queenofangls:
astrnts:
a new bedroom, a new school, a new house. everything is new and while sam’s thankful for the fresh start, he’s looking for some semblance of familiarity in everything he does. it’s comforting, being able to recite bible verses and prayers and always know what’s coming next. there are no surprises, no projectile slushies flying at him from around the corner. just some psalms and conversation he’s dying to get out of once the sermon ends. sam’s as pious as the next guy, but he’s still a teenager and he still wants to talk about something other than church even on the lord’s day. besides, he’s known from the moment he caught quinn’s gaze earlier in the service that he wanted to at least try and steal a moment of her attention before he headed home with his family for the day. he’d see her tomorrow at school, but talking to her here just feels so different. it feels like it means something more than two classmates speaking out of obligation. the way she’s waltzing towards him is evidence she actually enjoys his company. obviously he could be reading too much into it, but for now, sam’s willing to let himself live in ignorant bliss since quinn’s playing along. ‘ hey you, ’ he greets her, hands stuffed deep in his pockets in an attempt to come off as far more cool, calm, and collected than he’s ever been before. it’s all a part of his new image: the cool guy. the hair helps, but his mannerisms have to do most of the work for him. that’s why he’s moving to run a hand through bottle blonde tresses when she mentions his hair. maybe that slushie was just a blessing in disguise. if it keeps quinn coming back to chat, he’ll even take another one. of course, he’d be more prepared for it this time, but that’s neither here nor there. right now, he’s focusing on quinn and what he’s going to say to impress her next. ‘ i clean up good, ’ he laughs, unable to shake the subtle awkwardness that comes with faking such a level of confidence. personally, sam thinks he looks kinda dumb in dress clothes, but quinn doesn’t need to know all that. the girl before him is clearly sure of herself, clearly proud of who she is. and she should be. as far as sam knows, quinn’s a great girl. sure, there are whispers around the hall, but high schoolers gossip. until she gives him a reason to believe otherwise, he’s standing firm in his position: she’s good. ‘ you look different without the uniform too. good different. not that you looked bad in it. you looked great. you still look great, ’ he rambles, evidently losing some of his feigned faith in himself and his image as he fumbles with his words. ‘ sorry, ’ he’s laughing again, blushing in a different way than he had been in the bathroom, and this time, with no slushie stains as an excuse.
He does look good; she’ll give him that. They’ve had minimal interactions, but she’s already figured out that his smiles are like the common cold: highly contagious and very unwelcome. Especially now. She had one hell of a year. And an even worse summer. She doesn’t need a guy swooping in with a grin and making her feel things she so desperately doesn’t want to feel. No. This year is about her. Getting her life back on track. Some may say that’s selfish, but they clearly have no idea all she’s given. However, even after everything, the last thing Quinn expected were little butterflies in the pit of her stomach when he compliments her again. There’s something about the way he fumbles over his words that makes her think he means it, too. “You’re sweet,” she says as a small laugh passes through her lips and her cheeks turn a shade of light pink. Sure, she’s experienced sweet before. Finn had his moments, so did Puck. But, for a second, a very brief second, she starts to believe that this is different. And maybe she doesn’t have to be so alone this time around.
Regardless, Quinn snaps herself back to reality and brushes those thoughts away almost as instantly as they pop into her head. She’s felt this way before and that story ended with her lying in bed all summer twirling a tiny hospital bracelet between her fingertips as she cried herself to sleep. She wants to run away – mostly from the feelings. She had done an excellent job at avoiding them for the last three months. But, much like when she was in the bathroom with him, her feet are like cement and she’s finding herself unable to walk away. “Did you like the sermon?” She questions after a short silence, arching an eyebrow and changing the subject to something that surely won’t cause her to blush like a schoolgirl again. It’s then that something catches her eye. Or, rather, someone. A certain someone she hadn’t seen in weeks. A certain someone she hadn’t had a real conversation with in much longer. She squints her eyes because, surely, they’re playing a trick on her. There’s no way he, of all people, would be at her church. She glances back at Sam to seem polite and to act like she’s listening, but her eyes are like magnets and can’t help but drift back to Puck. If she didn’t know better, she’d surely think she was hallucinating.
after spending the last few weeks in juvie, having the freedom to go where puck pleased once again was, as confusing as it sounded, overwhelming. there had been a strict routine the inmates had to follow while under detainment, each minute planned out for them, each meal pre-established, each guard at their post, each second to ponder how they made the mistakes to get there. being left to one's thoughts held a different meaning when inside of a cell-- it made him even look *forward* to when they were in a classroom. him, noah fucking puckerman. the guy who tossed nerds into dumpsters and shamed them for getting their good grades that he couldn't even dream of achieving became the guy who kept his eyes on his book and made no disruptions. the reason he had even been released so soon? good behavior. he was on patrol, and it was all thanks to learning what it meant to be truly alone. he had never wanted that feeling again, and yet, the first few days of being home resulted in puck doing exactly that. he didn't text the football team to ask where the party was at. he didn't text the glee club asking what songs he should be preparing for the next meeting. no asking if santana was available to hook up, or if brittany was too since he had a dry spell to end. nothing. puck just stayed at home and melted into having freedom, only finding he didn't know *what* to do with it.
in the end, tuesday became wednesday, wednesday somehow melted into thursday night and from there, the morning light peaked over the horizon to signify it was sunday. which meant tomorrow was monday-- his first day officailly back at mckinley. the first day he was going to have to get it together and act as if prison had made him a bigger bad ass. not a traumatized young man with a still healing nipple thanks to a cafeteria scuffle his first week. the mere thought of going there and facing the people that knew him before prison made his stomach into knots. and then make the knots have butterflies landing on top of them. he knew he couldn't not go, but he didn't want to go it alone. he wanted to know he had someone on his side-- someone glad he was back, someone to know he was back, and maybe even know how awful it all had been so they could look out for him. it was a big role to fill, he was aware, however his mind knew one person who could do it. one person he wanted to have do it. and luckily, it was one person he knew the whereabouts of on a sunday afternoon. given he was jewish, knowing about church services wasn't entirely on him. he had tried to help take quinn on sundays when they lived together, but once she stopped asking, he stopped offering. it seemed merecedes had taken up the task anyway, though now he wished perhaps he had kept at it. then maybe he would have known when to show up to be in time for a service, rather than be the one to arrive as the doors opened for the crowds to flow out. he hadn't meant to be late, let alone this late.
defeat weighted on his shoulders as he sat in his truck, a small bouquet of four daises in his palm. showing up to church with flowers now wouldn't have the same meaning-- they would seem too much like apology daises for coming at the end of service and not 'i've missed you, i've thought about you, i'm happy to see you' daises as intended. placing them on the front seat beside him, puck was sure they'd find their proper meaning again once he had quinn in the car with him. getting out and going to her, that was the hard part, especially given she didn't seem to be coming outside like many were. puck didn't know much about other religions, but he had to hope that he was going to be allowed inside the house of worship despite the sermon being over. granted, if god didn't deny him, surely one of the judgmental people of lima would do it. still, he opened his door and let his feet take him across the pavement, ignoring any eyes casting looks in his direction as to not lose his nerve. not this time. he needed to see a familiar face of someone who knew what it meant to have their life drastically alerted. someone that understood him. someone that just knew him. and that someone was talking to some guy with hair that was only slightly more noticable than the way he was looking at quinn fabray. he should have let that stop him. he should have taken the lessons he learned in juvie of laying low and keeping to himself. yet there he was, continuing to get closer to the pair, eyes locked on them even as quinn clearly caught sight of him. she didn't smile. he still kept walking.
"hey q, good to see you, big mazel to you and the big guy on this heavenly sunday," puck greeted far too casually. apparently his ability to play the part his reputation expected was easier than he worried. his chin turned towards quinn to signify without any doubt, he was there for her and not johnny wannabe bravo with his goody good boy charm puck practically felt on his walk over. at least, compared to *him* this guy sure probably looked that way. standing far too close than he should have, puck put himself right beside quinn, arms bumping and now both looking like a united front despite the fact quinn hadn't known he was coming-- let alone out of jail. some kind of instinct to ensure he and quinn would hang out took over though, not wanting the have three be a crowd. that already happened with them once before-- the results were everywhere in his many complicated, strained relationships. he wasn't doing himself any favors now either, especially as he put an arm around quinn's shoulders. he wasn't touching her inappropriately, but it was still likely inappropriate for him to be touching her so possessively, not pulling her in but still laying some kind of claim, "who's the bottle blonde you're talking to? one of the youth group presidents?" he meant it as a joke, really, he didn't, but the attitude behind it was more defensive than anything. it sounded like a jab, and he knew it, but he couldn't help it. perhaps some lessons at juvie had rubbed off, just none of the good ones.