This came to me after I saw the kitchen scene with Kurt and Burt. And afterwards it started to turn into something more. I was inspired by the latest Glee episode and National Eating Disorder Awareness Week. This is sort of a spin off after BIOTA and will take a life of it's own. There will be Puckurt in later chapters. Trigger Warning: Eating Disorders, Self Injury, Somewhat Mental Illness. -Insert Disclaimer-


He felt physically sickened by the entire ordeal that just happened. He couldn't believe that his father, his own dad would ask him to apologize over something so stupid. But Kurt could feel the real meaning behind it all. The real reason that his father wanted an apology.

Burt Hummel wanted him to apologize for being gay.

That's what this entire thing was about. Not because he had Blaine sleepover, not because he was at a party drinking. It wasn't even because he was in a crappy mood. It was because he loved guys instead of girls. And his father, even though he swore left and right he supported it…his father was a homophobe.

Kurt's stomach clenched painfully as he walked away from him his father. The man that he had once looked up to. The one he could count on to make every one so scared of homosexuality back the hell off. He was walking away from the one person he thought that he could always run to. He was walking away from a man who he'd lost his trust in.

Kurt felt sick and dirty and humiliated.

He felt so frigging wrong.

Kurt bolted up the stairs to his new room as fast as his feet could carry him, slamming the door shut and locking himself in. His stomach continued to roll in circles although he hadn't had anything to eat that day just yet. He made his way to the bathroom connected to his bedroom. He dropped to his knees, emptying the contents of his stomach into the porcelain object. He gagged, his body shivering as his retching finally came to a stop.

A knock on his door shook him from where he was staring with blank eyes.

"Kurt?"

His first reaction was to tell him to go away. He really didn't want to talk to anyone. But then he realized that the voice behind the door wasn't his father. He stood, wiping his mouth off and flushing the toilet before making his way to his door, staggering slightly as he opened it.

"Noah?"

The other male smiled at him sheepishly. "Hey Hummel."

Kurt blinked up at him, reaching a hand up to his forehead to see if he was sick or something. Because there was no way that Noah Puckerman was standing at his bedroom door with a smile on his face. Then all too soon he remembered why he was up here and feeling sick anyways.

"I'm sorry Noah, you have to leave."

Puck looked stricken for a moment, as though he had just been told he was the scum of the earth. He bit at his lip and turned to walk away before Kurt realized how it sounded.

"It's not that I don't like you or anything….it's just…my dad…"

Puck turned to look at him. "What's up with the old man?"

"He doesn't want me being inappropriate under his roof."

Puck stared for a long moment before walking in and shutting the door behind him, clicking the lock in place once more before sitting down on Kurt's chair, staring up at him as though he was waiting. Kurt looked at him dumbstruck. Of all people to be in his room, waiting for an explanation, it was the jock who had thrown him into dumpsters for years.

But even though it was a weird situation, he found himself tearfully retelling every single detail.


Two hours later he was sitting in his kitchen with Puck, laughing and singing to 'Sweet Caroline' while they cooked. Puck offered out a piece of a brownie they had made to Kurt but the countertenor shook his head, talking about extra calories.

"You haven't eaten all day." Puck spoke, raising a brow.

"I'm fine, don't worry." Kurt smiled before turning to him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why are you here? I mean, not that this isn't fun or anything…but…we've never really talked before."

Puck sighed softly before leaning back against the counter. "You weren't drunk at that party. I was hardly buzzed, and Finn was too caught up with his 'I love Rachel and Quinn at the same time' pity party. I saw your reaction."

Kurt turned red. "M-my reaction?"

"When Blaine and Rachel kissed. Then I heard about what happened between you two at the coffee shop. And then you tell me what happened with your father…it sounds like you need a friend right now."

Kurt stared at him for a long moment, then did something he never dreamed of.

Puck just wrapped his arms around the smaller boy as he ran into his arms, holding onto his t-shirt for life as he cried. The jock didn't hate the kid, really he didn't. And after being in glee club with him, he actually came to like the little gay kid. But it seemed like even at Dalton with a zero tolerance bullying policy did nothing to get him someone to really talk to.

"I take it you haven't talked to Blaine since the fight?" A shake of the head. "And Mercedes is busy with Quinn?" A nod this time. "Rachel's trying to steal Blaine so you haven't spoken." Another nod. "So you have no one to talk to about any of this." One last shake before another small sob.

"Well that's a lie."

Kurt looked up at him, looking as though he was slapped. "What?"

"You have me."

Kurt's frown turned into a smile before nodding his head.

The two broke apart when they heard a clear of a throat.


"Dad, I can explain."

"Mr. Hummel."

"Is this some way of rebelling?"

Kurt shook his head, taking a few steps towards his father. "Dad…"

"What have I told you about this sort of stuff under my roof? We just talked about this, Kurt!"

"I know dad! But you don't understand!"

"Don't tell me what I don't understand! You're in my house, latching onto whatever boy comes in!"

Kurt bit at his lip, turning away. "That's not what it is, dad. Noah's my friend."

"So was Blaine, but that didn't stop you from sleeping with him!"

"We shared a bed, dad! Fully clothed! He was passed out the entire time!"

Burt shook his head, about to speak when Finn walked through the room, with Quinn of all people. The two smiled as they rushed up the stairs. "Hey, Burt! Quinn's spending the night!" he called before the shut of a door followed.

"Alright, son!"

Kurt's eyes widened as he flinched.

"Thanks, dad." He murmured lowly, feeling sick once more.

"That's different, Kurt!"

"How is it different dad? That I was hugging Noah and helping my drunken friend while Finn just waltzes in here? You know what he's doing! You just go on ahead and let that happen! But when I do nothing wrong suddenly it's like I deserve the worst son award! Explain this to me dad! Tell me how this is-"

"It's because you're a fag!"

Kurt froze, Noah stared, and Burt cupped a hand over his mouth. A small, feminine gasp echoed through the room as Carole nearly dropped the groceries she was just bringing in after giving Finn and Quinn a ride home. She stared wide eyed at her husband, then at her step-son.

"Burt…" she whispered softly.

Kurt stood frozen, his stomach doing that familiar churning once more.

That's what it was all about. Being the perfect, straight son. That's what his father wanted. He had so many flaws. He was gay. He had pear hips. His voice was too high. He dressed weird.

It was always his fault.

"Kurt…" Burt spoke, taking a step forward.

The countertenor looked to Noah pleadingly and the jock finally took action, grabbing his friends hand and pulling him out the door.

Kurt didn't care that he was crying, that he was gasping or holding onto Noah's hand far too tight for his own good. He didn't care that his father was calling after him or that Finn was staring at the window in confusion or that Carole was standing in the doorway, trying to get him back.

He just followed Noah.

Halfway after walking he stopped. "Noah, wait." He murmured softly as they came to an empty park where he spotted a garbage can.

The jock did as he was told, finally releasing his now friend.

Kurt stood still for a moment.

His coach had wanted the perfect body.

Dalton wanted the perfect grades.

His father wanted the perfect son.

Blaine wanted the perfect guy.

They all wanted him to be perfect. He could do that. He would do that. He took a step forward as he thought about the mental list. He could still prove that he had control. He did have control. He could control what he ate. What he didn't.

He needed that control.

He needed to be perfect.

Kurt doubled over in front of the garbage can, spewing the non-existent contents of his stomach, a smile forming on his face.

He had control.