Chapter Text
“Merry Christmas, baby,” Puck whispered to his boyfriend as he slipped into the other boy’s bed.
Kurt rolled over and curled around Puck, huffing at the cold still clinging to his clothes. “You don’t even celebrate Christmas, Noah.” He replied. “And how did you get in here?”
“Climbed the wall,” Puck said, kissing Kurt softly. “And it doesn’t matter if I celebrate it or not, you celebrate it. We did Hanukkah last week. Just think. In one year, we’ll be in an apartment in New York City, decorating our tiny spot in the world in silver and blue and red and green, and meshing both holidays together.”
“Sounds nice,” Kurt murmured, sleepily.
“It’s only 5:30, baby. Go back to sleep. Knowing Finn, he’ll be up in an hour or two and jumping on your bed shouting about presents. I’ll be right here,” Puck tucked the blankets around them, pulled Kurt closer and closed his eyes. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Puck smiled as Kurt fell back asleep in his arms. Despite everything that had gone wrong in his life, this one piece, this one person, made up for all of it. Kurt’s love and forgiveness was everything he wanted and more. Puck could easily imagine spending the rest of his life with the smaller boy. If Burt didn’t kill him for sneaking in like this, anyway. But way Puck figured it, Christmas was all about love and forgiveness. Peace on Earth (in the Hummel-Hudson home at least) and goodwill for men and all that shit, so Burt wouldn’t be too mad.
Abandoning his thoughts for now, Puck allowed the warmth of Kurt and the soft bed to pull him back to sleep.
--
A slow, insistent beeping tugged at the edge of Puck’s awareness, dragging him from his slumber. His body felt cold, and heavy, and there was an odd taste in his mouth. It certainly didn’t feel anything like curling around Kurt in Kurt’s bed. A TV played softly in the background, an episode of some sort of crime drama, given the tones of the actors’ voices, and the bleak background music. Puck struggled to open his eyes.
He was in a hospital, though he couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten there. The room wasn’t so much a room as a curtained off area, next to a window. Bright sunshine filtered in past the blinds on the window to his right, and to his left: soft pink pastel curtains that separated him from the area beyond. Other then the TV up on the wall opposite his bed, the room was barren, only a few purple flowers in a vase next to his head to brighten it.
His head ached, and he was confused, and he was starting to freak out. The heart monitor next to him began to beep faster as he fought to breath past the tightness in his chest. The curtain pulled back suddenly, and a red-haired nurse in Snoopy-decorated scrubs walked over to his bed.
“Hey, there, sleepy head,” she said cheerfully. She adjusted something on the machinery to his left, and smiled at him. “Welcome back to the land of the living. How are you feeling? Does anything specifically hurt, or just an over all, been-asleep-too-long ache?”
Puck attempted to get his mouth, throat and voice to all work in unison. The tube supplying oxygen to his nose tickled, and he struggled to get his arm up to poke at, but only succeeded in smacking himself in the face. He looked at the nurse.
“Asleep?” he asked as he finally got his voice to work.
“Yep! You’ve been unconscious for the last 6 weeks. Your body’s going to be a bit slow for the next few hours, while your brain catches up with the fact you’re awake, and a doctor will be by in a little bit to explain your injuries and the after effects of the coma.” She checked on the readouts from the machines, not seeming to care that she’d just tilted Puck’s world on its axis.
“Coma?” he managed, past a dehydrated throat. Then he started to panic again. “Christmas?”
The nurse laughed lightly. “Not that long, silly. Only a month and a half. It’s the middle of November, you’re still in time for Christmas.”
She wandered out after that, and Puck struggled to come to terms with what he’d just learned. He’d gone to sleep next to his boyfriend on Christmas morning, but the nurse said it was only the middle of November. That wasn’t just a month and a half. That was almost a year! He didn’t understand what was going on.
He turned his attention back to the TV as the drama ended and a news program came on. He listened as the anchorwoman said in a clear, high voice that the date was ‘November 17th, 2010’.
November 2010. A full year (and a month) BEFORE he went to sleep in Kurt’s bed that morning.