Chapter Text
It wasn't hard for Kurt to notice the ways in which Noah was different, the ways he had changed since his return. He was clearly more calm and confident, not to mention more secure in himself. He was also more introspective, not in a brooding way, but like he was being more thoughtful before making decisions. It was remarkable.
But Kurt wasn't quite sure what to do with Noah, the boy he loved, so obviously in love with someone new. It wasn't negatively impacting Kurt in any way. If anything, it had made things better between them, made their connection stronger and clearer and their sex even hotter, if that was possible. Yet Kurt, as he sat on the bed beside Noah each night and watched the unbelievable emotions cross Noah's face as he spoke to Adam on the phone, couldn't help being bemused by the whole thing.
One time, he heard Noah laughing, and came looking for him before he'd thought it through. The sight of Noah, stretched out on Kurt's bed, one well-muscled arm propped behind his head as a teasing smile crossed his lips, made Kurt feel breathless--and then immediately disappointed that the laughter wasn't for him. After that, if it happened that Noah was talking to Adam while he was at the Hummel house, once he'd ascertained who was on the phone, Kurt went out of the room and left Noah to his conversation.
One night, after his call was over, Noah came out to find him, flushed and faintly smiling. Noah put his arms around him and sat there next to him, just holding him. Kurt felt vaguely disquieted by this kind of care from Noah.
"You don't have to leave when I talk to him," Noah said, sounding almost amused.
"I don't think I want to hear it," Kurt snapped, and Noah pulled back to look at him, astonished.
"Baby, it's just me."
Kurt scowled furiously at him. "That was definitely not just you talking on the phone."
Noah's eyebrows went all the way up his forehead, then dropped down over his eyes. Then he pulled out his phone and pressed redial.
"What are you doing?" Kurt said, feeling panic rise up inside him, but Noah just put a hand on his chest and made little circles, reducing his panic to mere alarm.
"I can't fix this," he said, "but Adam can." Then, into the phone: "Hey... I've got a problem here, and I need your help."
"Noah..." Kurt hissed, but Noah only smiled blithely in response to something Adam said.
"It's Kurt," he said. "He's feeling a little... I don't know. Left out?" Noah raised an eyebrow at Kurt, who frowned. "Yeah. Sure, just a second." He handed over the phone while Kurt sputtered and fumbled it, and said, "Here. Just talk to him."
Kurt, with twin uncomfortable awarenesses that, one, this was his lover's lover, and two, this was fucking Adam Lambert, put the phone to his ear. With absolute and utter dread, he said, flatly, "Hello?"
The voice on the other end of the line was light and full of humor. "Did you hear the American economy is so bad that Adam Lambert had to start using Sharpies for eyeliner?"
Kurt blinked for a moment, entirely floored by this greeting, and then Noah laughed, and Adam laughed--no, giggled--and Kurt found the corners of his mouth quirking, and a rueful chuckle escaped, and then it was all over, until they were all left gasping with hilarity.
"Okay, okay," Kurt had said, after the laughter had subsided. He'd kissed Noah thoroughly, and swatted him on the thigh, to mild protestation, and then said into the phone, "Hi, Adam. I'm Kurt."
"Really glad to meet you, Kurt," Adam said, and he sounded completely sincere. "Every time you came up in conversation, Noah would comment about how much the two of us together were going to gay up the room. I think his exact words were, 'Way too much fucking glitter.'"
Kurt choked on another laugh, making Noah grin curiously and say, "What?" but Kurt ignored him, curling around the phone.
It was forty-five minutes before he spoke another word to anyone except Adam, and when he said good-night, it was with a smile on his face.
Sometimes we fall down, can't get back up
We're hiding behind skin that's too tough
How come we don't say I love you enough?
'Til it's to late, it's not too late
We only got 86 400 seconds in a day to
Turn it all around or to throw it all away
We gotta tell 'em that we love 'em while we got the chance to say
- Kris Allen, “Live Like We’re Dying”