Page 179 of Hurt

Kurt wanted to live like that. He wanted to stop thinking.

Fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, he pulled it over his head and tossed it behind him. Still wearing his jeans, he pushed off the dock. The water was still cold. The last vestiges of icy winter laying in the depths, hiding from the warmth of summer for as long as possible. It covered his head and he let himself sink until his knees touched down on the muddy bottom.

Everything was quiet underwater. The lake muffled all the sounds around him, filled his head and his heart and for once he couldn’t hear the incessant voices in his head. His anxieties and memories were drowned in the water, chased back by the chill. They waited for him on the muddy bank, claws outstretched for the moment he stepped back onto dry land.

But for now, he was in the water. And he was safe.

He kicked off the bottom and inhaled the moment his head broke surface. The lake tasted the same, even ten years later. Just like it had when he was a kid and his only worry was if brussels sprouts were part of the native wildlife’s diet and if he threw them in the lake, would the fish destroy the evidence.

Grant was watching him. The water lapping at his chest from Kurt’s splashing.

Backlit by the sun, he looked like a painting on ancient pottery. Abstract and ill-defined, Kurt had to squint so he could see the finer details.

Kurt outstretched his arm, palm skimming across the water until it was straight out in front of him. The leather bracelets were waterlogged and looked black under the water.

Grant extended his hand out to meet his, fingertips just brushing against Kurt’s.

It wasn’t enough.

Kurt almost laughed at the thought. He wasn’t sure he had ever craved someone’s touch before, but he did now. He wanted Grant to touch him.

Closing the distance, he threaded their fingers together. Clasping them palm to palm, he thought maybe he could feel Grant’s heartbeat through their connected hands. He could see the faint scar on his palm, the one he gave himself when he sliced it open to show Kurt the sincerity of his promises. The ones he never broke.

His back was to the bank, to the house with its pretty façade and the ghosts that lived inside. He couldn’t see them, or the anxieties he left back at the dock. They were afraid of the water and he wasn’t.

“Grant.” His voice sounded strange to him, calm and sure.

The taller man stilled, his breath catching.

Kurt stepped up closer to him, toes squishing in the soft bottom of the lake and hand in Grants. His head dropped forward, resting against Grant’s sternum. He could smell Grant this close and feel Grant’s warm breath on the top of his head.

He wanted to thank him, but the words died on his tongue. How could he? What Grant did for him transcended thanks, and Kurt was never good at gratitude anyway.

Grant didn’t hug him back, didn’t hem him in or test the limits of his claustrophobia. He stayed still, and unmoving wall Kurt could brace against. To lean on.

“I love you.”

With the sun's final rays reflecting on the lake's calm surface, they were just two men who didn’t deserve each other, but found each other anyway.

Later that night, when their hair was unruly from air drying, they were sitting in what used to be the Beckett’s living room. Bundled up under blankets, they breathed in the evening air and watched the moon as it rose over the lake. Kurt’s head was pillowed in Grant’s lap, dark eyes sleepy as he listed off all the things he still wanted to do with the house.

His fingers carded through the purple strands, disentangling them gently, nails dragging along Kurt’s scalp ever so lightly.

A long time ago he heard this theory about soulmates—how all the atoms that were near each other during the creation of the universe were constantly trying to seek each other out. Over time, they would join together again. Even in a crowded room, the atoms would feel this instinctive pull. A desire to once more be with those they called their own. Maybe it was science, or maybe it was fate. He didn’t know.

He didn’t care.

Kurt loved him. He loved him enough to put his trust in him. He loved him enough to lay his head in his lap with a belly full of drive-thru tacos and blankets that smelled like mothballs around them.

He loved him.

Grant had almost lost him. Lost his soulmate. Three times. Three times Kurt had stared death in the face and came back. Maybe the grim reaper was afraid of that proud middle fingers of his, or the way he sneered back into the darkness. But death failed and Kurt was his. Where death failed, Grant would not.

Not even death would be strong enough to take him away.

Kurt twisted in his lap and looked up at him. His eyes were soft and content, dark lashes fluttering quizzically.

“Can I kiss you?” Grant asked when the need became too strong. The desire to feel his breath, his life, against him was suddenly the most important thing in the universe. He needed to check. To be sure.