Fic: Split like light refracted (Glee, Puck/Finn)
Title: Split like light refracted
Pairing: Puck/Finn, pre-slash
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~2000
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me etc etc
Summary: Puck and Finn have a tradition, but with everything that’s happened, Puck doesn’t expect Finn to show up.
A/N: Thanks to the lovely redandglenda for the beta job, and to mintyfiend for the cheerleading. All remaining mistakes are mine. Concrit is very much welcomed! Title belongs to The Pretenders.
It had been their tradition for as long as Puck could remember. Finn had been his best friend his entire life, since they’d been naked toddlers playing in each other’s paddling pools. He hadn’t even realised it was a tradition at first, not until Finn had joked about it one year. It was just something they did, but as they’d gotten older, that hadn’t changed. And Puck liked that.
Puck’s mom has a photo album and in there is a picture of the pair of them, aged 5 or so, all gappy teeth and hyper on sugar and waiting for the fireworks to start. When they’d been kids there’d been a picnic with the two of them running around playing tag and mostly not letting Puck’s sister play with them while they waited for dusk to fall.
As they’d gotten older, and less inclined to stick near their moms, they’d grabbed some food and settled themselves on one of the hilly rises of the park, away from the crowds. And as they became teenagers and their moms and Puck’s sister had stopped coming along, they’d headed straight for that secret spot, bringing sandwiches or maybe burgers and, if they got lucky, whatever the closest thing to liquor they could get their hands on.
But that had been before. Before they’d stopped being best friends and had become people who tolerated each other’s presence because of the situation, because of the people around them.
It was Puck’s fault. He wasn’t so much of an asshole that he couldn’t see that. But around the time he’d realised Finn wasn’t going to forgive him, that things weren’t going to go back to how they’d always been, he’d gotten angry. Angry at Finn for giving up on him so easily.
The past year hadn’t exactly been the best of Puck’s life, and that was saying a lot. There was good to balance the bad, of course. Glee mainly, the cause and solution to all of his problems. Puck hadn’t cared that they’d lost out at Regionals, that they hadn’t gotten to shine at Nationals the way Rachel was still insisting they should have done. He just liked having a reason besides sports to get through each week, especially once his spare time wasn’t spent with Finn the way it always had been. And in ways Puck wasn’t prepared to probe, the Gleeks had become his friends. Friends who still seemed to want to know him even though school was over for the summer. Puck didn’t accept most of the invitations to hang out, because he was still Noah Puckerman, McKinley High stud, which meant he had a reputation to try and hold onto. But occasionally he’d tag along to a party or a movie or to Rachel’s house for off-season Glee practice.
He’d been invited to Santana’s place tonight, for her ‘My Parents Are Out Of Town And It’s The Fourth Of July So Let’s Get Wasted’ party. But Puck still had the tradition, even though he knows Finn won’t be there.
Except of course he is.
Puck slows his approach as he sees Finn’s figure, sitting in their usual spot, legs stretched in front of him. He doesn’t look up as Puck moves closer, and for a moment Puck considers turning and walking away. But this is the sort of thing Puck’s missed. It’s nothing to do with being able to meet Finn’s eyes during rehearsal when Rachel and Mercedes are arguing over something, or bumping shoulders in practice for football or baseball. It’s nothing to do with kicking each others asses at the latest video game, or sneaking out together to TP some dork’s house. It’s things like this, things that remind Puck that he’s more than just a typical teenage kid with an attitude and an ego. Things like sitting with someone who’s known him his whole life and still sticks by him and watching lights explode in the sky.
Puck drops down onto the grass beside Finn, and waits.
“Hey,” Finn says. He doesn’t look at Puck for a moment, but when he does he seems a little surprised, but mostly pleased.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Puck tells him, and Finn grins.
“Me either,” he answers, and Puck’s not sure if that means Finn’s surprised to see Puck, or surprised at himself.
They sit in silence for awhile, but it’s too quiet, the noise of the gathered people in the park too far away, too muted.
“How’s your mom?” Puck asks, and Finn shrugs but nods.
“Okay, yeah,” he says. “Same as always.” He pauses, then asks, “How’ve you been?”
Puck considers the question. Mostly people don’t ask him that. He’d lost the right to a lot of concern, especially from Finn months ago. He wants to say that he’s been shit ever since he got jealous of his best friend’s new hobby, jealous enough to throw a lifelong friendship away for a quickie in the backseat of his car and a baby he’ll never see again. But he doesn’t.
“Okay,” he shrugs and Finn watches him for a long moment.
“Yeah, me too.”
He doesn’t sound very convincing, and Puck figures that’s probably how he sounded too. Neither of them pushes the question though, and after a few moments Finn clears his throat.
Puck looks over at him expectantly, but Finn shifts, crossing his legs and shaking his head.
“Nothing,” he says.
Puck glances at his watch. “I think it’s gonna start soon,” he says, and he can’t hide the excited smile. He might act jaded about a lot of things, but he’s never been able to deny the thrill of excitement that’s stuck with him since the first time they’d sat out and watched the fireworks.
Finn grins back as Puck lies down like they always do, too long grass tickling his ears as he slides his hands under his neck, elbows bent out and brushing against Finn’s when he copies and lies down too.
There’s still light in the sky, that darkening purple that seems to last for an age before night time properly falls. But it’s dark enough for the fireworks and it doesn’t take long for the first rocket to arc up into the sky, exploding in a rain of white sparks that drift back towards the ground before disappearing and being replaced by another, and then another.
Puck gasps, unable to help himself, as a succession of rockets explode above them, a rainbow of colours. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Finn’s head roll to the side to look at him, and after a moment Puck tears his gaze away from the sky to give Finn a sheepish smile. Finn is smiling back though, and Puck forgets everything that’s happened the past year. He forgets everything except for how he’s lying in the grass on a warm 4th of July day with his best friend, just like he’s done for as long as he can remember.
“Did you see that one?” Puck asks, sliding his hand out from behind his head so he can point up at the sky.
Finn knocks Puck’s arm out of the way in mock annoyance. “All I can see is your stupid hand,” he laughs, and they tussle briefly, each putting their hands in the others line of sight until they get bored and go back to just watching the fireworks. Their bodies have shifted though, and now they’re shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, and Puck can feel the warmth of Finn’s body seeping through the thin layers of cotton between them. It’s a comforting weight at his side, a familiar one that had kept Puck grounded when everything in his vision had been lights sparking in the growing darkness above him and he’d felt like he was about to slip off the ground and into the sky.
There’s a loud cheer from the gathered crowds who are far enough away that Puck always forgets they’re there, that the fireworks aren’t a private show for just the two of them. The noise brings him back to reality with a sickening feeling that takes him a minute or two to identify. Everything floods back, every memory of the past year he’d been able to forget about for a short time, and Puck realises that he misses Finn. Misses him with a horrible gut wrenching emptiness that makes Puck want to punch something- maybe Finn, maybe himself.
When the last firework dies away and the sky becomes empty, Puck stays lying in the grass, unwilling to sit up and run the risk of having to actually deal with an emotion. Finn stays beside him, bodies still resting against each other, and doesn’t question why Puck’s not moving. Puck wonders if Finn feels the same loss he does, the same regret that things are different now, and always will be.
Eventually he can’t lie there any longer and he pushes himself up on his elbows, pausing for a moment before sitting up properly.
“That was awesome,” Finn announces, and Puck glances over, smiling automatically in response to the grin on Finn’s face.
“Fucking A,” Puck agrees and gets to his feet. He shoves his hands in his pockets and waits for Finn to get up before turning and walking back towards the car park.
He expects Finn to fall into step beside him, just like always, and he’s pleased he’s right as Finn matches pace with him. They walk in silence, until Puck says, “D’you need a ride?” and Finn hesitates, then accepts.
Neither of them talk on the drive. Puck has his car stereo cranked up loud and an internal argument with himself for being such a pussy and thinking like a girl, getting all sad about missing Finn. He’s just about gotten the sick, missing feeling pushed to the back of his mind when he pulls up outside Finn’s place.
“Thanks,” Finn says, a little awkwardly and Puck shrugs, not meeting his eyes.
“That was better than last year, don’t you think?” Finn asks. “The fireworks, I mean. A better show.”
Puck shrugs again. “I guess,” he says, and the indifference helps. It’s making him feel more like himself and less like that 5 year old with a missing front tooth. The one who’d held hands with Finn as they’d craned their heads to look up at the sky the very first time.
Finn opens the car door and gets out, closing it behind him. Puck shoves the car into drive, but Finn leans into the open window.
“Hey, d’you wanna come round tomorrow?” he asks, and the feeling Puck had almost pushed away surges forward again. Puck tries not to think about what that means, whether it means Finn is going to forgive him, whether Puck can start to forgive Finn and then maybe himself, if maybe they can get back to where they’d been before.
Puck glances over with a carefully placed look that he knows from years of practice is bored and indifferent. “Sure,” he says. “Maybe. I have to work, but maybe after.”
Finn’s smile dims a tiny bit, but then he nods and the smile is back in place, as awkwardly bright as before. They both know Puck’ll be there.
“Okay,” Finn says. “Maybe see you, then.”
He turns and walks up the driveway, and when Puck realises he’s watching Finn walk away, he guns the engine and drives home.
Pairing: Puck/Finn, pre-slash
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~2000
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me etc etc
Summary: Puck and Finn have a tradition, but with everything that’s happened, Puck doesn’t expect Finn to show up.
A/N: Thanks to the lovely redandglenda for the beta job, and to mintyfiend for the cheerleading. All remaining mistakes are mine. Concrit is very much welcomed! Title belongs to The Pretenders.
It had been their tradition for as long as Puck could remember. Finn had been his best friend his entire life, since they’d been naked toddlers playing in each other’s paddling pools. He hadn’t even realised it was a tradition at first, not until Finn had joked about it one year. It was just something they did, but as they’d gotten older, that hadn’t changed. And Puck liked that.
Puck’s mom has a photo album and in there is a picture of the pair of them, aged 5 or so, all gappy teeth and hyper on sugar and waiting for the fireworks to start. When they’d been kids there’d been a picnic with the two of them running around playing tag and mostly not letting Puck’s sister play with them while they waited for dusk to fall.
As they’d gotten older, and less inclined to stick near their moms, they’d grabbed some food and settled themselves on one of the hilly rises of the park, away from the crowds. And as they became teenagers and their moms and Puck’s sister had stopped coming along, they’d headed straight for that secret spot, bringing sandwiches or maybe burgers and, if they got lucky, whatever the closest thing to liquor they could get their hands on.
But that had been before. Before they’d stopped being best friends and had become people who tolerated each other’s presence because of the situation, because of the people around them.
It was Puck’s fault. He wasn’t so much of an asshole that he couldn’t see that. But around the time he’d realised Finn wasn’t going to forgive him, that things weren’t going to go back to how they’d always been, he’d gotten angry. Angry at Finn for giving up on him so easily.
The past year hadn’t exactly been the best of Puck’s life, and that was saying a lot. There was good to balance the bad, of course. Glee mainly, the cause and solution to all of his problems. Puck hadn’t cared that they’d lost out at Regionals, that they hadn’t gotten to shine at Nationals the way Rachel was still insisting they should have done. He just liked having a reason besides sports to get through each week, especially once his spare time wasn’t spent with Finn the way it always had been. And in ways Puck wasn’t prepared to probe, the Gleeks had become his friends. Friends who still seemed to want to know him even though school was over for the summer. Puck didn’t accept most of the invitations to hang out, because he was still Noah Puckerman, McKinley High stud, which meant he had a reputation to try and hold onto. But occasionally he’d tag along to a party or a movie or to Rachel’s house for off-season Glee practice.
He’d been invited to Santana’s place tonight, for her ‘My Parents Are Out Of Town And It’s The Fourth Of July So Let’s Get Wasted’ party. But Puck still had the tradition, even though he knows Finn won’t be there.
Except of course he is.
Puck slows his approach as he sees Finn’s figure, sitting in their usual spot, legs stretched in front of him. He doesn’t look up as Puck moves closer, and for a moment Puck considers turning and walking away. But this is the sort of thing Puck’s missed. It’s nothing to do with being able to meet Finn’s eyes during rehearsal when Rachel and Mercedes are arguing over something, or bumping shoulders in practice for football or baseball. It’s nothing to do with kicking each others asses at the latest video game, or sneaking out together to TP some dork’s house. It’s things like this, things that remind Puck that he’s more than just a typical teenage kid with an attitude and an ego. Things like sitting with someone who’s known him his whole life and still sticks by him and watching lights explode in the sky.
Puck drops down onto the grass beside Finn, and waits.
“Hey,” Finn says. He doesn’t look at Puck for a moment, but when he does he seems a little surprised, but mostly pleased.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Puck tells him, and Finn grins.
“Me either,” he answers, and Puck’s not sure if that means Finn’s surprised to see Puck, or surprised at himself.
They sit in silence for awhile, but it’s too quiet, the noise of the gathered people in the park too far away, too muted.
“How’s your mom?” Puck asks, and Finn shrugs but nods.
“Okay, yeah,” he says. “Same as always.” He pauses, then asks, “How’ve you been?”
Puck considers the question. Mostly people don’t ask him that. He’d lost the right to a lot of concern, especially from Finn months ago. He wants to say that he’s been shit ever since he got jealous of his best friend’s new hobby, jealous enough to throw a lifelong friendship away for a quickie in the backseat of his car and a baby he’ll never see again. But he doesn’t.
“Okay,” he shrugs and Finn watches him for a long moment.
“Yeah, me too.”
He doesn’t sound very convincing, and Puck figures that’s probably how he sounded too. Neither of them pushes the question though, and after a few moments Finn clears his throat.
Puck looks over at him expectantly, but Finn shifts, crossing his legs and shaking his head.
“Nothing,” he says.
Puck glances at his watch. “I think it’s gonna start soon,” he says, and he can’t hide the excited smile. He might act jaded about a lot of things, but he’s never been able to deny the thrill of excitement that’s stuck with him since the first time they’d sat out and watched the fireworks.
Finn grins back as Puck lies down like they always do, too long grass tickling his ears as he slides his hands under his neck, elbows bent out and brushing against Finn’s when he copies and lies down too.
There’s still light in the sky, that darkening purple that seems to last for an age before night time properly falls. But it’s dark enough for the fireworks and it doesn’t take long for the first rocket to arc up into the sky, exploding in a rain of white sparks that drift back towards the ground before disappearing and being replaced by another, and then another.
Puck gasps, unable to help himself, as a succession of rockets explode above them, a rainbow of colours. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Finn’s head roll to the side to look at him, and after a moment Puck tears his gaze away from the sky to give Finn a sheepish smile. Finn is smiling back though, and Puck forgets everything that’s happened the past year. He forgets everything except for how he’s lying in the grass on a warm 4th of July day with his best friend, just like he’s done for as long as he can remember.
“Did you see that one?” Puck asks, sliding his hand out from behind his head so he can point up at the sky.
Finn knocks Puck’s arm out of the way in mock annoyance. “All I can see is your stupid hand,” he laughs, and they tussle briefly, each putting their hands in the others line of sight until they get bored and go back to just watching the fireworks. Their bodies have shifted though, and now they’re shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, and Puck can feel the warmth of Finn’s body seeping through the thin layers of cotton between them. It’s a comforting weight at his side, a familiar one that had kept Puck grounded when everything in his vision had been lights sparking in the growing darkness above him and he’d felt like he was about to slip off the ground and into the sky.
There’s a loud cheer from the gathered crowds who are far enough away that Puck always forgets they’re there, that the fireworks aren’t a private show for just the two of them. The noise brings him back to reality with a sickening feeling that takes him a minute or two to identify. Everything floods back, every memory of the past year he’d been able to forget about for a short time, and Puck realises that he misses Finn. Misses him with a horrible gut wrenching emptiness that makes Puck want to punch something- maybe Finn, maybe himself.
When the last firework dies away and the sky becomes empty, Puck stays lying in the grass, unwilling to sit up and run the risk of having to actually deal with an emotion. Finn stays beside him, bodies still resting against each other, and doesn’t question why Puck’s not moving. Puck wonders if Finn feels the same loss he does, the same regret that things are different now, and always will be.
Eventually he can’t lie there any longer and he pushes himself up on his elbows, pausing for a moment before sitting up properly.
“That was awesome,” Finn announces, and Puck glances over, smiling automatically in response to the grin on Finn’s face.
“Fucking A,” Puck agrees and gets to his feet. He shoves his hands in his pockets and waits for Finn to get up before turning and walking back towards the car park.
He expects Finn to fall into step beside him, just like always, and he’s pleased he’s right as Finn matches pace with him. They walk in silence, until Puck says, “D’you need a ride?” and Finn hesitates, then accepts.
Neither of them talk on the drive. Puck has his car stereo cranked up loud and an internal argument with himself for being such a pussy and thinking like a girl, getting all sad about missing Finn. He’s just about gotten the sick, missing feeling pushed to the back of his mind when he pulls up outside Finn’s place.
“Thanks,” Finn says, a little awkwardly and Puck shrugs, not meeting his eyes.
“That was better than last year, don’t you think?” Finn asks. “The fireworks, I mean. A better show.”
Puck shrugs again. “I guess,” he says, and the indifference helps. It’s making him feel more like himself and less like that 5 year old with a missing front tooth. The one who’d held hands with Finn as they’d craned their heads to look up at the sky the very first time.
Finn opens the car door and gets out, closing it behind him. Puck shoves the car into drive, but Finn leans into the open window.
“Hey, d’you wanna come round tomorrow?” he asks, and the feeling Puck had almost pushed away surges forward again. Puck tries not to think about what that means, whether it means Finn is going to forgive him, whether Puck can start to forgive Finn and then maybe himself, if maybe they can get back to where they’d been before.
Puck glances over with a carefully placed look that he knows from years of practice is bored and indifferent. “Sure,” he says. “Maybe. I have to work, but maybe after.”
Finn’s smile dims a tiny bit, but then he nods and the smile is back in place, as awkwardly bright as before. They both know Puck’ll be there.
“Okay,” Finn says. “Maybe see you, then.”
He turns and walks up the driveway, and when Puck realises he’s watching Finn walk away, he guns the engine and drives home.