The silent treatment
Noah Puckerman is infuriating. Honestly. He really just gets underneath her skin and tries to strangle the metaphorical goat that lives there and sometimes, when the night is quiet and the air in her bedroom is hot and still and she can’t get to sleep because she’s so annoyed at him and his face and his hair and his, just, himness, she really sometimes wishes that he would just die.
Not really, because that’s incredibly harsh and not at all the kind of thinking that befits a good Jewess and a star in the making such as herself. But he does piss her off.
And the worst of it is that he doesn’t seem to care! Doesn’t show the slightest concern over how his actions and words may affect her or whether or not she’s upset or offended. He simply doesn’t care, and somehow that makes her even angrier.
Take this week for example.
On Tuesday morning he told her, as she passed him in the hallway minding her own business, that she would be more physically attractive if she took a leaf out of Santana’s book and considered breast enhancement surgery. He didn’t say it quite like that, obviously, the boy is a Neanderthal and probably doesn’t know any words that contain more than two syllables, but his exact phrasing was disrespectful and vulgar and doesn’t bear repeating. She made it very clear that his statement had deeply offended her and that she found him vile and repugnant and she has, in fact, been ignoring him ever since.
Here’s the problem though; he hasn’t noticed. He hasn’t noticed! It is Thursday night, and she has been steadfastly snubbing him for two whole days now, refusing to look at him in Glee, declining to respond when he addresses the group, and he hasn’t even so much as batted an eyelid. It’s infuriating!
When she sees him in school on Friday and he still doesn’t appear to have realised that every time they pass each other she turns her head the other way and refuses to meet his eyes, she decides that it’s really pointless trying to be subtle with this boy, and gives up.
He’s hanging out by her locker with some friends of his from the football team, one of whom is the owner of the locker two over and one up from her, and he nods at her as she approaches. These boys are some of the nicer, less socially elitist football players, and they never seem to mind that Noah, or Finn or Mike or Matt have struck up friendships with her and the other ‘gleeks’. So his acknowledgement of her goes generally unnoticed.
“Good afternoon Noah.” She greets him shortly; she’s perfectly happy to be civil, but there is no need, she determines, to be overly friendly to this boy who doesn’t even wish to be considered her friend. He chuckles lowly and pivots where his shoulder is leaning against the locker, and inclines his body enough so that he’s almost facing her, but still not quite turning away from his teammates.
“So what?” He asks, eyebrows raised, smirk set firmly in place. She wants to tell him that if he keeps making that face eventually the wind will change and he’ll be stuck that way, but she never does, he’d probably just laugh anyway and make a joke about flatulence or something equally as immature. “You talking to me again?”
She’s taken aback by his admittance that he had, in fact, noticed that she was ignoring him. She had honestly, up until this point, believed him to be completely oblivious.
“Well, yes.” She confirms as she opens her locker and begins putting things in and pulling other things out and generally just preparing for her day. “As you were making no effort to apologise to me for your remarks the other day or make it up in any fashion, even though you readily admit that you had noticed that I was angry with you, I have decided that being mad at you is not at all worth my time or effort and that I should just not take any further notice of you than I would a shop attendant, or a waiter.” She finishes getting the last of the things she needs from her locker and slips them into her book-bag, zipping it up as she turns toward him.
“So yes,” she tells him finally, firmly closing her locker door, “I am talking to you again, as it would appear you have noticed.”
She thinks that she probably gave that speech a little more effort than would befit a waiter or a shop assistant, and she flushes deep and hot as she realises that all of Puck’s friends had actually been listening to the last part and were now looking at her as though she had taken leave of her sanity.
“Jesus,” Puck groans, hitting his head back against the wall of lockers behind him, “now I kinda wish I hadn’t noticed you were talking to me.” He grins, and the grin widens when the group of boys standing behind him start laughing and patting him on the back. Rachel has to turn away to stop them from seeing the hurt in her eyes, the tension suddenly present in the line of her mouth, and she stands facing her locker, eyes on the floor as the crowd of jocks starts to move off toward different classes until only Puck remains.
He’s still leaning against the lockers, head turned towards her, just watching her quietly. She looks over and narrows her eyes at him; a reproach, a silent question, a challenge, all in one look, and then turns away and leans down to pick up her bag from where she had set it on the floor.
She feels the weight of his body behind her, almost touching the full length of her back, but keeping barely a centimetre’s distance between them, and the heat of his skin as his right arm comes up beside her head to lean against the locker in front of her, essentially boxing her in between him and the wall. She gasps, she doesn’t really mean to, but he very rarely gets this close to her and she’s not entirely sure what his intentions are and it just kind of happens.
“So,” he begins, hot breath puffing out against her ear, making her shiver imperceptibly, “you ignoring me again?” He asks, and honestly, she thinks that he has some nerve, and if she weren’t refusing to talk to him she would tell him so in no uncertain terms. What she does do, is turn her head until she’s certain he can see her face, and quirk her eyebrows at him to display her discontent, and it garners her a chuckle.
“Yeah,” he mutters, and then completely out of nowhere plants a kiss on the side of her head, just where her hairline ends, and leans in close to her ear, “You’re hot when you’re mad at me.” He murmurs, and then he’s gone, off down the hallway and she is left standing there at her locker, mouth gaping open in astonishment, staring after him as he goes.
Noah Puckerman really is just infuriating.
Not really, because that’s incredibly harsh and not at all the kind of thinking that befits a good Jewess and a star in the making such as herself. But he does piss her off.
And the worst of it is that he doesn’t seem to care! Doesn’t show the slightest concern over how his actions and words may affect her or whether or not she’s upset or offended. He simply doesn’t care, and somehow that makes her even angrier.
Take this week for example.
On Tuesday morning he told her, as she passed him in the hallway minding her own business, that she would be more physically attractive if she took a leaf out of Santana’s book and considered breast enhancement surgery. He didn’t say it quite like that, obviously, the boy is a Neanderthal and probably doesn’t know any words that contain more than two syllables, but his exact phrasing was disrespectful and vulgar and doesn’t bear repeating. She made it very clear that his statement had deeply offended her and that she found him vile and repugnant and she has, in fact, been ignoring him ever since.
Here’s the problem though; he hasn’t noticed. He hasn’t noticed! It is Thursday night, and she has been steadfastly snubbing him for two whole days now, refusing to look at him in Glee, declining to respond when he addresses the group, and he hasn’t even so much as batted an eyelid. It’s infuriating!
When she sees him in school on Friday and he still doesn’t appear to have realised that every time they pass each other she turns her head the other way and refuses to meet his eyes, she decides that it’s really pointless trying to be subtle with this boy, and gives up.
He’s hanging out by her locker with some friends of his from the football team, one of whom is the owner of the locker two over and one up from her, and he nods at her as she approaches. These boys are some of the nicer, less socially elitist football players, and they never seem to mind that Noah, or Finn or Mike or Matt have struck up friendships with her and the other ‘gleeks’. So his acknowledgement of her goes generally unnoticed.
“Good afternoon Noah.” She greets him shortly; she’s perfectly happy to be civil, but there is no need, she determines, to be overly friendly to this boy who doesn’t even wish to be considered her friend. He chuckles lowly and pivots where his shoulder is leaning against the locker, and inclines his body enough so that he’s almost facing her, but still not quite turning away from his teammates.
“So what?” He asks, eyebrows raised, smirk set firmly in place. She wants to tell him that if he keeps making that face eventually the wind will change and he’ll be stuck that way, but she never does, he’d probably just laugh anyway and make a joke about flatulence or something equally as immature. “You talking to me again?”
She’s taken aback by his admittance that he had, in fact, noticed that she was ignoring him. She had honestly, up until this point, believed him to be completely oblivious.
“Well, yes.” She confirms as she opens her locker and begins putting things in and pulling other things out and generally just preparing for her day. “As you were making no effort to apologise to me for your remarks the other day or make it up in any fashion, even though you readily admit that you had noticed that I was angry with you, I have decided that being mad at you is not at all worth my time or effort and that I should just not take any further notice of you than I would a shop attendant, or a waiter.” She finishes getting the last of the things she needs from her locker and slips them into her book-bag, zipping it up as she turns toward him.
“So yes,” she tells him finally, firmly closing her locker door, “I am talking to you again, as it would appear you have noticed.”
She thinks that she probably gave that speech a little more effort than would befit a waiter or a shop assistant, and she flushes deep and hot as she realises that all of Puck’s friends had actually been listening to the last part and were now looking at her as though she had taken leave of her sanity.
“Jesus,” Puck groans, hitting his head back against the wall of lockers behind him, “now I kinda wish I hadn’t noticed you were talking to me.” He grins, and the grin widens when the group of boys standing behind him start laughing and patting him on the back. Rachel has to turn away to stop them from seeing the hurt in her eyes, the tension suddenly present in the line of her mouth, and she stands facing her locker, eyes on the floor as the crowd of jocks starts to move off toward different classes until only Puck remains.
He’s still leaning against the lockers, head turned towards her, just watching her quietly. She looks over and narrows her eyes at him; a reproach, a silent question, a challenge, all in one look, and then turns away and leans down to pick up her bag from where she had set it on the floor.
She feels the weight of his body behind her, almost touching the full length of her back, but keeping barely a centimetre’s distance between them, and the heat of his skin as his right arm comes up beside her head to lean against the locker in front of her, essentially boxing her in between him and the wall. She gasps, she doesn’t really mean to, but he very rarely gets this close to her and she’s not entirely sure what his intentions are and it just kind of happens.
“So,” he begins, hot breath puffing out against her ear, making her shiver imperceptibly, “you ignoring me again?” He asks, and honestly, she thinks that he has some nerve, and if she weren’t refusing to talk to him she would tell him so in no uncertain terms. What she does do, is turn her head until she’s certain he can see her face, and quirk her eyebrows at him to display her discontent, and it garners her a chuckle.
“Yeah,” he mutters, and then completely out of nowhere plants a kiss on the side of her head, just where her hairline ends, and leans in close to her ear, “You’re hot when you’re mad at me.” He murmurs, and then he’s gone, off down the hallway and she is left standing there at her locker, mouth gaping open in astonishment, staring after him as he goes.
Noah Puckerman really is just infuriating.