm sure her CD will be a top seller. Blaine finally asked Mike out and he's made a success out of the pictures he's gotten of his dancing. Quinn is dating Joe, nothing serious, but they have the same religious beliefs which can be hard to find in New York, and since he knows about her past, it makes it easier for her to be herself around him. Tina and Artie are engaged and have a kid on the way. Rory is treating Sugar exactly how she wants to be treated, like a princess. Schue and Emma finally got married and he's working on running a business in the suburbs, away from the corruption he created in the city. Brittany stayed true to her word and didn't fall in love with a hooker; she waited until Santana got a job as a longue singer before asking her out.

And then there's Sam.

Sam has been the biggest help besides Quinn in writing this out and finding out what happened when I wasn't there. Sam is my rock; he's there when I need to cry or when I need to talk or when I just need someone there. I'm not sure if he wants something more from me, and I know if he does that Noah would want me to go after it, but I'm not ready yet.

Because while I may have claimed "My Heart Will Go On" as one of our songs, I hate Titanic. I hate it with all of my heart. I hate how it's two hour and a half movies crammed into one, I hate how it was two separate VHS tapes, I hate how it's all scored by that song, and I hate the whole plot. How must have that girl felt to know that her grandmother or great-grandmother or whatever really never loved her grandfather? How bad would that have been? If my dad sat down and said he loved someone else but she died so he just married my mom I'd be crushed.

And I can't do that to Sam. I can't be the Rose to his whoever-Rose-married. I don't want him to be a consolation prize. If our relationship heads that way and I start to feel affection that's past friendship for him, I'll definitely go for it. But right now he's just my friend and that's it.

So, I guess that's it. That's my story. Just like I promised him, I wrote it all down. Obviously I need to edit some places and I'm sure I'll need to add more drama to some places, or at least that's what editors will tell me when I submit it, but this is what happened. Now did this process help me get over it? Strangely, I think it did. Because now I know, no matter what I amount to later in life, I had a romantic, thrilling life, and I had a love people would never even begin to hope for. It ended tragically short and had obstacles, but now I know that the ideals I had set forward to learn and write about are real.

Truth, beauty, freedom, love: I've experienced them all. And to say that I have makes me a very lucky man.

—

A/N: Hey, thanks for reading! This was written for the Puckurt Bigbang with some lovely graphic like work done for it. It was a challenge and I wanted to challenge myself to write something so different from what I usually do with a different style which is why I wrote it in first person for the most part and kept the character death. I know it's not the best and part of it was emotional issues over the past few months and other distractions that made writing this hard. And also because I know I'm not the most skilled :). Anyways, reviews would be appreciated and I hope it wasn't too awful!