Episode 3x15 "No Rest" [part 1 of 2]

[patchfire]

Title: Episode 3x15 "No Rest" [part 1 of 2 for LJ posting purposes]
Rating: NC-17
Characters(s): Puck, Kurt, Finn, Puck/Kurt, Furt brothership, Glee cast, OCs
Genre: gen/romance
Warnings: none
Spoilers: Canon compilant through 2x22. Also spoilers for TitSoaB. :)
Disclaimer: Glee doesn't belong to me. It'd be better if it did.
Author Notes:
storyofthreeboys on twitter & TitSoaB on AO3
Dave and Casey plus other bonus fic on storyof3boys
Summary: New year, same old stuff, and never enough time.
Word Count: 20325

playlist for this episode


When Kurt emerges from the bathroom cleanshaven, Puck’s done a passable job of unpacking, most of it jumbled on Kurt’s bed. Neither of them speak; Kurt leans over and kisses Puck rather thoroughly before turning to the task of getting dressed. He puts on purple jeans and a silver shirt with black boots, and then grabs the scarf Puck gave him and ties it around his neck. “Ready?”

Puck nods and stands, wrapping his body around Kurt in a way that makes walking somewhat awkward, but Kurt relaxes into it and they manage to make their way to Finn’s doorway. Puck leans against the wall and Kurt leans against Puck’s arm as he raps on the other side of the doorway. “Time to party,” he says lightly.

“Hey, guys,” Finn answers, looking at them a little oddly, then blinking and shaking his head. “Oh, holy shit!”

“We’ve got clothes on, dude,” Puck says wearily.

“Dude, the hawk!” Finn’s eyes are huge, his eyebrows up at his hairline.

“Oh, right.” Puck shrugs. “I kinda forgot.”

“How do you forget something like that?” Finn says and he’s pretty much gaping at Puck, opening and closing his mouth before he finally asks, “Did something happen to it in Chicago? Like, an accident or something?”

Puck snorts. “No. It was just, you know. Time.” He shrugs again.

“I didn’t know those things expired,” Finn says, shaking his head. “Now I’m gonna have to get used to you being bald all over again.”

“I’m not bald,” Puck protests. “There’s hair there. It’s just really short hair.”

“It’s true,” Kurt nods, reaching behind him and running his hand over Puck’s head. “It’s kind of soft.”

“You’re bald compared to me and Kurt,” Finn says. “I hope you’ve got a hat, because your head is gonna get really cold. You guys ready?”

“He has a hat,” Kurt says, and even though Puck can’t see his face, he’s pretty sure Kurt’s rolling his eyes.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You guys ok?” Finn asks Kurt, lowering his voice, possibly with the intent of Puck not overhearing him, which obviously didn’t work if that’s his goal.

“Peachy,” Kurt replies as they step back into the hall, leaving the doorway for Finn to exit. “You?”

“It’s been a weird break,” Finn answers. “Mostly good-weird. Some weird-weird.” He trails after Kurt down the stairs.

“Weird-weird? Like what?” Puck asks.

“Lots of Jewishness, dude. Also, that thing we don’t talk about, right, Kurt?” Finn visible shudders. “Weirdness.”

“I’m not sure if I should be offended,” Puck snorts, voice deadpan. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure you just said that Jewish stuff was weird.”

“Dude, you’ve never spend Hanukkah with the Berrys,” Finn explains. “They aren’t Jewish like you’re Jewish. They’re, like, Jewish. No bacon and their songs aren’t even in English!”

Puck chuckles. “Yeah, they’re a little more observant. Probably closer to conservative than reform, but you know. Not a lot of Jews to choose from in this town.” They climb in the Nav and Kurt turns the heater up. “I think this seat has molded to my ass.”

“You and the seat, man,” Finn snorts. “You’re both obsessed with ass.”

“Nah, the seat’s not. Ass is just, like, its job.”

“That’s a hell of a job. ‘What do you do for a living?’ ‘Oh, you know, ass.’”

“On the other hand, maybe I want that job.”

“Duuuude,” Finn groans. “Uncool, Puckerman. Seriously.”

“You set it up, man, I just spiked it.” Puck turns in the seat slightly and grins. “Right, K?”

“I wasn’t listening,” Kurt answers, a little too quickly, and Puck laughs.

“So, you guys bring me anything?” Finn asks, possibly to change to subject, though he’s also notoriously greedy about souvenirs.

“We brought ourselves back to this sparkling town,” Kurt says, false brightness in his voice. “And a shot glass. You can start a collection.”

“I’ll take the shot glass as a win. You guys aren’t here for keeps, so that doesn’t count.”

“Seven months is a long time.”

“Seven months is nothing. Even, like, babies take longer than that,” Finn snorts. “You’ll be gone in no time.”

Puck doesn’t answer, because there’s really nothing to say to that, and luckily, Kurt parks in front of Santana’s at the same time. “Here we are,” Kurt says with a tiny sigh. “Ready to partake of beverages that are technically illegal for us to consume?”

“Did you bring the shot glass with you?” Finn asks.

Puck just snorts back a laugh and opens up the console, tossing the bag to Finn. “Have fun, dude.”

“Awesome!” Finn shouts, forgetting his own volume...again. “I will take all my drinks in it all night. Best brothers ever, you guys.”

“Finn, we’re right here,” Kurt says mildly, climbing out of the Nav and checking his appearance in the rearview mirror.

“Party!” Finn shouts, raising his shot glass in the air. “Let’s get our tiny drink on!”

“Did you pre-drink?” Puck can’t help but ask as they walk up to the door.

“I’m practicing raising my glass, dude,” Finn explains. “But one of you guys is gonna have to loan me the jeans.”

“Then it would be ‘raise your glass to get in my capri jeans,’” Kurt points out. “Since your inseam is probably a good four or five inches longer than ours.” He knocks heavily on the door and leans against the wall under the light, and if it weren’t for the cold, Puck would be all right with just watching him like that for awhile.

“None of my jeans are tight enough to count as skin-tight jeans, though,” Finn argues, as the door swings open to reveal Tina and Mercedes.

“Boys!” Tina cheers, and Puck is pretty sure that means she’s already had at least one drink. “‘Cedes, there are the boys!”

“Here we are,” Puck agrees.

“Why do you need skin-tight jeans?” Mercedes says to Finn, ignoring Tina completely.

“To go with my glass,” Finn answers, shaking his head at Mercedes like he’s shocked she doesn’t understand that. He holds his shot glass up to indicate. “For when I raise it.”

Mercedes shakes her head. “Hey, where’d you get that?”

Finn freezes for a second, then says, “My aunt left it to me in her will.”

Kurt appears to be turning purple, though not quite the same shade as his pants or scarf, and he pushes himself off the wall and through the door. “Regular Scrooge, your aunt. One shot glass and nothing else.”

Puck follows Kurt inside, looking around to see who’s there and not. “Are we the last ones here?”

“Yep!” Tina answers him, still beaming.

Artie rolls up to the door with his red-headed girlfriend draped across his lap. Her skirt is strip-club short and she’s wearing one knee-length striped sock and one prosthetic leg, not on the same side, and is holding an orange shoe that doesn’t look like it would fit her. “‘Zup, Artie’s dude-friends?” she nods.

“Party time!” Artie sort of hoots, rolling his chair back and forth and bouncing his girl around. She cackles and whacks him with the shoe.

“Sup,” Puck nods at Artie. “Lopez got any of the good stuff?”

“I didn’t even know rum came in that many flavors, yo,” Artie says, shaking his head. “It’s like being in the islands.”

“Hear that?” Puck throws his arms around Finn and Kurt both. “Let’s go get your drink on, boys.”

“I came prepared,” Finn says, holding up his shot glass for Artie to see.

“You’re a real Boy Scout,” Kurt agrees.

“Coats!” Tina bubbles out, leading the way to a pile of jackets, and they divest themselves of their outerwear. Puck’s jamming his hat into his pocket when Tina squeals. “Oh my god! PUCK!” which naturally causes half the people in the room to turn around and stare at him.

“Did you have another freckle?” Artie asks.

“Yeah, it’s all the summer sun this time of year,” Puck says dryly, shaking his head in contradiction of his words.

“You going for a month of normalcy?” Mercedes asks.

“I think it looks nice!” Rachel pipes up, and Puck blinks, wondering where she came from.

“What looks nice?” Quinn asks from the background, already looking slightly unsteady on her feet.

“Puck!” Tina answers. “And his hair. Or his head.” She tilts her head and looks confused, and Puck wonders just how much she’s already had.

“Puck doesn’t have any hair,” Brittany says, poking her head into the room. “He has a head, though. I think.” She blinks her eyes rapidly, like a bird. “He looks like he has a head.”

“Are any of the girls still sober?” Kurt asks dryly.

“I’m totally sober,” Brittany says, looking at Kurt with an even more confused than usual expression on her face. “I only just got here.”

“I wish my hair inspired such a reaction,” Sam speaks up. “Maybe go for a shape shaved into it next time.”

“I’ll pass.” Puck finally makes his way over to where Santana is surveying her liquor with unabashed pride. “Jack and Coke, Pete’s Strawberry Blonde, and a shot of Jack in Finn’s tiny glass.”

Santana snorts. “Finn’s drinking?”

“I will drink it all from my tiny glass,” Finn says, somberly, coming up next to Puck. “First I’ll raise it, then I’ll drink it.” He shows Santana his shot glass.

“Good for you,” she nods, pouring the whiskey into it, then pushing the other two drinks towards Puck. “Enjoy, boys.”

“Of course,” Puck nods, handing the cup to Kurt and taking a long drink from the bottle. Finn tosses back his shot, shakes his head rapidly, and holds it back out to Santana, with what’s probably meant to be a charming grin.

She just shakes her head a little and refills it. “We haven’t seen a drunk Finn, have we?” she muses.

“Nope,” Puck agrees. “Nor a drunk Kurt.”

“Ms. Pillsbury has,” Kurt points out after swallowing a gulp of his drink. “I don’t think she enjoyed the experience.”

“Hit me!” Finn says, holding out his shot glass again. “Not really hit me, though. Just put more alcohol in my tiny glass, please.”

“Damn,” Santana grumbles. “I thought I’d finally get my chance.” She refills the shot glass again, though. “Where’d you get that?”

“Found it in the pocket of a coat I bought at the Goodwill,” Finn says, slamming the shot.

“Does that make the Nav a coat?” Kurt whispers to Puck, who suppresses a laugh.

“That console’s more annoying than a pocket,” Puck points out, and Kurt considers that for a second before nodding and taking another drink.

“Can you just hand me the whole bottle of that?” Finn asks, pointing to a bottle of pineapple-flavored rum. “And a glass with some ice in it?”

“Yes.” Santana slides the mentioned items towards him. “Anything else?”

“Do you have any of those cherries?”

“Are you going to tie the stem in a knot?”

Finn just looks at her blankly. “I was going to put it in the glass to make the booze prettier so Rachel will drink it. Should I tie the stems in knots first?”

“She means with your tongue,” Puck says.

“Ooh! I can do that.” Kurt beams. “Can I have another one, Santana?”

“Why would I want to tie the stem in a knot with my tongue?” Finn asks. “Is that a thing? What’s that supposed to OH! Oh, right. Ok. Yeah, I’m gonna just take this over there, then.” Balancing the bottle, glass, and shotglass, he navigates towards Rachel, shooting Santana a dirty look over his shoulder.

Santana makes another Jack and Coke and hands it to Kurt, who smiles at her before turning to scan the room. “Hmm. No spin the bottle. Already an improvement.”

Quinn lurches into Puck’s line of sight. “So is this going to be a thing? All the highlights of sophomore year, starting with the hair?”

Puck raises his eyebrows and exhales loudly. Part of him wants to let Kurt loose on her again, but Kurt’s eyes are a little brighter and his cheeks a little rosier, so Puck’s not sure what would come out of Kurt’s mouth, actually. “Quinn.” Puck nods in her direction and turns to Kurt. “I’m sure Rachel would be happy to organize a game if you were missing it.” His hand visibly jerks and he shoves it into his pocket, aggravated.

“Nooo,” Kurt shakes his head. “It’s all better this way.”

“All better?” Puck repeats, amused. “Okay, if you say so.”

Quinn blinks slowly at the abrupt dismissal and then staggers away to cling to Brittany, who already has her sweater off and tied around her neck like a super-hero cape while she does some sort of backbend over the coffee table.

“Your girlfriend’s very flexible,” Kurt says clinically to Santana. “I bet you enjoy that.” He looks sort of startled that those words escaped his mouth.

“I do,” Santana agrees, grinning wickedly. “What about your boyfriend?” she asks, fixing her gaze on Puck.

“Oh, I have no complaints,” Kurt says with a smug smile. “In fact-”

“-you should stop talking,” Puck interrupts. “C’mon. Let’s go watch Finn get drunk.” He sets his empty bottle on the counter and puts his hands deep in his pockets.

“Okay,” Kurt agrees, and they wander over to where Finn is telling Rachel a story that might involve a lot of explosions, based on Finn’s excited gesturing. Finn pauses every few sentences to slosh more pineapple rum into his shot glass.

“Did you see my shot glass?” Finn holds it out for Rachel to look at. “It was a gift with purchase with a set of tires.”

“I thought you said it was actually an old candleholder,” Rachel responds, puzzled.

“Naw, naw,” Finn says, waving his hand in her direction. “That was another shot glass.”

“Finn’s smuggling shot glasses!” Tina bursts out, seemingly addressing Mike, but loud enough to include all of them. “That’s SO COOL.”

“Shhhh,” Finn cautions, with an elaborate twist of his hand up to his lips to indicate silence. “We’ll have the law all over us.”

Puck laughs as he and Kurt sit nearby, and then makes a face as he realizes not only are his hands no longer in his pockets, he has one arm halfway up and around Kurt. He sighs and slumps against the back of the couch they’ve landed on.

“How many shots have you had, Finn?” Kurt asks.

“Thirty-seven.”

“Shouldn’t he be, I don’t know. Dead?” Kurt asks, turning to Puck.

“Probably,” Puck agrees, nodding. “I guess he’s had enough to not know how many he’s had.”

“All of them!” Finn calls out, joyfully. “In my tiny glass!”

Puck looks around the room as people laugh. Santana has abandoned the liquor at last, cuddling with Brittany; Quinn is slumping into a chair in such a way that makes Puck thinks she’s not far from passing out; the happy hetero couples are are all cuddling or kissing. Then there’s he and Kurt. Kurt looks like he nearly always does in Lima; a little on edge, a little tense, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Puck can’t see himself, but he feels tense and even a little bit angry, even though logically he knows there’s no reason for that.

He must look how he feels, though, or at least a little bit, because Kurt turns to look at him for a moment, head tilted, and then murmurs “I’ll be right back.” When Kurt comes back, he’s holding a cup and a bottle of whiskey, and he sets them in front of Puck. “I think you need this more than I do.”

“I think we both need it,” Puck argues quietly.

“Probably,” Kurt admits, a shaky smile on his lips. “But I don’t think either of us is going to feel comfortable with both of us being drunk at the same time until we’re in a nice little studio on the Upper West Side.” He pours a generous amount of whiskey into the cup and presses it into Puck’s hand. “So for the moment, it’s going to be you.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Yes.”

Puck should probably embarrassed with how quickly he downs the entire contents of the cup, and he vaguely notes Kurt refilling it, though not as full as before, and he downs that, too. The room is sort of tilting, and Kurt’s face is going from really far away to really close, so Puck waves off Kurt’s offer to refill it again. “Mmgood.”

“Okay, baby.” Kurt’s voice is really soft, but then a loud voice intrudes on Puck’s mind.

Finn is drunk enough that he’s no longer quite sure how drunk he actually is or how he came to be that way. His mouth tastes like pineapples and now he legitimately doesn’t remember where the Chicago shot glass he’s holding came from. Rachel’s snuggled next to him in one of Santana’s oversized chairs, and he’s feeling...well, not as fine as he hoped he’d feel.

“It’s fun to do this again,” Rachel says, nuzzling her face into his arm.

“Do what?” Finn asks, trying to make sense of what she’s saying, so he can give the right answer. His brain’s full of a lot of what Finn suspects are wrong answers and he doesn’t want those to fall out of his mouth.

“Drink together, silly!” Rachel giggles.

“We didn’t,” Finn says, turning to look at her. “I mean, before, we didn’t ever. I didn’t get drunk then. I’m not drunk now and I never did get drunk then. That was you.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Rachel squeals, and dissolved into another fit of giggling. “You were so mean to me. You said I was a clingy girl drunk.” She grips him by the shirt and presses her lips to his ear. “Guess you don’t mind so much now.”

Finn jerks away and shakes her off of him. “What do you want from me?” he asks, before he can stop the words from coming out of his mouth. Rachel looks at him like she thinks he’s playing, and he considers a) just going with that and b) chasing it with another couple of shots so he doesn’t have to remember tomorrow. Instead, he says, “Am I just your practice guy or something?”

Shit, this is that filters thing he and Kurt were talking about that one time, isn’t it? He stands and instantly regrets it when the room starts to sway alarmingly.

Rachel’s drunk, but probably nowhere near as drunk as Finn. “Practice guy? Finn, I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Come back over here.” She tries to pull him back down next to her. “Sit down before you fall over.” Finn can’t argue with that logic, because he’s actually already falling over. He lands roughly in the chair. “Now tell me what you’re talking about,” Rachel demands.

“You,” Finn says, pointing at her and fighting the urge to actually shake his finger in her face. The urge is pretty strong and it’s a tough fight. “You! What does this even mean to you? What do I even mean to you?” Rachel looks alarmed, but Finn’s going now and he can’t stop himself. It’s like his mouth is moving without him controlling it, words slurring and spilling out of him. The last rational part of his brain is watching him and screaming, stop it! stop it! but that part’s so doused with pineapple rum that none of the rest of him is listening to it anyway.

“One minute it’s all ‘I can’t wait for New York’ and then there’s all this pink lingerie and potato pancakes with your dads like I mean something to you, when we both know I’m just a...a...one of those things you use to get you from one thing to the next thing. Like a rest stop or whatever. I’m just your rest stop between here and your awesome New York life.”

“Finn,” Rachel says, sounding a little frantic. “Finn, no. It’s not like that at all.” She tries to catch him by the front of his shirt, but he’s still gesticulating wildly, and he won’t be swayed.

“And I’ll keep on being your rest stop because I love you and that’s all I know how to do, just be people’s thing they hang out with until they leave and go get something better,” Finn continues to rant, and people are looking in his direction now, some of them disinterestedly because they’re all drunk, too, but some with actual concern. Finn allows himself the luxury of shaking his finger at Rachel. “And I just want you to know that I know. I know what I am. I know you think I’m stupid, big dumb Finn, oh, he probably won’t even notice that everybody’s abandoning him for some city that’s too good for him. But I know. I know you and I’m not stupid and I know. When I get thrown away, I’m gonna notice, and I’m gonna let you do it anyway, because I love you.”

With that, he picks up the bottle of pineapple rum and just takes a deep swig from it. Rachel sits in the chair next to him silently, tear tracks on her face. Finn’s too drunk to even care about comforting her. He’s too drunk to notice he’s crying, too.

Puck isn’t totally sure what Finn’s yelling about, and sometimes it sounds more like a loud whisper than yelling, which doesn’t make sense. A very small portion of Puck’s brain remembers that this is why he usually doesn’t get as drunk as he acts. Something about New York and being abandoned and the take-home message is that Finn thinks it sucks.

Right.

Puck slumps against the couch and decides that maybe he was wrong earlier; more whiskey suddenly sounds like a good idea, and he waves his hand in the direction of his cup. “Kurt?”

There’s a hand on his forearm, and Puck closes his eyes, relishing the fact that even drunk off his ass, he recognizes Kurt’s hand. He can smell Kurt, too, and he smiles a little as Kurt starts to speak. “What do you need?”

“More.”

“Okay.” Kurt’s voice gets louder and then quieter just during the one word, but it’s gentle and fills Puck’s ears and the whole point is to pretend for another night. He remembers that, despite all the alcohol sloshing around in his brain. Pretend. He takes the drink from Kurt and gulps it down, ignoring the burn, and looks around the room.

“Anyone so-sob... not drunk?”

“Mmm. Me. I’m still a little bit buzzed but nothing spectacular. I may have a beer in a few minutes. Santana, surprisingly. Same thing-she’s buzzed.”

“New year?”

“Not yet.” Kurt’s hand smooths along his scalp and Puck has a bizarre image of himself as a cat for a moment. “Besides, do you think I’d let you ring in the new year without a proper kiss?”

Puck grins. “I like that.”

“Yeah, I know you do, baby,” Kurt says, and this time his mouth is right next to Puck’s ear. Everyone else must be really drunk, too. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Puck nods and closes his eyes again, listening to Kurt’s footsteps as they go away from him. He hears a bottle open and then Kurt’s footsteps approach near him again. “Finn?” Kurt says, and Puck’s not sure if it’s loud or not.

“Lemme ‘lone,” Finn mumbles, swatting at Kurt’s hand. “Just leave me here.”

“Not that easy to get rid of!” Kurt’s voice sounds really chipper, and there’s a pause, so Puck cracks his eyes open to see Kurt taking a drink from a bottle of beer. “You’re going to pass out soon and get a crick in your neck and then you’ll want a massage but really there just aren’t that many massage therapists in Lima, much less any that will give you a massage on New Year’s Day. Really, Finn.”

“What?” Finn peers blearily up at Kurt. “What are you saying and why are you saying so much of it?”

“Your neck, Finn,” and Puck would laugh at Kurt’s enthusiasm if he weren’t convinced that it would make the world spin. A lot.

“Whattabout my neck?” Finn asks, slurring through the first words but over-emphasising the crisp ‘k’ at the end of ‘neck.’

“You’re going to break it. Or something. You need to lie down.” Kurt must’ve been talking with Santana or gesturing or something, because he seems very certain of where Finn should go. “On a bed. A nice fluffy bed without your rum.” Kurt sniffs the bottle. “Nice smelling rum, but this beer is nice too.”

“Don’t drink that,” Finn warns, looking pitiful. “It makes people leave you.” He tries to lie down across the chair, but Rachel’s in the way, eyes still red and watery, and even with lots of flopping, he can’t seem to get comfortable. “Ok, bossofme, I will the bed. Go to it. The bed. Go to it the bed.”

“Excellent!” Kurt makes some kind of movement that is probably supposed to be helping Finn up, but it’s really funny to look at because Kurt is so small next to Finn and Puck just giggles.

Once Finn’s on his feet, he sways dangerously and his face turns white. “I don’ feel so good,” he says to Kurt, in a tiny voice. “Kurt?”

“Toilet?” Kurt asks, voice alarmed, and now he’s stepping back from Finn in what appears to be a rapid manner. Finn nods and puts his hand over his mouth, looking frantic and confused. “That way!” Kurt points frantically, and he gives Finn’s back a tiny push. “Not on me! Not on Puck, either!” he adds when Finn’s first unsteady step is more towards Puck and less towards the bathroom.

“Nooo,” Puck agrees, sitting up unsteadily. “No pukies.”

Finn manages to lurch in the right direction of the bathroom and the sound of loud puking follows shortly after, interspersed with equally loud sobs. “Water.” Puck pronounces.

“Oh, good idea!” Kurt finishes his beer and prances over to the bar area, pulling out six water bottles. He drops two in Puck’s lap and then knocks on the bathroom door. “Finny! Water!”

Kurt is answered by one more round of loud puking and sobbing noises, then a flush, followed by the sound of water running. A pale, droopy, shaky Finn appears in the doorway shortly after. He tries and fails to muster a smile for Kurt, and instead just leans against the door. Kurt opens one of the remaining water bottle and hands it to Finn with what looks like a blinding smile from Puck’s vantage point.

Finn takes a cautious sip of the water, then quickly downs the whole bottle. He looks a little better, but when he starts to walk, his knees buckle a little and he almost knocks Kurt down with him before he manages to catch himself against the wall. “Sorry!” he mumbles, trying straighten out Kurt’s clothing. “I’m sooooo sorry!”

“It’s fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine!” Kurt’s voice has a little edge to it now, and Puck decides it’s a good time to attempt to stand up. “You need to lie down.”

Finn nods obediently and starts to sniffle, like a little kid who’s about to cry. His lip trembles. “You’re the very best brother to me,” Finn slurs, his lip trembling. “You’re so nice to me all’a the time, just very very really nice.”

“Yes, yes,” Kurt says calmly, patting Finn’s back while he tries to juggle the remaining water bottles in his arm. “You’re an excellent waffle, Finn.” Puck manages to stagger to his feet, cradling his own water bottles, and walks towards them.

“And you’re my pancake,” Finn answers, his words slow, starting to cry. “And Puck’s, like, our French toast. You guys, you guys, you’re like, you’re my best ones, you know? My best ones.” Big, fat tears roll down Finn’s cheek and he flings one awkward arm around Puck, using the other one to continue propping himself against the wall.

“Dude,” Puck drags out. “I don’t wanna be. Eggy. Covered in eggs. Not a good mess.” He shakes his head and then winces. “Water.” He opens one of the water bottles and drinks it down, discarding the empty bottle on the floor. “Bed, K?”

“That way,” Kurt says, pushing lightly on Puck’s back and Finn’s as well, then walking in front of them. “A nice big bed.”

“I like a bed,” Finn mutters, allowing himself to be steered into a guest bedroom. As he tries to climb up onto the bed, he pauses and grips Kurt by the shoulders. “Don’t let Rachel leave, ok?”

“Oh, Finn,” Kurt murmurs, and Puck can hear the sadness in his voice. “We love you, too. Best six months younger little brother we could have.” Then his voice changes. “Drink your other water before you pass out.”

Finn shakes himself like a puppy and seems to latch onto the other water bottle as the focus of his attention. “Water,” he agrees, before tipping up the bottle and drinking it down in one long go. “Ok. Bed.” His body seems to go limp and he just crumples onto the bed. “Love you guys.” His eyes are closed before he even gets all the words out.

“S’almost midnight,” Kurt turns to Puck. “You want to stay here?”

Puck nods and sits on the edge of the bed opposite Finn. “Happy 2012, right?”

“Right.” Kurt drinks his own water bottles, one right after the other, and then grabs Puck’s hand. “Seven months, baby.”

“Mmm. Yeah.” They sit in silence until the clock in the room trips over to midnight, and there’s a few scattered shouts back in the main room. Kurt closes the small distance between them, his lips already parted, and Puck can taste beer and Coke and whiskey under his tongue, masking Kurt’s taste slightly. The kiss is sweet and too short, even though the part of Puck’s brain that is growing a little more sober knows that they can’t do anything even if he weren’t drunk beyond capability.

“You want to crash now too?” Kurt asks when they separate, and Puck nods. Kurt pushes Finn farther over and lies down next to Finn, pulling Puck close. Puck lets his eyes close and listens to the sound of Kurt’s even, steady breaths mingled with Finn’s almost-snores.

Happy new year.

The first thing Puck notices when he wakes up is that he smells something cooking, or maybe burning. The second thing he notices is that his head is pounding. The third thing is that someone is nearby laughing.

“They’re so cute,” an almost-familiar voice says, and Puck can’t quite place it. “All three of them, cuddled together.”

So the fourth thing Puck notices is that he’s wrapped up in Kurt’s arms, but there’s a longer, heavier arm flung over both of them. Probably Finn, from what Puck can remember from the night before. He tries to figure out what that means. They were all on the same bed. Kurt’s pressed tightly against him from behind; no surprise there. Finn’s arms are long, so they aren’t necessarily all three all snuggled together... but they probably are.

“Wha?” Finn groans, and the arm moves. “WherethefuckamI?” he grumbles in one long word. “What the? Oh, hey Kurt.”

“Mmmrrfff?” Kurt’s face is buried in Puck’s neck.

“Where are we?” Finn asks again. “Why does my mouth taste like sunscreen?”

“Rum,” Puck grumbles. “Don’t talk so loud.”

“Puck?” Finn says. “Why are you in my bed?”

There’s a giggle from the doorway. “You’re still at Santana’s house,” Tina’s voice explains.

“What?” Finn tries to sit up in the bed and groans. “Oh, god, I feel like crap.”

“You looked pretty cozy,” Mike says mildly.

“It’s okay in a three-way,” Artie quips. “Don’t worry.”

“There was a three-way?” Finn asks, honestly puzzled.

“Think he means us, dude,” Puck groans. “Water?”

Artie snort a laugh and Finn rolls his eyes, making a pained little noise as he does so. “Dude. Kurt’s my brother.”

“S’k’ffle,” Kurt mutters. “So bright.”

“All of you go away,” Finn demands. “Shut the door behind you. Only, Tina, no, somebody quieter. Brittany. Come back with some Tylenol or something. Water. Sledgehammer or something.”

“More beer?” Kurt offers.

Finn makes a pitiful moan. “Don’t even talk about alcohol. I think I died of alcohol poisoning last night.”

“Still here,” Puck points out, stretching a little as Brittany returns with a handful of Advil and a pitcher of water. “Not dead yet.”

“No. I’m dead,” Finn insists. “I’m dead and this is hell. This is hell and for some reason you guys are all here, too.”

“‘M offended,” Kurt responds, propping himself up on one elbow to swallow an Advil. “I’m not part of anyone’s hell.”

“No,” Puck agrees, sitting up reluctantly and gulping down some water. “Sorry, Finn. Still alive. With hangover.”

“Dammit,” Finn says, holding his palm out for Advil and then swiping Puck’s water by leaning across Kurt.

“Still in Lima,” Puck finishes morosely.

“I think I might have to puke,” Finn says. “Or die. Why did I think this was a good idea?”

“Alcohol is surprisingly tasty?” Kurt offers, leaning against Puck. “Just don’t puke on me.”

“Maybe I don’t really need to puke,” Finn suggests. “Maybe I can just move very, very slowly. Like that old TV show, you know, the one with the noise when the guy moves. Only without the noise.”

“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about,” Puck pronounces. “And I think someone’s attempting to cook food out there.”

“I like food. Maybe,” Kurt qualifies. “Brunch food. Let’s go out to brunch in March, okay?”

“Sure, blue eyes,” Puck agrees, slowly trying to stand.

“Yeah, you guys are fucking adorable and all,” Finn says, “but can you stop talking about food, please?” He doesn’t even try to stand up again. “Maybe bring me back some toast.”

“Right,” Kurt agrees, standing up beside Puck. “I want bacon. Sorry, Finn.” Puck follows him to the doorway.

“Duuuude,” Finn whines after him.

Puck musters up a grin as they stumble into the main room, where there is in fact, bacon, toast, and french toast sticks and other food. “Coffee?” he asks, and Santana points with a half-grin. “Goddess,” he nods his head at her, and then briefly thinks that maybe he’s adopting more of Kurt’s mannerisms than he’s realized.

They both grab large cups of coffee and then pile their plates with food, Kurt adding three pieces of toast to the top of his pile as they shuffle back to where they left Finn. “Toast!” Kurt announces as they step into the room.

“Bless you,” Finn mumbles, accepting the toast and nibbling it experimentally. “Ok, I think I’m not gonna die.”

“We were worried,” Puck deadpans, folding up a piece of bacon and stuffing it all into his mouth at once.

“Terribly,” Kurt agrees, stabbing something that’s probably an omelet with a fork.

Santana does not, in fact, kick everyone out at noon; instead she orders pizza for lunch and puts it on her father’s credit card, and announces that they’re all meeting at Golden Corral for dinner at five before going to Mike’s for rehearsal. No one argues with her; all-you-can-eat sounds like a good idea to most of them. No one argues with Finn’s insistence on rehearsal, either.

“So where did you get that gorgeous scarf, Kurt?” Mercedes asks as they’re all helping clean up in preparation for leaving. Kurt’s been talking about the need to shower before meeting back at the restaurant, but the way he looks at the clock makes Puck know that’s not all Kurt has in mind.

“Oh, it was a gift,” Kurt says with a pleased smile.

“From who? Did you have to find it and send your dad the link?”

“No, I didn’t pick it out,” Kurt counters. “And it was from... my secret admirer.” Puck peeks behind him to see Kurt smirking slightly.

“A secret admirer? With good taste? Boy, you need to stop yanking my chain!” She laughs, and after a moment, Kurt laughs lightly. Puck just smirks and mentally pats himself on the back.

Kurt does manage to get the three of them out the door with a jaunty wave before 2 pm, which probably is an achievement, since Sam, Artie, and Brittany were all campaigning for an afternoon of Wii.

Kurt pulls up to the Hudmel house and turns to look at Finn. “We’ll be here by 4:30 if you want a ride to Golden Corral. Just find out if we’re giving Rachel a ride, okay?”

“Yeah, uh,” Finn mumbles. “About that...did I, like, say something. That I shouldn’t have? I woke up feeling like maybe I did.”

Kurt exchanges a glance with Puck, who quirks his eyebrow in lieu of shrugging. “There... may have been an exchange that you probably wouldn’t want to repeat,” Kurt finally answers slowly. “However, I don’t think anyone but Santana and I were sober enough to remember any details. I’m fairly certain Rachel was, if possible, more drunk than you.”

Finn looks bolstered by this information. “Ok, I’ll call her then. Thanks, guys. A lot.” He gives Kurt a long, strange look, but doesn’t say anything else.

“All part of the service,” Kurt says with a grin, and Puck chuckles. “You’re a good waffle, Finn.”

“You’re the best pancake,” Finn answers, climbing out of the Nav. “See you around 4:30. Later, Puck.”

“Later, dude.” Puck shifts in the seat to angle towards Kurt again. “Really eager for that shower, blue eyes.”

Kurt grins widely. “Remember? We’re efficient. Tidy. Ecologically friendly.”

Puck laughs. “I like that.”

A very long shower and a change of clothes for Puck later, Puck leaves a note for his mom and Hannah that he’ll be back late, and follows Kurt back down the stairs to the Nav. When they reach the Hudmel house, they walk in through the garage and pause in the kitchen, where Kurt grabs them each a bottle of water.

“That you, Kurt?” Burt calls out from the living room. “Come in and see your old man.”

“Hi, Dad,” Kurt calls back, then leads the way into the living room, dropping down on the sofa and pulling Puck down beside him. “Happy New Year!”

“Same to you, son,” Burt nods. “Puckerman, I like the hair cut.”

“Thanks,” Puck nods. “Nice not to be called bald,” he adds with a slight grin.

“You look, I dunno, less like a hoodlum trying to compromise my son’s upstanding moral character,” Burt jokes. Well, it’s probably a joke.

“I did notice a distinct lack of suspicious looks in stores,” Puck has to admit, shrugging.

“Well, you weren’t doing yourself any favors with that mohawk,” Burt says, “but the new look is nice. You look older. Anyway, you boys have a nice trip?”

Kurt nods. “We went up in the Willis Tower-what used to be the Sears Tower, Dad-and Puck got us tickets for a musical one night!” He smiles and squeezes Puck’s hand. “You can look at the pictures online, it’s sort of ridiculous. The Tower ones, I mean.”

“Sure, sure. You just give me the whatsit, the Internet address to it, and I’ll check those out,” Burt promises. “You get any pizza?”

“Giordano’s,” Kurt answers. “Also Chicago dogs.”

“And Hard Rock.”

“Exactly.”

“Sounds like fun. You get out to the Pier?”

“Yes, they had a whole Winter WonderFest thing going on. Rides and ice skating and...” Kurt trails off for a moment, looking at Puck.

“Don’t forget the cheesy musical performances,” he offers, grinning.

“They still have that robot tinman guy out there?” Burt asks. “I love that guy!”

“I don’t think we saw anything like that,” Kurt answers apologetically, then yelps as he looks at the time. “I’ve got to get changed. I’ll be right back, Puck.” He springs up from the sofa and a moment later, his feet pound up the stairs rapidly. Puck looks at the television in the wake of Kurt’s abrupt departure.

“Kurt enjoy that, what was that show you were taking him to?” Burt asks, without really looking at Puck.

“Yeah, yeah, he did. Uh, La Cage something? I don’t know French,” Puck admits with a shrug. Puck can feel his hands sweating and tries not to wipe them on his jeans or the sofa.

“Kid loves his musicals,” Burt says. “Glad you guys kept so busy while you were out there. Making the most of your trip and all.”

“Yeah, it’s not that likely we’ll get out there again anytime soon,” Puck agrees, nodding and deciding that feigning at least a little interest in the football game on the television is a good option.

“Right, gonna be a full plate for you kids for a while,” Burt says, “what with finishing the school year and doing all those auditions. I also don’t guess Chicago’s that exciting compared to New York.”

“Well, you know. One’s a place to visit, and the other...” he trails off and shrugs, hoping that Kurt will reappear soon.

“Hmm,” Burt says, and doesn’t expand on that thought. Luckily for Puck, two pairs of footsteps echo on the stairs, and Kurt comes back into the room, Finn trailing behind him, looking rough. Kurt’s wearing grey and brown, which seems like something that someone would say shouldn’t work, but it does anyway for Kurt.

“Ready?” Kurt asks, then turns to Burt. “We’re meeting the rest of the club for dinner and then rehearsal, Dad. See you this evening?”

“Be safe, guys,” Burt says.

“We will,” Kurt responds as Puck stands. Finn offers a weak, “‘Night, Burt,” like even that much pains him.

“You need more Advil, dude?” Puck mutters as the three of them jostle down the hallway. Whoever built the Hudmel house wasn’t planning for the size of three twenty-first century teenage boys.

“Just took some,” Finn says. “Do you have to be so loud, dude? My headache came back about an hour ago.”

“Uh.” Puck exchanges a look with Kurt behind Finn’s back, because he was being really quiet, just in case Burt overheard. “Sure.”

“Thanks, man. I told Burt that the girls kept me up all night squealing and throwing shit in Santana’s room,” Finn says, with sheepish grin. “I don’t know if he bought it or just wanted to buy it, but either way, nobody gave me any grief about it. Oh, and I told him you two fell asleep on the sofa watching the ball drop.”

“Good to know,” Kurt replies, amused, as they climb into the Nav. “How are we going to rehearse if you can’t stand noise, Finn?”

“My guess? Really crappily,” Finn suggests.

“Tsk, tsk,” Puck says with a grin. “Poor leadership, Mr. Hudson.”

“They can kiss my leadership,” Finn grumbles from the back of the Nav. “They’d be happy to skip all together if I let ‘em.”

“So little faith in us,” Kurt says with a small sigh. “Tragic.”

“It is,” Puck agrees, and flips on the radio with a small smirk, even though the volume is really low.

“Hey, I said them!”

Kurt laughs. “I’m sure.”

Golden Corral is crowded, since it’s a holiday AND a Sunday, and they actually have to all stand around holding their trays for a few moments while the staff pushes enough tables together. Artie expresses his sadness that Mindy had to return home, and Tina and Mercedes keep up a loud conversation about some new designer line that Kurt doesn’t actually have an opinion on.

“It’s all for women and nothing really adaptable,” he says in an undertone. “The price is nice but I don’t understand the appeal, to be honest.”

Puck snorts a little under his breath as they finally take their seats. If he’s really honest, he doesn’t particularly enjoy these big glee club get-togethers. He has to deal with the weirdness of paying for one person’s food and only one person’s food, and then the weird dance of where to sit, and after that, if he ends up next to or across from Kurt, his hands and feet twitch and he has to deal with that, too.

Puck really hates the closet, and then someone like Mercedes starts talking about possibly-true gossip that she overheard somehow, even being out of town for a week, and he remembers why he’s not out even to these people, because eventually one of them would slip up.

He looks at Santana at that thought, at the smile on her face as she looks at Brittany, and he worries about how long it will be before it happens to her, before she’s outed to the entire school before she’s ready. He thinks about Casey, who isn’t out officially but still gets treated as if he is, and Dave, who hasn’t even had to go back to school since he came out at the PFLAG meeting.

He doesn’t know how any of them are going to make it to June, actually, and he’s not even sure how he’s going to make it, closet or no closet. One day at a time.

Kurt nudges him, and Puck realizes with a start that he’s stopped mid-bite, thinking. “You okay?” Kurt whispers.

Puck nods jerkily. “Yeah,” he answers. “Okay as can be, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Kurt nods, and they both return to eating.

“Ok, everybody,” Finn says, with less than his usual enthusiasm. “Nice break?”

Puck can’t resist a huge smirk. “Oh yeah.” Most of the rest of the room is staring blankly, clearly still feeling the aftereffects of the night before. Puck’s pretty sure he would be too, if it weren’t that he’s kept on the Advil and gone through a case of water bottles, practically.

“Yeah, well. So I think most of us,” Finn continues, casting a glare in Puck’s direction, “aren’t really feeling super peppy today. I was thinking we could do a vocal-only run through today, just to work out the kinks,” again, a glare at Puck, “from having so much time off.”

Santana’s the one that smirks, though. “I like a nice kink or two,” she offers with a sugary grin.

“Yes, what happened to your plan to have us dance regularly to loosen up?” Kurt offers.

“How much did your shoes cost?” Finn asks.

“These?” Kurt holds out his feet and examines them critically. “Let’s see. I bought them at the end of the season, last February--”

“Yeah, well, if you want to have to buy new ones because I’ve just puked on them, we’ll dance, ok?”

“I wasn’t planning on dancing with you,” Kurt shrugs.

“I’ll be sure to aim if the comments continue, dude,” Finn warns. “We’ll dance next time, guys. All in favor of not shaking our bodies around today?” Most of the hands go up. “Good. Singing this time. Let’s start at the top.”

“Dude. We haven’t even finished figuring out who’s singing what, especially not for ‘Waiting on the World to Change,’” Puck points out. “Are we just all singing all of it for today, or what?”

“Dude, do you wanna run this meeting?” Finn snaps. “‘Cause I can go back out to the Nav and have a nap or something. Yeah, we’re all singing all of it. I’m listening for something, smart ass.”

“Good luck getting into the Nav,” Puck shrugs.

“Then I’ll sleep on the top. Whatever. Shut up or sing or whatever.”

“Oookay, boys,” Kurt interjects with a sigh. “Clearly this is going to be an exciting rehearsal.”

“Let’s sing,” Santana says, rolling her eyes a little. “If some of you can.”

“Thank you, Santana,” Finn says. “See, someone’s ready to work. Let’s sing the damn song.”

Someone manages to get the music started, so they run through the three songs in no particular order. In fact, Puck is pretty sure that “Marchin’ On” is not a perfect follow-up to “Tubthumping,” but he doesn’t say anything else. Frankly, at this point, he would have been better off in his bedroom with Kurt, but whatever.

They run through ‘Waiting on the World to Change’ last, and immediately after, Finn gets the figuring something out look, and says, “Hey, Sam, you mind going back through the last verse by yourself?”

Sam shrugs. “Sure.” They restart the music and Sam sings the middle portion of the song, about information and owning it. Finn gives Puck a meaningful look and then catches Kurt’s eye and does the same. Puck exchanges a glance of his own with Kurt, who tilts his head slightly to each side and then nods once, sharply. Puck nods a little and shrugs slightly, then tilts his head back toward Finn in agreement.

Finn nods decisively. “Sam, we think you should sing the solo for that song.”

“Who’s we?” Tina asks, looking confused, like maybe she fell asleep and missed ten minutes.

Finn returns Tina’s puzzled look. “Me, Puck, and Kurt,” he says, like it should be obvious. “Just now.”

“You didn’t say anything,” she points out,” and the three of them just look at her blankly.

Rachel pipes up. “I know! Isn’t it strange?”

“I like it. It’s like MST3K,” Brittany says. “If you don’t listen to the real words, you can make up any words you want.”

Kurt looks at Brittany, puzzled, and then nods, almost resigned.

“Okay, so Sam’s singing the solo on that,” Mercedes states. “And we ran through all three songs. Can we, like... drink more water or something?”

“We can drink more water and then Sam can sing the whole song, and we’ll work on the background vocals,” Finn says, sounding a little perkier than before the singing. “That ok with you, ma’am?”

“If the water comes with complementary painkillers.”

“We have Asian painkillers,” Mike offers apologetically.

Artie tries to stifle a laugh. Brittany starts to giggle. Nobody wants to look anybody else in the face, but it doesn’t really help, and within moments, everybody, including Mike, is cracking up. Tina is jumping up and down going “Stop! Stop! You’re going to make me pee!” That just makes them all laugh harder, until she dashes for the bathroom with a final shriek. She reemerges under a minute later triumphantly. “I peed!”

“Good for you, Tina,” Finn says, enthusiastically.

Puck rubs his eyes and looks at the clock. He can't figure out why he woke up after just two hours of sleep, and why he can't get back to sleep.

That's not true. He can come up with exactly one reason, but if it's the reason, he's not the only one awake in Lima at 2:30 am.

You awake K

He lies in the dark, holding his phone and feeling a little stupid for sending the text, but before a minute passes, his phone lights up with a response.

Yes

A moment later, a second message from Kurt comes through.

Feels wrong now. I'm lonely. And cold.

Puck bites his lip and tries not to make any sound. Yes, Kurt's got it exactly right-his bed feels wrong and lonely and even a little bit cold, though probably not as cold as Kurt feels. Puck turns on his side and wraps his arm around his extra pillow.

We both have unlimited text right? Tomorrow free. Text now sleep later?

Brilliant

And they do text, back and forth, for nearly three hours before Puck has to get up and drive to work. He drinks a lot of coffee and stumbles through his shift and then the drive over to Kurt's, where Carole and Burt have already headed to work. Kurt's sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a huge mug of coffee.

"Finn's asleep and probably will be for hours yet. Tina wants us to meet her and Mike at the OSU-Lima bookstore at 3:30. Bed now?"

"Yes," Puck nods fervently, and they head up the stairs. Kurt pushes his door closed and they both strip before sliding under Kurt's many covers and into each other arms. "Better," Puck says with a content sigh, his eyes already drifting closed.

"Much," Kurt nods against him. "Sleep, baby." He presses his lips to Puck's forehead.

"You too, blue eyes."

And they do, for six blissful hours, until Kurt's phone informs them that it's time to wake up if they're going to meet Mike and Tina. Puck yawns. "Already? It only takes, like, ten minutes to get there, right?"

"Well," Kurt grins suddenly. "I thought we might want to take a little advantage of the last day of winter holidays."

Puck returns the grin, then. "Point taken." He runs his fingers through Kurt's hair and then stills his hand on the back of Kurt's head, holding him in place as he closes the space between them and brushes his lips against Kurt's. Kurt's mouth falls open under his, and Puck thrusts his tongue over Kurt's. He mentally decides that fuck it, they can make up some kind of stupid story about why they're late to meet Mike and Tina, if necessary.

There's a lot of great things about literally sleeping with Kurt. Waiting up to see Kurt first thing, skin on skin, embracing, all of it. The easy access to each other as soon as they wake up is definitely one of the best, though, and Kurt's finger slips inside Puck during that initial kiss, probing until it brushes Puck's prostate and he bucks in place. Kurt breaks the kiss and attaches his mouth to Puck's shoulder, pushing his finger slowly in and out of Puck.

Puck lets out a low groan as a second finger joins the first, the only lubrication a small amount of Kurt's saliva. They're moving together, Kurt's breath hot on Puck's skin, and finally he hears the click of the lid on the lube and the wet slap of Kurt's other hand on Kurt's cock. Kurt eases Puck from his side onto his back and slowly slides into Puck, his breath escaping in short, audible puffs.

"Don't know if Finn's here," Kurt points out, voice low, and Puck nods, pressing his lips together in an effort to suppress any noise he might otherwise make. Kurt does the same as he moves slowly in and out of Puck. Kurt picks up one of Puck's hands in his and wraps their joined hands around Puck's cock, sliding up and down it slowly, out of rhythm with the pace of his thrusts.

It doesn't take long before Puck is coming, and a low sound does escape from his lips as Kurt comes as well. They huddle under the covers together until the last possible moment, then get dressed hurriedly and head out to meet Mike and Tina at the bookstore.

Puck and Mike are again in the same math class-this time 'statistical applications,' whatever that means-and Tina and Kurt are taking an introductory psychology class at the same time. Puck's just thankful that the math book is a lot cheaper this time around, and Kurt mutters something about how plays, at least, are cheap, even if there are five of them and they're in French. The crowd is huge at the bookstore, and they don't have enough people working, so it's close to five by the time they finish paying for their books.

"Want to grab an early dinner?" Tina asks. "I so don't want to go back to school tomorrow!"

"Me either," Puck agrees frankly. "Subway?"

"That sounds perfect," Mike agrees. "Oh, did you find a class for your sister, Puck?"

"Yeah, yeah, the place over on Bellafontaine," Puck nods. "Starts tonight, actually. She can't stop bouncing, she's so excited."

"Hannah usually can't stop bouncing," Kurt points out.

"This is true," Puck laughs.

"See you at Subway!" Tina calls as they reach the Nav and she and Mike keep walking towards her car.

"Does this mean we can eat two dinners?" Kurt muses as they drive. "One now, and another in an hour with your mom and Hannah?"

Puck grins. "Yeah, that sounds about right. Especially since we slept through lunch."

"Point." Kurt reaches across the console and squeezes Puck's hand. "This is hard, baby. I didn't realize Chicago was going to make it harder."

"Me either." Puck can feel his body curling in, angling towards Kurt but curling in on itself. It's a very defensive posture, but that's how Puck feels: like he's in a state of defending, unless he's in his own room or Kurt's room or away from Lima.

And Subway is every bit as awkward as he was afraid it would be, hands in his pockets and abortive movements until he settles for drumming the heels of his boots against the floor in a complicated pattern, because it keeps part of him busy.

It's a relief to enter his apartment, Hannah setting the table and his mom in the kitchen, and Kurt slides against with a sigh that Puck's pretty sure Kurt isn't even conscious of making. "Noah!" Rina gasps, and Puck turns to look at her, startled.

"What?"

"Your hair!"

"Oh. Yeah." Puck runs a hand over his head. "I keep forgetting."

Kurt laughs. "You need a standard answer by tomorrow."

"Seriously," Puck agrees, nodding, then turns back to Rina. "Yeah, I decided it was time."

"Oooh," Hannah comes into the room. "You're bald, Noah!"

"I am not bald!" Puck protests indignantly. He grabs Hannah's hand and bends down, making her run her hand over his head. "See?"

"It's really short," Hannah argues. "And prickly."

"I think it's soft," Kurt counters, running his own hand over Puck's scalp lightly, and Puck leans into the touch.

Hannah rolls her eyes at them, and Puck scowls, because since when is Hannah old enough to roll her eyes about it? "Food's ready," Rina interjects. "Everyone sit down."

Dinner's simple, and Puck recognizes the post-holiday scrimping; meals are always a little more simple and a little light on meat just after Hanukkah. It's still good, though, and Puck has to admit it took him far too many years to catch on to what his mom was doing. Latkes and blintzes and presents and a day or two free from work add up after awhile.

"I'm going to take Hannah to her class now," Rina says as they clear the table, and Hannah grins. "Can you boys do the dishes?"

"Sure, Mom," Puck nods. "Have fun, squirt."

"I will!"

Hannah's class is only an hour long, and Puck and Kurt decide with a glance not to bother trying, despite Rina's pointed assurance that she's going to sit and observe Hannah's class. By the time they finish the dishes and wander into Puck's room, there wouldn't have been much time as it is.

"I should check my email," Puck groans, sitting at his computer. "I haven't since… Tuesday. Right before I drove over to pick you up." He grins at Kurt and the memory.

Kurt returns the grin and flops down on Puck's bed in a particularly ungraceful way that makes Puck's grin widen. "Can we just rewind and live the last week over and over, until we've done twenty or so of them, and it's summer?"

"Mmm. Good idea. Or even the last two weeks. Work a week, play a week."

"That would give us the necessary money to play for a week," Kurt agrees. "Did we miss any missives from Schue?"

"Nothing since the 'destination' assignment."

"Oh, right." Kurt frowns a little. "I guess I need to figure that out."

"And… okay, that's weird," Puck says in a rush.

"What is it, baby?" Kurt sits up in one smooth motion.

"Facebook." Puck reads the subject line "'Shelby Corcoran added you as a friend on Facebook.'"

"That's… unusual?" Kurt offers.

Puck clicks on the email and reads it carefully. "She wrote a message. Basically… that way I can see more pictures. I'm not going to see everything, feel free to do the same to her, blah blah."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

Kurt stands up and crosses to stand behind Puck, hands across Puck's chest. "The pictures."

Puck snorts. "Right. Sorry." He turns his head to grin at Kurt and clicks on the link in the email, getting to the album labeled "Beth--Winter 2011" with just a couple more clicks. It's full of pictures-more than fifty, actually, and about half of them are obviously from Christmas, wrapping paper around her and a tree behind her, but the rest are the rest of December. One with Santa, several in the snow, Beth's cheeks bright red from the cold, and at the end of the album, a picture from New Year's Eve followed by one that the caption says is from earlier that day. "Holy shit," Puck breathes. "Like. She could still be wearing that outfit, right now."

"That's true," Kurt murmurs in response, voice quiet. "It is a little strange."

"Yeah." Puck's lips curve into a smile almost involuntarily. "Look, that must be George," he adds, pointing to the little kitten in the far corner of the picture. "Running away from the camera." He stops suddenly and clicks to his own profile. "Shit, I need to like, delete that line," he says, gesturing at the screen.

"Oh, yeah." Kurt nods. "I think if you delete it there, it shouldn't appear in anyone else's feed."

"I hope so," Puck says grimly, and does just that, hoping no one else has noticed the line in the five minutes or so it took him to think of it.

"See if there are any others," Kurt suggests, and Puck pulls Kurt onto his lap as he does just that, clicking through the various albums that Shelby's made available for him to see. There's a lot, actually, pictures he's seen before but more from the same period of time, and they steadily work their way backwards until they're reading about the first day Beth sat up, and rolled over, and held her own head up.

They're about to click on the very first album when Puck hears his mom's key in the lock, and he closes Facebook as Kurt slides out of his lap and onto the bed. "Late coffee at the cafe? One more before we go back to work and drudgery?" he suggests.

Puck nods and cracks a small grin. "It'll keep us awake."

"Baby, in case you hadn't noticed, we slept for six hours in the middle of the day today. I don't feel tired at all."

"Good point." They reclaim their coats and walk down the street briskly, their breath visible puffs in the air. The cafe is just down from Puck's apartment, which makes it convenient, but mostly frequented by 30-something and 40-something women who talk loudly about their boyfriends, ex-husbands, and hairstylists, which means it's generally an excellent place for Puck and Kurt to grab a table together without anyone batting an eye or even noticing. Tonight, Puck moves his chair off-center and wraps his free hand around Kurt's.

"You sure?"

"Rock and a hard place." Puck takes a sip of his coffee and tries to collect his thoughts. "It's like. My mind is just churning. It doesn't matter what I do. Keep things the way they are, and there's one set of problems and hardships; go the other way, and it's just a different set, and I can't really live with either one of them."

Kurt just nods and squeezes Puck's hand understandingly.

part two