Pairing: Puck/Kurt (Finn/Kurt, kind of Puck/Santana) [other pairings implied/scattered]
Word Count: 10,360
Genre: Slash [het]
Copyright: Title taken from Popular from Wicked.
Summary: Puck wonders if Miss P has a pamphlet on how to set the guy you like up with your best friend without going insane or jumping anybody at inappropriate moments.
Author’s Notes: Continuing with the prequel/sequel/companion piece to ‘Cause You’ve Got An Awfully Long Way To Go, from Puck’s POV. My God, this story is so angsty, how did I fail to notice this the first time around? *sigh* Thinking this will probably have 4 parts, but leaving the question mark in place just in case, I’ve been burned by my loquaciousness in the past.
Finn has been doing a great job lately of not listening to anyone and being really reluctant about handing out forgiveness, so a tiny part of Puck is kind of hoping that Finn will be a total dick to Kurt. Of course, that will make probably make Kurt all kinds of upset, but Puck can think of a wide variety of things that can make it better, most of which don’t involve bondage or physical violence; a weird first for him. Not that Kurt will immediately throw himself at Puck if Finn completely rejects him, but it gives him more of a chance than he had before.
Well, he has more of a chance until just after lunch, when he runs into Kurt on the way to chemistry. Kurt looks much too cheerful for his confrontation with Finn to have been anything other than friendly, and fuck, but that stings a little bit. He contemplates kicking a passing freshman, but since he’s trying to be slightly less of an asshole at the moment, he settles for a glare that makes the kid squeak and hurry off, shoulders hunched in on themselves. Well, it’s always good to know that people can still be afraid of him; it makes a nice change from despising him.
“Fix things with Finn?” Puck asks, and makes a mental note to try and pull some of the resentfulness out of his voice in future.
“Yes,” Kurt replies, with a smile that’s just a bit too wide. Puck wonders if he’s ever made Kurt smile, and doubts it. “Finn told me he needed to hear what I said. So that’s good, right?”
Well, that’s one way of looking at it. Puck tried to tell Finn to grow the fuck up and he nearly lost a handful of teeth; Kurt says it and he gets all the touchy-feely emotion crap. It’s really fucking unfair, but at this point in time, Puck’s coming to expect that. No one is on his side, and it looks like it’s going to be that way for the next ever, so he should really just stop bitching and suck it up instead.
“Yeah,” he says flatly, “that’s great.”
Kurt frowns at him. “I thought the whole point of this was to get Finn talking to you again.”
“And get you laid,” Puck adds, mostly without thinking. “It’s really boring watching you make moon eyes.”
Kurt flushes in that way that shouldn’t be adorable and really fucking is. “I don’t need you to get me laid,” he hisses, looking pissed.
“Yeah, Hummel, ‘cause you were doing such a good job before I came along,” Puck snaps back, mostly because it’s his own fault but he’s thinking about Kurt and sex at the same time with the guy in front of him and, well, that’s just not good. Especially because Kurt is not going to be having sex with him at any point. He’s going to be having sex with Finn, and that thought makes most of Puck’s internal organs flinch because really, Finn is a giant, he will probably wind up squashing Kurt or something.
For a moment, Puck thinks about making a list of all the reasons why Finn is all kinds of wrong for Kurt and then taping it on his locker one afternoon, but Kurt is headstrong enough to ignore it and also that sounds kind of really desperate. Puck will not ever, ever be desperate; it goes against everything he believes about himself and his general awesomeness.
Kurt has folded his arms and is trying not to look irritated and completely failing at it. “This is really none of your business,” he mumbles eventually.
“Bit late for that now,” Puck points out, “since you made it my business and everything.”
Kurt is really far too attractive when he’s a little bit pissed. It’s more difficult than usual to resist dragging Kurt into the nearest closet and pulling off whatever sparkly insanity he’s decided is a good wardrobe choice today, but Puck manages it.
“You accosted me in the hall on a Monday morning!” he protests. “I am never at my best first thing in the morning!”
“So you want to back out now?” Puck demands, and if he’s maybe slightly hopeful about this even though he knows he shouldn’t be, well, it’s not like anybody can tell.
Kurt scowls even harder. His mouth is very distracting and Puck accidentally sort-of tramples a freshman. Stupid short people cluttering up the halls.
“No,” he mutters at last.
Puck smirks like he’s won something. “Well stop bitching then.”
Kurt sniffs, raising his head disdainfully even if he’s still flushed. “I’m so sorry my lack of a gay sex life offends you,” he snips, before ducking into the first classroom on the left.
Puck stands very still in the hall as people shove past him, and wonders if Miss P has a pamphlet on how to set the guy you like up with your best friend without going insane or jumping anybody at inappropriate moments. She probably doesn’t; most people aren’t idiots like him.
Puck is fairly sure that math class is dangerous to his health, so he’s pretending to have a migraine and lying in the dark in the nurse’s office; she did spend a couple of weeks once refusing to let him in because she worked out he was lying, but then he had to resort to increasingly ridiculous medical complaints to get out of class and after the third time he faked appendicitis she finally just told him to go back to phony headaches.
The door opens and the nurse comes in with Santana, who has her arms folded across her stomach.
“You just rest here, dear,” she says, with far more sympathy than she’s ever shown Puck, showing Santana to the other bed. Santana waits until the door is shut before coming over and shoving Puck sideways so she can sit on the end of his bed.
“What are you even doing here?” Puck asks.
Santana rolls her eyes. “I’m faking period pains,” she tells him. “It’s how I used to get out of Spanish until Mr Schuester got all kicked-puppy about it and started begging me to come to his lessons. It was really sad,” she adds, tone emotionless.
Puck smirks, sitting up on his elbows. “So you’re talking to me again?”
“I have a question,” Santana explains.
This is not going to be good. It’s never ever good when Santana has a question.
“Just how gay for Hummel are you? Like, ‘that’s a nice ass and I will now tap it because I’m so hardcore I can fuck anything and it doesn’t matter about the gender’ gay, or ‘he fills my life with sunshine and puppies and now I want to pick out drapes with him’ gay?” Puck just stares at her until she sighs. “You wouldn’t be my bitch if I didn’t notice this kind of shit,” she points out.
Puck thinks about it for a moment. “You’ve noticed he has a nice ass?”
Santana gives him her bitchface. “Brittany called it,” she says. “Also he wears extremely tight pants and I’m much more subtle about my eyeraping than you are. And don’t think distracting me with Hummel’s ass will get you out of answering.”
Puck sighs. “I don’t want to pick out drapes,” he offers. “I’m still a dude, you know?”
Santana’s expression is entirely unreadable. “Good. I bet you’d have crappy taste and Hummel would probably try and beat you to death with his purse and it would all be very, very lame.”
They’re silent for a long moment, and it isn’t comfortable. It’s weird in a way it’s never been between them before.
“Can we talk about Brittany?” he asks after a while.
“Not if you want to be physically capable of fucking Hummel,” Santana replies smoothly.
Puck shrugs. “I’m setting him up with Finn.”
Santana’s expression turns patronisingly pitying. “Oh, Jesus, Puckerman, you loser.”
Puck wants to protest this but he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on here. “I know, right?”
Santana sighs. “Pity make-out?”
“Yeah, why the hell not.”
Puck knows it’s sick and sad and he will never, ever tell anyone, especially not Santana, but it’s kind of nice just to be close to someone. You never really notice how much you need something until you can’t have it anymore.
The nurse is unimpressed when she walks back in on them, and Puck decides he’ll have to find a new way to skip math tomorrow.
It’s nicer than it should be in Kurt’s car, rain pouring down and blurring the outside world. Kurt insists on playing songs from musicals but he’s stopped looking terrified and also stopped being such a bitch, which is also a good thing. Puck knows it doesn’t matter whether Kurt likes him or not in the scheme of things, but that doesn’t stop him from kind of enjoying it a bit too much when they fall into easy conversation. From what he’s seen, conversation isn’t easy at all between Kurt and Finn, but that’s probably a good thing; Kurt can’t talk to Finn because he’s so crazy about him. Apparently, he doesn’t have that problem with Puck, but what the hell, it’s not like he’s bitter or anything.
Puck thinks he’d be bored of all this denial by now if it wasn’t for the fact it’s basically the only fucking thing keeping him still functioning.
Anyway, he steps up his plan and tells Kurt all about how he needs to offer to tutor Finn in Spanish, because from what he’s seen Kurt is actually kind of ok at Spanish and Finn is... really not. Well, Finn is failing at everything, basically, and while Puck is not much better he has at least learned not to borrow Finn’s biology notes after trying to seduce some girl in his English class who sighed and said “sweetie, your heart’s on the other side of your chest”. She did blow him in the boys’ bathroom later, though, so it all worked out pretty awesomely; he got some and didn’t fail his pop quiz later that week. But that was weeks ago, before he became more fail than Brittany’s biology notes, which are basically just pictures of trees. Sometimes they’re Christmas trees, for the bits she thinks she should know the answer to but really doesn’t. Puck is kind of impressed by her system, if nothing else.
“You’ve slept with half of Lima,” Kurt points out, amusement flickering around his mouth.
Even when he was awesome, Puck wouldn’t cop to that. Still, he is/was a stud, that much is true.
“Like, a quarter,” he replies, which isn’t true either but is kind of plausible. He’d probably have gotten to a quarter by the end of high school though, if it wasn’t for the whole social pariah thing that’s happened recently. It’s kind of a shame actually, especially since this stupid recurring sexual identity crisis that isn’t fucking off no matter how hard Puck tells it to implies that a whole variety of options have just opened up to him.
Hey, if he can get over Kurt and become semi-popular again he can basically fuck everyone. It’ll probably be really, really epic. He should totally start work on that sometime.
Kurt arches an eyebrow in that bitchy way that Puck used to find irritating and now finds it just kind of turns him on. Sure, he’s a teenage boy, most things get him horny, but he does wish that fewer of those things were directly related to Kurt.
“Your modesty really is an attractive quality.”
Puck is about to reply when his phone buzzes in his lap; he’s been half-heartedly sexting with a girl saved in his phone under “NICE ASS”, which is illustrative but not really helpful in reminding him who she is or where he may have picked her up. It’s mostly just to distract himself from Kurt and his ridiculous amounts of pretty, and it was working until Kurt decided to help him out. It seems unfair that a gay guy is better at straight sexting than Puck is; that should totally be against the rules of the universe or something.
It’s a message from Quinn, and all it says is GET HOME NOW.
Something in Puck clenches; he manages a half-hearted “you know it” and a “I gotta be going”, sliding out of Kurt’s car that is big and shiny and has a backseat so wide Finn probably won’t get cramps in it and fuck, but he wishes he hadn’t thought that, and heading towards his own truck through the rain.
When he’s unlocked the door, he calls Quinn. “What’s going on? Is it the baby? Do I need to-”
Quinn, when she speaks, sounds nervous. “It’s your mom. Well, kind of. Look, you need to get over here fast, ok? Well, not too fast, don’t hydroplane or whatever, but hurry.”
Panic claws through him because if this is what he thinks this is then he really, really doesn’t need this shit. Not now. He contemplates running back to the warm safety of Kurt’s car, stupid Broadway tunes and all, but that’s pussying out and he’s not there yet and no one leaves their freaking babymama out all alone, not even when their babymama is Quinn Fabray, who eats lesser mortals on toast for breakfast every morning even after all the crap that’s happened this year. He runs two red lights and drums his fingers on the steering wheel, anxious and tight.
It takes him a while to realise he’s beating out Defying Gravity.
His mom is waiting for him in the living room when he gets inside, sneakers squelching. Lily is nowhere to be seen but Quinn is sitting on the couch, eyes wide and freaked, hands folded protectively over her stomach. The tension is tight and sharp, like it could cut any of them open any minute.
“Hey,” he says warily.
“Noah, would you like to tell me why Mrs Chang congratulated me on my impending grandmotherhood at the grocery store today?” his mom asks. Her voice is light but knows from past experience that this means she’s beyond pissed and into some whole other scary world of anger.
Fucking Mike, he’s so quiet at school, but he can tell his mom that Puck got Quinn pregnant? Puck thinks about arranging a Great And Terrible Revenge before recalling that no one has his back so no one will help him out with that.
He remembers that he’s meant to be replying. One quick glance at Quinn and her helpless expression tells him that she hasn’t said anything, leaving this all up to him. That’s probably a good thing, really.
“I’m sorry, mom,” is all he manages. There isn’t a whole lot else to say.
She bursts into tears. Quinn looks startled, shifting on the couch like she wants to move but doesn’t know if she should. Puck is terrible when women cry – the last time someone really cried in front of him, he made this whole mess happen because he couldn’t work out how to tell Quinn that she was still the centre of Finn’s universe, and settled for screwing her instead – but it’s his mom and this is his fault. He mans up and takes a few steps forward, pulling her into a hug and she cries against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he says, over and over, like they’re the only words he still knows. “I’m so sorry.”
Quinn is still watching them, looking kind of traumatised. Go upstairs, Puck mouths at her, and after a moment she nods and flees.
“I didn’t raise you to treat women like this,” his mom manages, smacking his arm.
“I know,” Puck says, and is relieved that she doesn’t know about the cougars or what really happened with Rachel.
“Just... what were you thinking?” she demands, and he can’t tell her that either, mostly because he doesn’t know. He wasn’t thinking; that was the whole point. “And why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know how to,” he admits. “I just...”
His mom wipes at her eyes. “Lily’s going to be an aunt and she isn’t even ten yet.”
There’s a long moment of silence and then his mom says what he’s been waiting for since the start: “and Quinn isn’t even Jewish.”
So, babygate has broken in the Puckerman household, Puck texts Santana later.
Can I say ‘I told you so’? Santana responds.
After a couple of minutes, she adds: Britt says we should offer you a pity threesome. Emphasis on the pity.
Puck raises his eyebrows; it’s been a while since they offered to double up for him. It’s a shame he doesn’t really want it anymore. Are you two picking out drapes yet?
Britt has a date in half an hour. Some guy on the hockey team.
Puck frowns. He knows Brittany’s not exactly quick on the uptake, ever, but surely she’s got to have figured some things out by now. Apparently not. He’d feel more sorry, but his love life is such a fucking screwed up mess of different religions, genders and levels of pregnancy at the moment that he’s exhausted. Do you want pity sex, Santana?
Her reply comes quickly. Fuck you. I hope your mom kicks you out and you have to live in your truck.
Yeah, Puck texts, me neither.
“I’m sorry,” Quinn offers from his bedroom doorway. “I should’ve lied, I just... I didn’t know what to say.”
Puck shrugs. “It’s ok,” he tells her. “I mean, she was gonna find out sometime. And at least Finn didn’t come over and sing it to her.”
Quinn manages a smile and comes over to sit beside him on the bed. “This is just such a mess,” she whispers.
Puck nods because, hell, he can’t argue with that, but links their fingers together because, right now, regardless of all the resentment and confusion swirling between them, all they really have is each other.
“We could call her ‘Drizzle’ as a peace offering?” he suggests after a moment.
“Yeah, no,” Quinn replies, and her voice sounds a little stronger. “Kurt says that’ll get her dumpstered, and, well, he would know.”
It’s kind of sad how his pregnant not-girlfriend is closer to dating Kurt than he is.
“We never put him in the dumpster because of his name,” Puck protests, though that isn’t really an excuse.
“Your sister wants to call her ‘Miley’,” Quinn tells him after a minute.
“My sister thinks that Justin Bieber is the greatest thing to ever happen to the music industry. She’s not naming our kid after some Disney Channel skank.”
Quinn laughs, but adds: “this would be why your mom thinks you’re a misogynist.”
The fact that my life is nowhere near as fucked-up as yours is very comforting, Santana texts him after a while.
Puck needs to catch a break soon, seriously, or he thinks he might just fall apart. Or maybe kill someone. Both options are still open.
“I need new friends,” he mutters.
Quinn squeezes his hand. “No,” she says gently, “you just need friends, period.”
Puck lets go of her and flops back onto his bed. “I hate all parts of my life that have ever happened.”
Quinn stands up and looks down at him, expression thoughtful. “You have been hanging out with Kurt a lot recently, haven’t you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demands, angrier than he means to be. Quinn doesn’t even blink; just smiles a little before she walks out, closing his door quietly behind her.
I’m not in the fucking mood for your shit, Lopez he texts back, and hears the sound of another bridge bursting into flames.
She doesn’t reply. He doesn’t blame her.
Glee club is more fun than usual because Santana is so pissed she isn’t even sending evil looks in his direction and Quinn is sitting with Kurt. This shifts Puck from his position of Mostly Invisible to Actually Invisible, which is fine by him because he’s currently feeling so useless that he just wants to punch everyone. Breakfast this morning was crazy awkward, with his mom still looking like she might cry at any moment, Quinn cheerfully explaining to Lily about all the reasons the kid isn’t going to be called Miley or, in fact, any name even slightly affiliated with the Disney Channel, and no one talking to Puck at all.
If he turns into a psychopath at some point it really won’t be his fault.
“So, you’re looking angrier than usual,” Artie observes, wheeling himself up beside him when they’re supposed to be discussing song choices about... something, Puck really wasn’t listening and Mr Schue has drawn a confusing collection of disturbing stick figures on the board. Either he wants them to develop a specific dance routine or have some kind of orgy as a team-building exercise, or maybe organise some kind of massacre so they’ll definitely defeat Vocal Adrenalin. Puck frowns, and isn’t sure which one he’d prefer.
“Won’t you end up in some kind of trouble for talking to me?” Puck demands.
Artie shrugs. “I get cripple immunity. It’s kind of cool.”
Puck tries very hard not to smile. “I’m pretty sure people hate me more than they pity you.”
Artie studies him for a long moment, while they pretend the rest of the club – except Santana and Brittany, who are giggling over something in the corner – aren’t staring and whispering about them. Puck would tell them all to get fucking lives, but he’s basically been shouting that at them in the halls for the last two years and it’s not like any of it’s ever stuck. Santana’s right; when even the losers are judging you, that’s when you realise just how badly you suck.
“It’s really sad how emo you are,” Artie decides at last. “I mean, you wanted to flip me over in a port-a-potty a few months ago.”
“That was before the entire world decided to take a giant dump on me,” Puck points out.
Artie’s face scrunches. “Wow, that’s a mental image.” He blinks a couple of times and then adds: “anyway, now you just act like a kicked puppy all the time. Even the freshmen have stopped being afraid of you and they’re afraid of everyone. Even Rachel.”
“This is because Rachel is freaking scary,” Puck reminds him, because it’s true. The way she’s looking at him right now is nothing short of crazed, and she supposedly kind of likes him. Maybe. Who knows, really?
“Good point,” Artie agrees. “Well, the freshmen are even scared of Kurt, though actually that might just be because they are blinded by all that glitter he wears. I’m not sure.”
“Did you have a point?” Puck asks, a little sharply, mostly because he doesn’t like talking to people about Kurt. It makes him feel like if he says anything they’ll look at him and they’ll know and then he will have to actually kill himself for failing so hard. “Also, I really don’t need your pity.”
Artie sighs. “Yeah, you really do.”
Puck frowns. “What exactly do you want from me? Or did you just come over here to bitch at me?”
“I thought maybe I’d just mock you until you decided to stop moping around looking like a kicked puppy,” Artie shrugs. “Weird as it is, since you’ve basically spent your high school career terrorising me, I kind of hate seeing you like this. It’s not satisfying like I thought it would be, it’s just sad.”
“So you want me to put gum on the wheels of your chair again, or slushie Mercedes, or shut Kurt in a locker?” Puck asks. “That seems weirdly masochistic, even for you guys.”
“Well, no,” Artie says, “because then I would have to get Finn to beat you up yet again, and I think even Kurt has stopped finding that remotely attractive. And also Mr Schuester might cry and nobody wants that.” He shrugs. “It’s all about the attitude, Puckerman. Think about it.”
And he rolls himself back over to Tina, who throws herself on him like he’s returned from some kind of war and might have new physical injuries, despite the fact she’s been watching the whole damn time and Puck hasn’t even unfolded his arms yet. Fuck all of this, he thinks tiredly, because he can’t even be angry about half the glee club being afraid of him, what with the way he spent two years making sure that they would be.
“Do you have any ideas, Puck?” Mr Schuester asks after a while.
Puck thinks this is unfair; he turns up to rehearsal and sometimes he even sings, and in return Mr Schue doesn’t try and get him to contribute. It’s a system and it’s been working ok so far and he doesn’t care if Mr Schue thinks that maybe he can do some kind of social reintegration thing, he’s been proven to be hopelessly delusional in the past. Anyway, whatever, it’s not like Mr Schuester even likes him all that much, he just needs Puck to be another guy at the back capable of holding a tune when told to.
“I could screw all of Vocal Adrenalin’s moms and then point this out to them just before they perform,” Puck suggests, tone flat, because he is not playing this game and he is not getting involved just to get shot down by everyone else. He is not. “It always works in football.”
Mr Schuester’s mouth falls open and he blinks a few times, apparently not sure what the hell to say to that. Good.
“Am I the only one who thinks this plan kind of has merit?” Artie says, after a minute of stunned silence.
“Vocal Adrenalin does have a lot of members,” Kurt remarks, not looking up from where he seems to be braiding Brittany’s hair. “Either Puck’s going to have to work fast or some of the other players are going to have to pitch in.”
Puck watches Tina hide a giggle behind her gloved hands.
“Can we discuss this before we whore me out?” Mike asks.
Mercedes looks at Kurt and then at Puck – who knows from past experience that he cannot look innocent even when he tries, but he does his best to look at least non-threatening – her eyes narrowed in that scary way she has. “All those in favour of whoring out the football players?”
One by one, random members of the glee club begin raising their hands. Puck watches, bemused, because he was only trying to make Mr Schuester stop taking to him and now some whole other thing seems to be happening. He can’t even tell if this is a good thing or not, so he stays quiet and just watches.
“So, that’s decided then,” Kurt says, looking around. “Do we want to assign them mothers alphabetically by surname, or-”
Rachel cracks at this point, bouncing up from her seat like someone put a firecracker underneath it and storming to the front of the room.
“Regionals are in weeks,” she shrieks, voice more shrill than usual, and Puck resists the urge to cover his ears with his hands. “And while you all mess around, Vocal Adrenalin are rehearsing! If we want to win, we have to take this seriously!”
Everyone fakes a guilty and/or pained look. Kurt seems to be particularly distressed until Puck follows his eyeline and realises that Kurt is actually looking at Rachel’s skirt, lips curled with prissy distaste.
Mr Schuester takes this as an opportunity to leap back in and pretend he has some kind of control over them like a proper teacher, and Puck goes back to glowering ambiguously and clock watching, occasionally flinching when Rachel comes out with something high-pitched and passionate. It’s probably great that she’s so invested in glee club, seeing as how it is basically the only thing she has in her life, but Puck wishes she’d do it more quietly. Or through interpretative dance, because hey, then he’d be able to close his eyes and block it out completely.
When he next glances over at everyone else, Quinn has one of her smugly thoughtful smiles stretched across her lips, and Kurt winks at him, just once, before turning away.
Puck swallows a smile and promises himself he’ll do something obnoxious to Jacob tomorrow to make up for it.
The Corset makes a reappearance a couple of days later. Puck still isn’t sure if it’s a girl’s corset or if there are places you can buy corsets from if you’re a dude, and thinks it’s probably best he doesn’t have an answer either way. The first time Kurt wore The Corset, Puck took great enjoyment in slinging him into the dumpster, because, you know, wtf. Since he supposedly doesn’t put people in dumpsters anymore he’s taken to ignoring the presence of The Corset because it fucks with his head. Unfortunately, now that Puck has realised he is maybe a little bit gay for Kurt and there isn’t a whole lot he can do about it, The Corset is just fucking inconvenient, since Puck has to skip the first half of biology to jerk off in peace in the boys’ bathroom.
It’s kind of sad how that isn’t even close to being the low point of his existence.
Walking down the hall, Puck catches sight of Kurt and Mercedes laughing about something next to her locker and thinks about saying that corset looks good on you but you know what? I think it’d look better on my bedroom floor. That line has worked surprisingly well on girls in the past but he’s pretty certain it would fail with Kurt even if he wasn’t crazy about Finn; Kurt would freak out at the idea of his clothes winding up on a floor somewhere. He’d focus on that part and not the implied-nudity part and, well, Puck is all about the implied-nudity part. And he really should stop thinking about nudity when Kurt is basically right in front of him because if he has to skip another class to jerk off to the mental image of that corset under his hands he might as well go and get Santana to castrate him.
He also really needs to speed up and get Kurt into Finn’s pants already, because he might be an ass but even he wouldn’t do the same thing twice to Finn. Probably.
He catches Kurt’s eye on the way past, causing Kurt to turn immediately to Mercedes and suggest they go for iced lattes after school before moving to fall into step with him. Glancing over his shoulder, Puck can see the dangerous glare Mercedes has levelled at his back, and he reminds himself firmly that she is nowhere near as terrifying as Santana. And also that he is not doing anything wrong at all, he’s giving everyone what they want – well, Finn doesn’t know that he wants it yet, but he will; he has eyes, how could he not – and if he benefits from that, well, then that’s great but it’s not like he’s screwing up other people’s lives for his own entertainment. He’s almost definitely grown out of that.
“So,” Kurt says after a moment, “are you going to mock me for today’s clothing choice?”
Puck shrugs. “Nothing I haven’t seen before. If you want to shock people you’re gonna have to get something else out of your closet.” He thinks about it. “Have you got a Catholic schoolgirl uniform?”
“No,” Kurt responds, flushing, though he adds: “and thank you for that highly disturbing and inappropriate window into your depraved sexual fantasies.”
Oh, Hummel, you have no idea, Puck thinks.
“So you’re not gonna turn up in a dress one day?” he asks, faking looking disappointed. He’s pretty sure he’s not disappointed about this, though who the hell can say at the moment?
“Why does everyone at this school assume I secretly crossdress in my spare time?” Kurt demands, looking attractively pissed.
“Um, ‘cause you regularly come to school in a corset?” Puck suggests.
Kurt rolls his eyes. “You’re all so narrow-minded,” he says.
“So you definitely don’t own a dress?” Puck asks, just to make sure. And maybe because it makes Kurt look even angrier and, well, it’s kind of satisfying. Anyway.
“No,” Kurt snaps, folding his arms across his chest. “I do not and have never owned a dress. Ok?”
“Ok,” Puck says, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “You can’t blame me for checking.”
Kurt sighs heavily. “I hate everything about you. Especially that shirt. Did you get dressed in the dark this morning? Because I’m pretty sure even a blind trucker could acquire better clothing than that from the dumpster behind Walmart.”
Puck waits patiently until he’s done before asking: “feel better?”
Kurt smiles slightly. “Actually, yes. So, if you didn’t want to insult the corset...”
“It’s time we kicked this up a notch,” Puck responds, forcing his mind back on track. “Tutoring Finn in Spanish, yeah?”
“Right,” Kurt says, a serious expression crossing his face, like this is important. Puck wants to kick something, anything, but tells himself he’ll just save it for football practice and tackle everyone instead. “So... at some point I need to offer, then?”
“Yeah,” Puck agrees, forcing himself to try and remember why he thought all of this was a good idea a couple of weeks ago. “But, you know, don’t just march up to him and flutter your eyelashes and tell him that you want to help him out with his conjugating, that won’t work.”
Kurt is looking bitchily incredulous.
“Casual, Hummel,” Puck explains, “casual, not with that creepy infatuated expression that you wear around Finn because that will just make him back away and he’ll probably wind up crushing a freshman and, you know, ew.”
“I do not have a creepy infatuated expression,” Kurt protests angrily.
“Yeah, you do,” Puck shrugs, “how do you think I figured out you wanted to jump Finn in the first place?”
Kurt’s scowl deepens. “How do you even know what ‘infatuated’ means?” he demands.
Puck smirks. “I looked you up in the dictionary and it was the first word next to your picture.”
Kurt flushes even darker, but after a second manages: “your dictionaries still have pictures in them?”
It should be irritating that Kurt has a bitchy comeback for all occasions, and Puck firmly reminds himself of this.
“You wanna complain about how I’m too awesome to study, or do you wanna talk about how we’re gonna get Finn to agree to you tutoring him?”
As it turns out, Wicked is way more lesbian-y than he was expecting, and he really needs to stop googling musicals that Kurt likes because that’s basically just sad. Lily is downstairs and Quinn is asleep in their guest bedroom, apparently worn out from whatever it is she does all day other than bitch and look martyred. Puck kind of wishes he had the option of looking martyred but he knows no one would buy that shit and anyway, playing the victim has never really worked all that well for him.
Puck debates sending links to the more gay bits to Santana before deciding that she’s really pissed with him this time and winding her up will not help matters. She’ll only do something like telling Kurt that Puck is lusting after him or screwing up his life in some other way and it’s not like Puck isn’t doing a good enough job of screwing it up himself anyway.
The sound of his mom yelling from downstairs is unexpected; Puck’s gotten used to being the only person who gets shouted at these days (“I’m not old enough to be a grandmother, I thought I taught you better than this!” and on and on and on) so it’s kind of awesome that it’s not happening to him. He can’t make out the words and debates going downstairs to find out what’s going on before deciding he really can’t be bothered, and continues clicking through different tracks of shrieking women with weirdly catchy songs until his mom’s shouts die out. Then he decides he should probably find out what’s going on, and goes down to find Lily sitting sullenly on the couch.
“What’s up?” he asks, sitting down beside her.
“I got into a fight with a boy at school,” she provides.
Puck thinks about this for a moment, studying his little sister. Her knuckles are bruised, but the rest of her looks pretty ok. “Did you win?” he asks. Lily nods. “That’s my girl.” She cracks a smile and Puck puts his arm around her, pulling her into a protective hug. “So, mom’s pretty mad?”
Lily shrugs. “Yeah. But she’s mostly blaming you.”
“Of course she is,” Puck sighs.
They sit in silence for a while, until Quinn appears in the doorway, a serious expression on her face. “So, you got into a fight?” she asks. Lily nods, something nervous crossing her face. “You know what that means?” Quinn adds, still looking kind of terrifying. Lily shakes her head, and a smile spreads across Quinn’s lips. “That means manicures!”
Lily squeaks and hops off the sofa to run upstairs. Puck smiles gratefully at Quinn but he can’t stop himself from adding: “you’re going to be the worst mom ever, by the way.”
Quinn just laughs at him and heads upstairs after Lily. Puck leans back into the couch and waits for his mom to come in and explain how all of this is his fault, because sooner or later that’s going to happen and he may as well make it easy for her. He stares blindly at the TV and the damn mattress commercial comes on, the one they made before his life went to shit, the one where Kurt looks far too damn satisfied in those pyjamas, smirk twitching across his mouth.
Puck groans and switches the TV off.
It’s pretty ok, Puck decides, to ask Kurt if he’s a good kisser since this is basically what their whole stupid scheme is based around. It’s not sexual harassment if Kurt doesn’t realise it, Puck reasons, and since he’s basically the king of sexual harassment he would know.
The discovery that no one has ever kissed Kurt before? Should really not be as hot as it is. Should really, really not be as hot as it is and oh God but Puck did not need to know this, he should have actually respected Kurt’s privacy and not asked because Jesus that thought is just... He reminds himself that he is in Kurt’s stupidly large car and that this is not a place to pop a boner or start making up a collection of Virginal But Still Somehow Fundamentally Slutty Kurt fantasies. That’s for later, or possibly not at all seeing as how Kurt is going to become Finn’s boyfriend in the future and therefore Puck really needs to stop making this worse for himself.
Still, it’s damn sad that no one has ever kissed Kurt and something fierce and possessive uncurls in Puck’s stomach because if Finn gets Kurt in the end then he does not also get to be Kurt’s first kiss. That’s just greedy. And Kurt should probably know what he’s doing when he finally jumps Finn.
It’s logical that he kiss Kurt right now. Completely and utterly logical and no one can argue with that. Logic is awesome.
Kurt turns his head and Puck’s mouth connects with his cheek instead. It’s disconcertingly soft and Puck pulls away quickly. Kurt isn’t supposed to cockblock him, this is totally fucking unfair.
“I’ve seen Cruel Intentions,” Kurt explains, looking much too calm considering how hard Puck’s heart is hammering right now, “I’ve seen John Tucker Must Die.” Actually, so has Puck. Damn Santana and her weakness for shitty teen movies before and/or after sex. “I know how this goes and I kind of appreciate it in a very weird way because I know how much the mere idea of kissing me would mess with your personal conceptions of masculinity, but while I do know my first kiss isn’t going to take place surrounded by fireworks and balloons and tumbling rose petals, I do sort of want it to happen not in my car in the school parking lot. Ok?”
Kurt’s logic is unfortunately both logical and not at all awesome. Damn Kurt and his sensible logic. And also damn him for making Puck want to get him all the gimmicky shit he apparently wants in order to give him the tackiest most epic first kiss in the history of first kisses. Puck does not do romantic. He does alcohol and come-hither smirks and getting paid for ‘cleaning the pool’ afterwards and that is all he can manage. He’s been told it enough times.
He pulls together something that’s meant to be a smile but which doesn’t feel like one and probably doesn’t look like one either. “Dude, you lost me at ‘conceptions’. But yeah, I get it.”
Kurt shifts and Puck realises that he’s getting his keys out to drive away, and Puck doesn’t want him to go. Not right now.
Kurt frowns and says, sounding confused: “Do you... want to hang out?”
Puck isn’t sure if that’s an offer or not but faced with going home to see his mom’s disappointed face and Quinn’s exhaustion and Lily’s general confusion with all of this, he decides he’ll make it one. Kurt probably won’t say no.
“Ok,” he says.
Kurt’s room is clean and very organised and much too stylish for Lima, just like Kurt himself. Puck looks around curiously because he’s totally allowed to be curious, and he is not in any way at all collecting information for jack-off fantasies involving Virginal But Still Somehow Fundamentally Slutty Kurt because that would be really, really dumb and possibly a bit out of line. Still, Puck has been out of line for so many years now that he can’t even remember what the damn line looks like anymore.
“You want to watch a movie?” Kurt suggests, still looking like Puck could turn around at any moment and beat him to death with one of his confusing but probably fashionable chairs, confusion twisting his face.
“Sure,” Puck shrugs, and tries to remember how to look non-threatening.
“DVDs are in that box there,” Kurt explains, gesturing at his shelves. “Do you want popcorn?”
“Yeah, ok,” Puck says, because he assumes Kurt works exactly the same way Santana always has. She makes popcorn, supposedly for Puck, and then she can steal however much she wants because everyone knows that food that belongs to someone else has no calories in it at all. It’s one of those girl rules Puck has never understood, but he doesn’t have to understand, just participate.
When Kurt has gone Puck is well-behaved and does not go prying through Kurt’s stuff even though he really, really wants to, mostly because he’s pretty aware that Kurt is weirded out as it is and he doesn’t need to push him into a freak-out. Instead, he goes to look at DVDs and manages to select a stupid romcom Santana made him watch once that was actually kind of ok and which didn’t have stupid amounts of singing in it.
Puck really doesn’t miss the crazy bitch at all, by the way.
Kurt comes back down the stairs with popcorn, and Puck holds out the DVD. The uncertain look on Kurt’s face is replaced with amusement, and it’s a much better look on him.
As they watch the movie and eat the popcorn and bicker about the attractiveness of the stars, Puck can’t help noticing just how unsettlingly easy all of this between them. And he can’t think like that because, for one thing, all he really wants to do is fuck Kurt, like, a lot. Puck doesn’t want to date anyone ever, least of all a boy who spends most of his time bitching at him and the rest of his time bitching about the rest of the world. That would be totally and completely fucking insane.
Puck ignores the little voice in the back of his head that sounds frustratingly like Santana pointing out that nothing he has done so far this year has been even a little bit sane.
The important fact is that Puck is not avoiding Kurt. At all. Not even a little bit. They just don’t have a whole lot of classes together and there hasn’t been any glee rehearsal over the last couple of days and Puck’s attendance record is just plain shit, so he has no reason to be anywhere near Kurt at all. It’s a basic fact and Quinn really needs to stop looking thoughtfully at him when he walks the long way round to chemistry because she doesn’t know anything and so should stop acting like she does.
Also, it’s really damn great that Kurt and Finn seem to be hanging out kind of a lot, or at least walking to class together and actually talking, and apparently Kurt can tutor Finn in Spanish without blushing like a tomato and that’s great too. It’s all really fucking great and Puck is so proud that his plan is totally working and no, he really wasn’t the one who set off the fire alarm yesterday just before the pep assembly, why would he do that?
“You might want to make that sound a whole lot more convincing when Principal Figgins calls you to his office,” Artie remarks.
“Who says he’s gonna call me to his office?” Puck demands, “I haven’t done anything.”
“Of course you haven’t,” Artie agrees, smirking in an irritating way. “But when he calls you to his office later because you have done things like this in the past, well, you might want to tell him that I was helping you with your math homework at the time.” Puck frowns. “Have you got a better alibi?” Artie asks.
Puck scowls at him and contemplates pushing him into a wall. Momentum, it’s a beautiful thing.
“My other alibi might not be as good,” he admits through his teeth, while Artie’s expression turns smug. Puck walks faster, ducking between kids, and manages to lose Artie behind him. It’s possibly a shitty thing to do, but everyone expects that from him anyway, and Artie will understand.
The next thing he sees is Azimio, slushie in hand, and Jesus, but Azimio is a dick. Karofsky has left the glee kids alone since Puck beat the crap out of him – which is good, because Puck probably wouldn’t get away with that twice, at least, not without Mr Schue maybe crying or trying to kick him out of glee club or something equally stupid – but Azimio is still throwing slushies and yelling abuse and it’s really boring how everyone at this school is so fucking dumb. He looks to see where Azimio is headed and it’s towards Mercedes and Tina; Kurt’s best friend and Artie’s girlfriend. Puck grits his teeth and blanks out his mind and manages to time walking in front of them just as Azimio hurls blue slushie out of the cup. It’s cold and sticky and Puck immediately remembers why he does not do selflessness, because selflessness is crap.
Everyone looks appropriately horrified and Azimio shoves past him, muttering: “fuck you, Puckerman.”
Puck has no idea what to do now because this situation is too fucked up to be actually happening, so it’s kind of a relief when Rachel pops up and says: “can I help, Noah?”
He’s slowly coming to the conclusion that getting rid of Rachel will actually be very difficult despite the shitty things he’s said and done to her and also he’s more ok with that than he should be.
“What the hell, sure, Berry,” he replies because he has no idea what’s going on right now and also he will probably need help washing slushie out of his mohawk.
Mercedes and Tina come with them, and together they end up in a deserted bathroom.
“This has the potential to be a great orgy, girls,” Puck says, because he wouldn’t be him if he didn’t.
“If you keep your mouth shut, I’ll think about being grateful,” Mercedes informs him, voice like Santana’s sharpest stiletto heels.
Puck tries to look hurt. “I’m charming,” he assures Mercedes. “Rachel, tell them I’m charming.”
“You frequently ask me how to get rid of me,” Rachel replies, and doesn’t seem to see Tina stifling a giggle behind her. She drags a chair over. “Sit.”
“That doesn’t make me not-charming,” Puck protests, obeying her, “that just makes me human.”
Rachel scowls and pushes him backwards so hard his head hits the edge of the sink. She does help him wash his hair though, thorough and gentle, while Mercedes and Tina watch.
“You could all molest me if you want,” Puck adds. “Just to pass the time, you know.”
“I can hurt you,” Mercedes informs him. “Like, a lot.”
Puck doesn’t doubt it. She is very possibly scarier than Santana after all; Santana is so busy pretending that he doesn’t exist at the moment that she hasn’t threatened him in what feels like ages.
When they’ve finally gotten him clean and Puck has remembered that he has gym clothes in his locker to replace his corn syrup covered shirt, Rachel hurries off since she’s already late for class and he knows she has issues with that kind of thing.
“Thanks, I guess,” Mercedes says grudgingly before she leaves.
Tina makes it to the door before she turns back, something thoughtful in her expression. “By the way...”
Puck raises an eyebrow and makes an effort not to say anything assholish for a minute.
Tina flushes. “Kurt really likes Madonna,” she says in a rush before hurrying out.
“Um, what?” Puck asks the empty bathroom. He sighs. “What the fuck is with today?”
Tina is not allowed to be observant, his existence is sucky enough as it is without random members of glee club knowing way more than he is comfortable with.
It doesn’t stop him from formulating an inadvisable plan at three a.m anyway, mostly involving google and the words guitar tabs.
Kurt’s mouth is very soft under his and it’s a weirdly perfect, timeless moment. Puck doesn’t move and neither does Kurt and Puck has enough time to think fuck, this music stuff really does work before he forces himself to move, lips shifting against Kurt’s. He feels Kurt’s eyes close and so takes advantage of the moment to kiss him properly, moving his hand to cup Kurt’s cheek.
Puck at no point thinks about all the other kisses he’s had in his life, the drunken ones at parties, the ones to prove a point, the ones as a gateway to sex that means nothing but that seems like more if you fake it hard enough, and he does not in any way realise that he’s almost as inexperienced as Kurt if you discount all those. He does not think any of those things because it would be really, really stupid to recognise how much this actually means.
He should pull away, can’t pull away, doesn’t want to bring this to an end because if it’s the only time he gets to kiss Kurt then he’s going to drag it out for as long as he can. But when Kurt opens his mouth a little wider like an invitation Puck can’t let himself accept it because otherwise he’ll never be able to let go. He sits back, trying to ignore the fact his hands are shaking. He shoves Kurt’s sunglasses at him and makes himself smile.
“You’re gonna be fine, Ku- Hummel. Absolutely fine.” He finally notices the weird slickness to his mouth. “Also, are you wearing lipgloss?”
Eventually, when he can’t stand it anymore, Puck decides to get the fuck over himself and just tell Kurt to hurry up and jump Finn already. They’ve done enough preparation and Puck is almost certain that Finn will go with it and then none of this will be Puck’s problem. And that will be just freaking great, because it’s not like he doesn’t have enough crazy problems going on at the moment even before you include the inconvenient gay crush.
“Tonight?” Kurt looks scared shitless but Puck cannot drag this out any longer because if he does he’ll just do something desperate and a) he really isn’t desperate, not ever, b) Kurt will hate him like everyone else does and c) well, there isn’t actually a c), there’s just: no.
“Tonight,” he agrees, glaring at Kurt in as threatening a way as he can. Kurt doesn’t know what he’s threatening, but if he safely assumes that Puck is implying physical violence then Puck won’t have to tell him he’s actually implying he’ll drag Kurt into the nearest empty classroom and get him naked.
And he really has got to stop picturing Kurt naked when he’s standing right in front of him, because whatever expression he’s wearing right now is making Kurt look genuinely kind of scared.
“Man up, Hummel,” he orders.
“Ok,” Kurt murmurs.
It’s stupid and he shouldn’t, but what the hell. Puck raises his fist and, after staring at it for a moment like he has no idea what the hell is going on, Kurt bumps it, a grin spreading across his face. Puck does his best to fake one back at him.
He stays resolute and convinced that he’s done the right thing for a couple of hours before suddenly realising what a fucking idiot he really is. He cannot let this happen, not without at least pointing out to Kurt that he has options other than Finn. Just in case. Maybe enough shit has gone on this year and he’ll finally catch a break.
Puck jumps up from the couch, startling Quinn who demands what the hell he thinks he’s doing, and runs out the door without looking back once.
He’s a cretin and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to say or do but now he’s driving Puck thinks he’d make it even worse if he pussied out now and turned around to go back home. He has no plan here because blurting: “don’t like Finn, like me, even though I’ve only ever been an ass to you except that one time I kissed you and it was awesome and I cannot stop thinking about it so please tell me it worked for you and, um, yeah” is probably not a good idea. In any case, Puck now knows Kurt well enough to know that if he did say any of that Kurt would just remain calm and collected and would take him apart with one well-constructed sentence. Puck has never been able to take rejection well, and he suspects Kurt would be better at shooting him down than Santana on her best day.
Puck is still driving though. He wonders if Miss P has pamphlets on masochism.
Kurt’s dad answers the door. He looks a mixture of confused and amused and he says nothing at all, apparently waiting on Puck. Puck opens his mouth and finds that all words on the English language have pretty much vanished, leaving him with “fuck”, “um”, and a collection of vowel sounds.
“I’m looking for Kurt?” he manages after a moment, then tacks on a hasty: “sir”.
“He’s over at Finn’s,” Burt Hummel replies. “They’re studying Spanish apparently.”
Puck sags a little. He’s too late. He’s always too late.
“Right,” he says, blank, and realises he has nothing to follow that up with.
Burt is studying him thoughtfully. “Why are you here?” he asks, and his eyes are all narrowed like he’s seeing far more than Puck wants him to. Maybe that’s what you get from years of raising Kurt, who keeps all his emotions locked up tight underneath that cold bitchy front, and you have to keep staring at it until it cracks a little in the hope of catching sight of what’s underneath.
“I’m Kurt’s friend,” Puck tells him.
It may or may not be true; Puck’s a shitty friend and it’s entirely possible Kurt has only been putting up with him because he promised he could get him into Finn’s pants, but none of that is appropriate to say to Kurt’s dad.
“Hmmm,” is all Burt says. He’s still looking at Puck like he’s stripped him bare like a car engine and is studying each of his components in turn and has discovered all of them are faulty and need replacing; nothing about this is reassuring. After a moment of Puck shifting uncomfortably, Burt adds: “you got that cheerleader pregnant.”
Fucking hell, is there anyone in Lima who doesn’t know?
“Yes,” Puck allows, because there’s no point denying it. “But I can’t do that to Kurt.” Burt’s expression is terrifying. “Not that- not that I would do anything to Kurt that would ever end in pregnancy, even if that was possible, Mr Hummel.”
Puck spends a moment wondering if he should just punch himself in the face.
“Are you on drugs?” Burt asks carefully, after a moment of draining silence.
“No,” Puck says, “thought I can see why you’d think that.” He shifts.
“Do you and I need to have a conversation that’s going to end with me reminding you that I have a shot gun?” Burt says, frown deepening.
“No,” Puck tells him quickly, “um, no. Just – no. Sir.” He grimaces. “I’m gonna go now because I kind of think I may have gone insane.”
The hard set of Burt’s mouth softens a little. “I guess you don’t want me telling Kurt you stopped by?”
“This didn’t happen,” Puck agrees fervently.
“Ok,” Burt says, and Puck decides not to see the pity on his face. “Drive safe, Mr Puckerman.”
Puck doesn’t whimper because he’s still a man even if he wants Kurt so badly it hurts a little bit and even if he clearly needs medication for whatever the fuck is wrong with him, so he just manages a sort of nod and maybe flees to his car. When he looks back, Burt Hummel is still standing on his porch and the bastard is laughing.
Puck watches a movie with Quinn because she’s looking all vulnerable and sad today and if letting her have control of the TV will cheer her up then he’ll do it. It would probably be good if someone’s day didn’t completely fucking suck.
It’s about ten when his phone rings, and for a moment Puck doesn’t know what to do when Finn’s name flashes up on the screen. He tenses all over and Quinn glances questioningly at him but Puck ignores her, getting up and walking out of the room.
“It’s Finn,” Finn says, unnecessarily, and he sounds kind of nervous.
“I know,” Puck replies, and fuck, he sounds kind of nervous too. This wasn’t how he pictured this going, but, what the hell, since when has anything he’s done lately gone at all right?
“Oh,” Finn says, “um, right, yeah.”
Say something, Puck’s brain orders, hard and angry, fucking say something. But he can’t, he just can’t, he can only stand there with his phone pressed to his ear and his other hand curled in his jeans pocket.
“I don’t forgive you,” Finn finally manages, all coming out in a rush, “at least, not yet, what you did was shitty, you know, and I kind of want to just hate you for forever.”
Puck has known Finn for years so he knows that Finn is going somewhere with this. “Ok,” he mumbles.
“Just... fuck you, ok?” Finn snaps.
“Ok,” he says again.
“I’ll pick up you and Quinn tomorrow morning, yeah?” Finn adds, voice a little quieter.
“Yeah,” Puck agrees. “That would be good.”
Finn hangs up on him and Puck exhales slowly because this should feel good. This is getting what he wanted all along, or something enough like it for it not to really matter. And all he can feel is cold and angry all the way through because there is only one thing that could make Finn call him up tonight. And just the thought of it makes Puck want to take a baseball bat to everything fragile within a mile radius until all of it’s in pieces.
Quinn is still watching the movie when he walks back in, her hand unconsciously stroking her stomach. Puck slumps down on the couch beside her and doesn’t miss the tired look Quinn gives him.
“Look on the plus side,” he says before he can stop himself, because he needs to break something right now and he doesn’t exactly have a whole lot of options.
“What?” Quinn asks, arching an eyebrow in that bitchy way she has that always annoyed him.
“At least you’ll know to use a condom next time,” Puck replies.
Quinn actually punches him and he doesn’t blame her for a second.
“Lashing out at the girl you knocked up? Real classy, Puckerman,” she spits before stalking upstairs.
Puck has just about enough self-control left not to shout bitch! after her, because he can already tell he’ll regret this later and there’s no sense in making it worse.
He scrolls slowly through the contacts in his phone, finally hitting Kurt’s name, and for one moment he considers calling. Considers seeing if Kurt wants to continue faking a friendship, finding out what happened with him and Finn. Thinks about dialling it just to hear the sound of Kurt’s voice because-
Oh, no. No, Puck is not fucking going there, he refuses to ever be that fucking lame. His life might be a shithole at the moment but he refuses to get this pathetic about it. Puck grits his teeth and stabs savagely at the buttons on his phone, deleting Kurt’s number entirely.