Mercedes wrapped her arms around herself. There were too many people, all of whom seemed to be just as anxious as she was, and despite the fact that Brit had given her a 'survival' bag, there was only one person that she was yearning to see.
Her height put her at a disadvantage, but Mercedes had attempted to scan the crowd to the best of her abilities when she turned and spotted him. Ignoring the wave of relief that settled upon her, and instead thanking the Lord almighty that he was tall.
She made her way over to him as quickly as the crowd would allow and took a deep breath. "Cody!"
laney was pretty sure the last time she’d had a moment of peace was the night before, nestled in jackson’s bed. ever since she’d slipped back to her house half an hour before sunrise, she’d been subjected to party preparations and instructions to keep the dog from getting underfoot and to stay away from the doors, as they were constantly opening and closing as caterers and assistants and friends came in and out with decorations and food and liquor. and once everything was neatly draped and hung and centered, laney and her mom and liam’s girlfriend--well, fiancee--were spray-tanned and manicured and expertly-styled and made up and could easily pass for vintage hollywood actresses by the time they parted to dress. laney intentionally took her time, discouraged by the chatter of early arrivals, sabrina’s family gushing over her marilyn monroe-esque red dress and employees from the distillery coaxing pre-party drinks out of her parents. she meandered behind her closed bedroom door in her underwear as long as she could stand, peering just slightly around the curtains of her window to see if she could glimpse jackson getting ready too, but afraid of actually seeing him looking back and knowing he made her more nervous than she’d ever let on.
she finally dressed as the party-goers’ conversation was drowned out by the tinklings of the pianist on their baby grand, and spent a few extra moments admiring the smoothness of the satin before she added some vintage drop earrings and a diamond bracelet she’d gotten when she turned eighteen and then barely ever worn again, on account of never going anywhere that such a bracelet wouldn’t be endangered. her hair was in victory waves, her brows made sharper, cheeks artificially-peach, and lips lined just so to accentuate the cupid’s bow of her lips. compared to sabrina’s approachable attention-grabbing get-up and her mother’s classic look, laney would appear exactly as dark and severe as she’d need. which was good, because she’d exited her bedroom in the same moment a swarm of liam’s friends entered from the balcony, all the same tanned too-rich-to-care-about-college types, hair slicked back to go with the theme and cheering too loudly for an upscale engagement party. most of which she’d at least kissed if not at most entertained a months-long fling with. she was absorbed into side conversations here and there, her parents’ employees thinking that being nice to her was gonna get them further ahead and extended family who knew she had a disease and look at her too pitifully for her liking. her brother, already formidably intoxicated, pulled her all the way downstairs to his bedroom because the bowtie she’d bought him was apparently too bright to match sabrina’s dress and “girls understand colors better”. after she’d located a darker red bowtie in his closet and tied it for him, he passed her his mint julep as thanks, which she downed and handed back.
as soon as she had a moment to herself, she went searching for ziggy. her parents thought it most polite to keep the dog locked away during any social events and laney thought it was cruel, especially since all he ever wanted was just to make friends, and had a habit of releasing him mid-party when her parents wouldn’t care enough to put him back. thankfully he was not locked away in the laundry room, but allowed to stay on the balcony right outside the party, alternating between sniffing each new guest with interest and curling up on a chaise to chew on his new pork-chop bone courtesy of the catering. a nice attempt to meet laney’s pleas halfway, laney begrudgingly thought. she scratched behind his ears delicately and tied her brother’s discarded bowtie around his neck so he’d fit in with the guests until his attention was caught by a newcomer. laney stood to see it was jackson, starkly handsome and matching her emerald dress and looking way more like a movie star than any aspiring writer from oregon had a right to. her probing gaze was shortly interrupted by some of her mother’s artist friends entering behind jackson and she stepped aside to say, “don’t worry, you’re not late. everyone gets here early to get the really expensive booze before it runs out.”
voices sounded from the side of the house, girls her age heel-clicking around the house to the balcony, sabrina’s friends. once they’d spotted laney and jackson huddled on the moonlit balcony in their matching ensembles in a rather romantic-looking tableaux, they slowed and quieted, tittering and shushing each other in a way that made laney think that what they were saying would not make her happy to hear. “let’s go,” she said with a slight roll of her eyes, taking his arm in a very theme-appropriate way and tugging him into the party. her parents, looking for her, cornered them and did lots of hand-shaking and complimenting and thanking that was only so formal because they were surrounded by people listening in and liam gave jackson a typical drive-by clap on the back and thanked him for showing up, as if jackson was there for him and not laney. determined to have a few moments with him unbothered before people started dancing and making toasts and getting misty-eyed, laney lead them between a long buffet table with carefully-labeled food and the pianist and sighed heavily. “you look nice, by the way.” it sounded lackluster after the exaggerated praise he’d just been given, but to say much more would make her self-conscious. even though she technically wasn’t supposed to, she plucked two highballs from a passing caterwaiter for them and relaxed gradually as she handed his over, her fingers not shy about brushing his. “i like parties, but these types of things stress me out. it’s too structured. i’m pretty sure sabrina’s mom was in the guest bathroom earlier practicing her toast, crying on cue and everything.”
TAGGING: Kurt Hummel
WHEN: May 17th
WHERE: MCC
GENERAL NOTES: Kurt’s ex solicit’s him and Kurt punches him
WARNING: Slut shaming & violence
Fingers running through his hair as he walked to his car, he was definitely annoyed about having the meeting to go over the schedule on a Sunday of all days. It was a day of rest, a day of relaxation. But no, he had to get in his car and drive his happy ass to school to sit for an hour and talk over the schedule.
He pulled out his phone to let Hunter know he was on his way home when he heard his name being called. Thinking that maybe they missed something during the meeting Kurt locked his phone and turned around. Big mistake.
“Tyler,” Kurt replied simply, as the boy came over. The smile on his face suddenly made Kurt feel super uneasy, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to move. Tyler stopped just in front of him and tilted his head looking Kurt over.
“You know, I should have known that you were loose.”
“Oh, for god’s sake Tyler, I do not have time for your feelings of inadequacy. What do you want?”
“Well, isn’t it obvious? I want to fuck you like the whore you are,” He sneered out, “I have money.”
The realization hit Kurt like a ton of bricks and his heart sank. He hadn’t thought that he and Tyler ended on such bad terms that the other male actually believed it. Believed that Kurt would do something like that.
“I slept around, but never for money. And I have standards, I wouldn’t fuck you again if you paid me. We broke up and I have a boyfriend and I don’t sleep around anymore. Leave me alone.”
As Kurt finished speaking he noticed Tyler’s hand moving towards him and slapped it away before glaring.
“Don’t you dare lay your hands on me. You lost the right to even so much as breathe near me the second you decided that it was in your purview to solicit me for sex.”
“Oh, come on Kurtsie, you and I both know that people pay lots of money for a piece of this.” Tyler motioned up and down Kurt’s body, before reaching and going to grab at his hip.
Kurt moved back quickly before releasing a breath, “You know I hate that little nickname you decided to call me.”
Tyler went to open his mouth again before Kurt did something unexpected and swung, punching him hard in the jaw. The other male stumbled back and Kurt shook his hand, pain shooting through it. For the first time he was suddenly extremely grateful his dad taught him how to punch.
Leaving him rubbing his jaw, Kurt turned on his heel and stalked off, pulling out, unlocking his phone as he did so.
WHAT: After Sam’s tattoo adventure at a party, he finds himself at Puck’s apartment, needing his best friend to be there for him
WHEN: Backdated to November 19th, morning
WHERE: Puck’s apartment
WARNING: Mentions of alcohol
SAM: It had been a long night. Sam hadn't slept yet. Surprise surprise - that had been a given for the past couple of days that Sam hadn't been able to get any rest, his mind constantly thinking about ways that he could improve himself, ways that he could make up for the fact that he'd hurt all of those different people. It hadn't only been a long night, it had been a long week, and Sam just wanted to spend his time with someone. Ideally, it would've been Tina. But even in his drunken state, he knew that it wouldn't be a good idea to show up at her room, at 5 in the morning, on a Tuesday. He knew he'd get in trouble for that, and he knew he'd just make things worse if that was what he decided to do. He knew that much.
It was cold as he walked across campus. He'd left his jacket...somewhere. He couldn't really remember where he'd put it. Maybe it was at Tina's? Sam stopped walking as he thought about it. Maybe it was at Tina's. He turned around and started walking towards the dorms that she lived in. Maybe he'd left his jacket at Tina's, just like his heart and his values in life, and everything good in the world - it was at Tina's place. Right? No...it couldn't be. He'd worn it after seeing her the other day. Stopping up again, Sam's eyebrows furrowed and instead, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. That must be Tina, responding to my text! His drunken self thought and he pulled it out to see who it was.
While it wasn't Tina, Sam's face still lit up. "PUCK!" He screamed, his voice echoing all over the empty campus. He didn't even read the messages that Puck had sent him, his thumbs immediately started typing. His eyes were squinting, trying to see what he was doing, but being dyslexic and drunk was a bad mix, and after several times of typing something up, deleting it, and typing it again, the outcome was a "Cna I chrahs at yours?" He didn't wait for a reply and instead started marching towards Puck's apartment.
He tried to be quiet as he made his way into the building, not wanting to wake the residents up. Knocking on the door softly, Sam shushed it. "You're being loud," He whispered to the door, waiting for it to open up. Sam leaned forward, his head hitting the door and using it to knock a few more times.
PUCK: Texting late at night was Puck's usual. He had a lifestyle that meant he would be and could be up at all hours of the day. He had gone to bed at one point, only to wake up at another point in the night, and then at another point simply decided he would stay up. It usually wasn't too hard to find somewhere for him to nap around campus if he needed to, or a bed to stay in. Plus he had his truck. Deciding he would be fine figuring it out as he went along about his day meant he was up at 3:30 am, showered by 4:45 am, and making some Eggo waffles and checking his phone by 5:00 am.
Had he expected to get a reply from people? Yeah, that was pretty normal. There were the health nuts who would be up already and horny for a workout of some sort, the people still rolling from the night before, people wanting to buy weed, some actually just up for normal reasons... but still, of all the names to flash on his screen, having Sam Evans be one wasn't expected. Especially with the request to crash at his place. That didn't sound like he was waking up and getting an early start to his day. The dude was fucked up, and Puck wasn't going to let him deal with that alone.
However, he wasn't getting replies, and as it got to be 5:30 with no answer back, Puck was getting ready to go to campus and see if he could find the blonde. All he'd have to do is yell about free comic books or say that hottie Sigourney Weaver was on signing autographs. He knew his friend well enough-- that was why Puck also knew he was hurting. Things were a little jumbled for Sam at the moment when it came to the affairs of his heart, yet Puck was certainly aware that he had a good one underneath it all. If guys like Sam couldn't rise above their actions, then that meant there was certainly no hope for Puck to ever do the same.
Perhaps that played a part in Puck's ability to retain a fierce loyalty regardless of circumstance. Why he would do anything for his friends-- such as risk opening his front door to a mostly unexpected thudding. His reasoning? He was almost positive he heard Sam's voice faintly on the other side of his silent apartment.
"Evans?" Puck asked as he swung the door open, eyes quickly assessing if he was going to need to pick Sam up or if he could still walk on his own two feet. He wanted to hope so considering he made it to Puck's apartment, but he had seen drunk people both manage and mess up plently of things. It was just usually himself doing it. Glad to see his friend standing and there, Puck greeted in the only warm way he knew how, "There you fucking are dude, I was getting ready to go call out the hounds to find your ass." Despite the words, he had a smile break out on his face, only for it to quickly falter as he noticed Sam's face. He had a black eye it looked like, and it wasn't even a fresh one, along with the rest of him looking no better. His instinctive need to care made Puck reach out, brushing Sam's bangs aside and tilting his head to try and get a better look at his friend's wounds, "Jesus, the hell you've been up to tonight? And why wasn't I invited?" Mostly he had said it because he wished he had been there to maybe of prevented some of the mess in front of his doorway.
SAM: It felt like an eternity before the door opened. Sam's eyes were closing, as he felt himself get more tired, leaning his head against the door. If Puck didn't open up, Sam would just sleep right then and there, he decided. Fuck it, he didn't care who saw him. He didn't care at all anymore. Puck was one of the most reliable people that Sam had in his life, he knew he'd defend him in whatever way he could, to the neighbors in the building, if they started talking. Besides, Sam also knew that Puck didn't give a shit about what they thought, and that was why the Evans boy felt that he'd be fine with just sleeping out there. It wouldn't embarrass Puck, he knew it.
But then the door swung open, and Sam almost came falling through, before his hand landed on the doorframe, and he stopped himself. "Lucy," He called out, turning up his best Desi Arnaz impression. "You've got some 'splaining to do," Looking up, Sam's eyes landed on Puck's and he grinned. He stood up straight, swaying slightly on his feet as he felt the other man's hand almost ghost his forehead. It felt nice, and the grin transformed into almost a pout. "I went to a party, this dude..." Sam started, rolling his eyes. "I think his name was Mag- Micha- Messiah something threw this party for all of the seniors," He shrugged his shoulders and moved to put his hands on either side of Puck's face. "Thanks for taking me in, it feels just like my high school days when my family was homeless."
Sam hadn't meant to say that, but Puck knew all about what had happened during the last two years of Sam being in high school. During a drunken night in Freshman year, Sam had spilled everything to him, feeling like he could trust him enough with the information. He'd known at that point that Puck was going to stay in his life, and that they were friends; Sam considered Puck to be one of his best friends. And so during that one night, after too many shots of tequila, Sam had told Puck all about his dyslexia, and how much he was bullied for it, and how his parents had lost their jobs and Sam had needed to provide for the family, taking up three jobs whilst still trying to maintain some good grades in high school. It was a lot, and tears had been shed during that night, and even though a lot of alcohol had been involved, Sam still remembered every single thing about it. Because Puck had been there for him. He'd shown how much he cared, he showed respect and sympathy, and it was everything that Sam needed in a best friend.
"Can I come in?" Sam asked, not wanting to be rude. It hadn't been the first time that he'd stayed over at Puck's, but it had been for completely different reasons. They usually involved weed and video games. "Why are you up? Have you been to a party too?" Puck was always a mystery to Sam; what he spent his time doing. "Oh, I've got to show you somethin'," Sam lifted up his t-shirt, covering his face with it, so he couldn't see. "Can you see it?" He asked, pointing to the fresh ink that was on his chest, right above his left nipple. 'Temporary'. It was still bleeding, but less so now than before. "I'm a bad boy now, right?"
PUCK: From the I Love Lucy impression to the innocent way Sam asked to come in, Puck could say with certainty that even with all the wear and tear that this creature was Sam Evans. He might have been beaten, battered, and bruised, but there was hope for him to come out of all this. Puck was certain of that much, even if Sam might have not.
"Yeah Evans, course you can come in." Puck assured, stepping aside and leaving the door open for Sam to follow through. Letting Sam Evans in hadn't ever been hard for Puck do, which was actually saying something. He was unashamedly himself, sure, but that didn't mean he was up for talking about the things that troubled him. He wasn't like Sam, who wasn't open about his past but also wasn't as shy about admitting his feelings. However, Sam had been there when Puck had a few bad trips while they lived together and he learned what it was like to have someone actually sit with him through a storm. Waking up the next day and having what happened the night before actually bring them closer was one the reasons that Sam had quickly landed the role of best friend. Not just a party friend, but a true, genuine best friend. So of course Puck wasn't against having him come over despite the time and despite Sam's state.
Puck made his way over to the fridge to grab themselves each a beer, as it was as natural to drink for Puck as water was meant to be for the human body. That was why he didn't bother to ask Sam if he wanted one before doing so. Grabbing the handle, Puck was about to give Sam his answer on what had him up only to be presented with something he didn't expect. Not even remotely.
Sam showing off his physique wasn't exactly out of the ordinary-- the guy took care of himself so he had a right to show it off. It had just been awhile since Puck had seen him outside of the locker room, so the sight had him linger for a moment. The dude looked like shit but his body... well, it sure didn't. And then Puck realized there was something he was supposed to be looking for specifically, and it stuck out as soon as his brain made the connection, "Holy shit, dude... is that what I think it is?" Puck couldn't help but exclaim, eyes squinting. He was trying to sort how he felt about the sight while also reading it the Temporary etched on pale skin, "I can't believe you actually got fucking ink..." Of course Puck could see the badassery of tattoos, but his religion also banned getting them, which had been a bigger hang up than he ever let on. And the one he did have was the prison tat he had to get in order to have protection. Yet despite his limited experience with the practice, even Puck could tell the tattoo needed a little TLC.
"Hey bad boy, how about you do me a favor," Puck announced as he started to pull the fridge open to locate drinks. He didn't want to continue to stare at Sam's chest and tattoo. At least not from across the room like this, "Take your shirt off and sit on the couch. I'll be over there in a sec," He directed, grabbing the beers and setting them out. He needed to take a few moments to go through his cabniets for the medical supplies he kept. Given his major, Puck had become even more versed in actual, physical self care and various supplies. Having shitty health insurance contributed to it, too, of course, "How'd that even happen dude? Most tattoo places around here are closed by like 8 on weekdays. That looks fresh as shit."
SAM: Puck’s apartment reminded Sam of his own. The layout of it seemed to be a Ginsburg thing, because the two places shared a certain rustic feeling to it, but it was the decor that Sam thought of. While there was way more weed-smoking options in Puck’s apartment than Sam’s, the walls had the movie posters in common, and it felt lived in. The stacks of video games piled high and while it wasn’t the cleanest, it was nice. It was a home. And a place that felt this secure was exactly what Sam needed now; without being alone. He hadn’t hesitated to type his message out and ask if he could stay there that night because he knew exactly what he was getting with Puck. Despite their friendship only being a year old, it felt like the two had known each other since they were kids, and Sam knew that he could rely on the guy. More than he could rely on himself.
It was stinging like all hell. It felt tight on his skin. And Sam wasn’t the biggest fan of it. He wasn’t the type of guy to do something like this. Sam Evans was born and raised in a nice and caring household that went to church every Sunday, said grace at the table, didn’t swear unless it was completely necessary, and treated most people with kindness and compassion. This was completely out of the ordinary for him, and he knew that Puck knew that.
Puck’s reaction wasn’t a surprise to him then. The swear, the shock in his tone - the craziest thing that Sam had done during college was take molly that one time, and it was one time too many for him. Puck had been the one to introduce this lifestyle of partying to him, and Sam loved the freedom. But he was also very new to it, and he still had certain boundaries. Weed, he could get down with. It made him relax in a way that sex made him. And again, sex was also only a thing because Puck had introduced him to it. Something that Sam was forever grateful for.
Pulling his shirt over his head and off, the grin on Sam’s face had disappeared. It was replaced instead with a light furrow to his eyebrows as he sat down on the couch, as instructed by his friend. He was all of a sudden regretting it. This was not ‘temporary’ - this was staying on his body forever. “Puck,” Sam called out, before he saw the man come back into the room with bottles of something; they didn’t look drinkable that was for sure. “Someone at the party brought one of those cheap kits,” he hiccuped at the end of the sentence. “I don’t think he knew what he was doing.”
Sam watched Puck, his eyes going from his hands to his face, looking up at him, finding his deep brown eyes. His own had turned sadder than the happy expression he had on earlier when he’d seen his best friend. Realization kicked in. “Do you think Tina’s going to hate it?” He asked, his voice quiet now. “Do you think I’ve lost all chances with her now?” Looking down at his hands, Sam felt the tears sting his eyes. He sniffed and quickly wiped them away, clearing his throat. His voice came out in a whisper. “I’ve disappointed her.”
PUCK: So many parts to the story at hand just didn't add up to being anything remotely Sam Evans-like. The guy who Puck had known his freshman year was the definition of a bright eyed and bushy tailed kid coming to the big city-- and they weren't even in a big city. Sam had just simply not experienced many joys that life had to offer that didn't have to do with country living or loving thy family and neighbor. Did Puck have to make Sam be his passion project when found any of that information out their freshman year? No, but someone needed to show the guy a good Friday night could mean more than being able to have Chinese and order a pay per view movie that wasn't even a porn. But seeing Sam now, knowing the kind of escape he was going for when attending a party to run from troubles, well Puck couldn't help but wonder if maybe he wasn't as good of an influence as he thought. Sam could make his own decisions, sure, it was just hard to see someone Puck cared about deeply be struggling so much.
"Anyone who brings shit like that to a party usually doesn't know what they're doing. Same goes for the guys who bring guitars to em, and that's why we don't do it." Puck reminded, his tone suggesting that he was actually handing out sage advice to Sam despite it being nothing of true value. Unless you asked Puck, of course. He took a seat beside Sam, setting the water he had warmed up, a few clothes, gauze, tape, and the beers on the table. It wasn't exactly the first time Puck's coffee table had seen such a display of items riddled on its surface, though it was one of the first times he was being done for Sam Evans' sake. Hopefully it would be the last, "Are you really gonna sit there and defile the good name of Chez Puckerman by getting emo over a girl at 6am? C'mon Evans, major party foul."
Leaning forward, Puck soaked a cloth in the water, wringing it out a few times, "Look... listen dude," Puck blurted out in a gentle way, not wanting his friend to get too inside of his own head. It seemed he had done that enough tonight. Putting one hand on Sam's shoulder, Puck used his other to start cleaning off Sam's swollen, bloodied tattoo, "When people care, like really care, you don't just 'lose chances' with 'em. They'll see through the bullshit." Speaking from experience, it was really the only way he could justify his mother still loving him the way that she did, "But that doesn't mean you can keep pullin it, either 'cause at some point that's just walking all over 'em and they'll realize it. No one's gonna be happy then." Puck kept his eyes focused on tending to the self-chosen wound on Sam's chest, doing his best to ignore the fact he did have a hot guy shirtless in front of him. As it turned out, Puck's libido did have an off button-- or maybe his genuine care for Sam outweighed it.
"You're gonna disappoint people, Sammy boy. That's just facts. So you can either man up and accept that or you can be a sad sack for the rest of your life." Satisfied with his work, both in words and cleaning, Puck's eyes flicked up to meet with Sam's, "And just so we're clear, that second option ain't actually an option. Especially not for your pretty lookin face," Puck deemed,, offering Sam the signature smirk that seemed always at the ready on his lips, all while he had a hand lightly pat his cheek as if to emphasize his point.
SAM: Chuckling, Sam nodded. “I only brought mine that one time, because Rachel had asked me to accompany her on it. And we all know how that went,” That was a dreadful night that he didn’t remember much of, except for being in Lauren Zizes’ lap - that felt like the beginning to this whole thing that had just had a domino effect. He wasn’t even sure if he had been with the girl that Tina had overheard talking about a make-out session. Mainly because he wasn’t actually the type of guy to do something like this. Throughout Freshman year, Sam had only had one-night stands and they were with girls who hadn’t seemed interested in dating him anyway, so to see the same people again and again, and actually have something going on with one, let alone five was so unlike Sam Evans. That was Puck’s style. It was his way of doing things; making it very clear that he was only in it for sex from the beginning, and not getting emotionally attached. And while some people might have seen it as sleazy, Sam admired the fact that he was able to make it so clear to people from the beginning. It took huge balls to be so up-front with everyone about it.
This was a situation that the young man had never been in. He’d never gotten so attached to a girl before, and he’d never felt so guilty about something, ever. He knew he’d hurt her; not only because he was compassionate, but because someone liked to remind him, every single day. And he was getting sick of hearing it. It already tore him apart, knowing what he’d done, and how it wasn’t just Tina who’d gotten hurt, but four other people. He didn’t need to be reminded of his actions. But he was also getting tired of not being allowed to be sad either. He was getting annoyed that he couldn’t feel things. Sam was all about making other people, but he couldn’t help but feel like his happiness was being forgotten at the same time.
Looking up, Sam had quickly wiped away the tears that had been close to spilling over, sucking in a deep breath, as he listened to Puck. He agreed, 100% with him. And he knew that he was going to end up just repeating what he said, because how else could Sam prove to him, and several other people that he agreed and he understood, and he was aware of the fact that he’d hurt them? He was doing his best to be better, but it was getting difficult with everyone shoving the same information down his throat. “What bullshit am I pulling now, Puck?” Sam asked, his jaw clenching slightly as he felt himself getting more annoyed. It was probably down to the alcohol and no sleep, but he was getting pissed off. What people didn’t seem to understand was that Sam had never intended to do any of this, and that his feelings had caught up with him too late.
The stinging of Puck cleansing Sam’s newly acquired tattoo was nowhere near the pain that he felt in his heart. He was appreciative of the help that he was getting, he knew that he owed the guy big time. But he really didn’t want to sit there and be told that he should “man up” when he felt lonely. Standing up after Puck had patted his cheek, Sam put his t-shirt back on. There seemed to only be one option left for him, if he didn’t have to be lectured about what he’d done wrong. “It’s fine. It’s all good.” He lied, and took a long swig of his beer.
PUCK: It wouldn't of taken someone who lived with Sam for a year to be able to tell a nerve had been struck by the end of Puck's words. As happy go luck as Sam was, and as good at hiding deep, personal things as he was, something he seemed not so good at was hiding emotions. Maybe it was the puppy dog face, maybe it was the pouty lips, or maybe it was the normally trusting eyes, but whatever it was, Puck could notice it as soon as it happened. Leaning back, Puck watched as Sam stood up and put his shirt back on. For a moment Puck just sat there, watching and waiing for Sam to keep talking or bring up another subject. When he didn't, Puck could tell his friend was much more emotionally compromised than he thought. One of the few rare pieces of advice that Puck had ever gotten in life was to man up, and it was unfortunate how it had stuck. Especially now. Especially for Sam.
"Evans, c'mon dude. Don't be like that. I didn't mean you're pulling bullshit in some bad way," Puck coaxed, turning his attention towards his own beer so he could snatch it off the table. He was trying to act as casual about Sam's attitude change as he could. He didn't want Sam to leave, but Puck wasn't the type to beg someone to stay. Sure his friend had been reckless, but he hadn't been doing anything outright batshit. On a scale of one to ten a tattoo at a party was like a five in terms of things to be concerned about. Still, Sam being alone didn't sound like a good idea, and truthfully, Puck preferred not being alone either. He didn't want his inability to know what to say be the thing to make Sam believe no one was on his side, "Where're you even gonna go? It's late. Just sit back down and chillax. Seriously. I'll roll us something if you're this on edge."
SAM: The long sip turned into Sam finishing the beer right then and there. He didn't realize how thirsty he'd become. Maybe it was the walk over. Maybe it was the tattoo and how he'd fainted right after he'd gotten it; or maybe it was subconscious and needing it to be able to deal with all of this. Being sober meant that the thoughts were constantly in his head. He was constantly worrying about Tina, worrying about everyone else, wondering if they still hated him, when it would be a good time to text them, and how long they needed their space for. It wasn't easy, going from speaking to everyone, almost every day, to just nothing. And not having them in his life anymore. His heart was aching for their company.
What Sam didn't understand was how it felt like he wasn't allowed to go through these emotions of guilt and sadness and hurt. He knew he was the one who'd screwed it all up, but as he'd said a million times beforehand to almost everyone, he'd never intended to do anything like it. So it was slowly getting to him that everyone was dismissing his feelings.
Leaning back against the kitchen counter, Sam looked up to see Puck's expression from across the room. He knew that Puck meant well. He knew that he was the type of guy to be up-front about the truth, and that he wouldn't sugar-coat anything; and that wasn't what Sam was talking about here. He just wanted people to get off of his back for a bit, so he would stop feeling so miserable and guilty over being told something that he already knew. "I know you didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry for snapping," Sam said gently, sighing as he calmed down a bit. "I haven't slept in four days, I don't know how," He voice cracked at the end of the sentence and he sucked in a deep breath. "I'm sorry for putting all of this on you, man. I just don't know who to turn to anymore, because I'm getting shit from everyone. I can't deal with it all. I'm not that horrible." He made his way back to the couch and just leaned back, his head falling onto the backrest. Whispering, he repeated it. "I'm not that horrible."
PUCK: Hearing the drunken, sleep deprived confessions of Sam Evans wasn't something Puck was built for. It wasn't something people did with him. It wasn't as if Puck wasn't trustworthy, he was, but he wasn't the kind where people let walls down that involved sincere struggles. The ones that couldn't be aided by simple sex, drugs, alcohol, or even video games. Not on their own anyway. Even in the past Puck was usually just listening to Sam talk about what he went through and what had been hard. This was stuff that was happening now which meant Sam needed than another beer, and Puck knew what it was.
A soft "Hey," Left his lips before he knew it was happening, and it was due to the fact he needed to try the thing his friend always did-- speak from the heart, "What you're saying right now? That's bullshit..." Puck paused, waiting a beat to hope and ensure his words caught Sam's attention. He knew it sounded like he was about to hit him with more of his harsh truths, but he wanted to give Sam more than that, "You're not horrible at all. Plain and simple, Evans. You hear me?"
With a lick of his lips, Puck switched the beer in his hand so he could make it possible for his palm to lay gently on Sam's chest. Not on his tattoo, but anatomically to his heart. He didn't want to hurt Sam, however, he wanted to make a point as he pressed his hand there with a more soft, sincere touch, "You're a good guy with a good heart, okay? That shit's about as permanent as your tattoo." He assured with a smile almost as empathic as his touch seemed to be, "So whatever you do man, no matter what happens... don't let tonight or any other night make you think otherwise. I don't."
It was most obvious then than it was in most cases why Puck was good at his major. It wasn't due being an expert in touch-- it was him putting a piece of himself in every genuine caress he did. Including now with his best friend in he hopes he could show he had always meant well. And that he cared.
SAM: Sam couldn't help but be in his feelings about all of this. It was so hard to shake the guilt of hurting not only Tina, but everyone else. He felt like he was suddenly all alone in his world. He knew that he still had Puck and Jake in his life, and he cherished them more than ever. It was times like this that Sam knew that he could count on those guys, because they didn't run away or abandon him when he had these problems. They were there to tackle them head on. But what surprised Sam was when Puck got really personal and sweet. He'd gone from 'man up' to all of a sudden saying all these nice things that almost made Sam choke up.
Raising his head from the backrest, Sam pouted slightly. He didn't deserve to hear such nice words from his best friend. He knew he deserved the smoke that he'd been given, about the bullshit that he'd pulled people through, but whatever Puck was saying? It was getting to him. He felt his throat close up slightly as he took in the words, believing them.
His eyes were filling up, he could feel it, and he cursed under his breath because he knew that he shouldn't be getting this emotional, but the lack of sleep and affection, and the amount of alcohol consumed over the last couple of days, meant that the words that Puck were saying to him meant more than he could even fathom. Sam moved, his arms reaching out to grab the other guy and he clung himself to him. His arms locked him into a tight embrace. He was so thankful to have someone like Puck in his life still. He didn't want that to ever get messed up.
"Thank you," Sam whispered as he closed his eyes tightly to keep the tears from spilling out. "You're my best friend, man. I can always count on you," He needed Puck to know just happy he was to have him as a friend.
PUCK: As Sam's arms wrapped around him, Puck's own arms lifted and remained unsure of what to do, "Whoa there, Evans, you're acting like we're about to face the First Order," Puck lightly teased with a distant chuckle. No it wasn't his first hug ever, but it was unexpected. Though given it was Sam Evans, it wasn't hard to figure an embrace was ever really far away from happening. Puck didn't even mind the intimacy behind it, his body and soul opening up to feel the warmth as he started to hug Sam back. A part of his own heart seemed to swell, finding a solace he didn't even know he needed in the early morning hours. Without thought, the words "You're my best friend, too, dude," slipped out. While it was already a known fact, there was an extra weight behind it given the moment. Puck could tell that much.
Pulling back, Puck locked eyes with Sam and gave him an encouraging smile as his hands remained on Sam's shoulders. There was a deeper sense of trust, appreciation, and even understanding that seemed to exist between them. He was glad to have Sam as a friend, and it was nice to feel that the feeling was truly mutual. Patting his shoulder, Puck reassured once more, "You're gonna be alright, buddy, and even if you're not, you're always gonna have me." Only to nod confidently. Then his eyes glanced down at Sam's shirt and remembered what they were doing moments prior. Puck's chin directed towards Sam's chest to bring attention back to it.
"And before we play Super Mario Bros, you're gonna let me finish wrapping your tat back up. I don't want it to blur or anything, you wanna be able to show that sucker off." Puck instructed, one of his hands dropping down over Sam's collarbones and onto his chest. It was a light touch as to not harm his friend but to give a gentle reminder of what his drunken state had already likely put on the backburner, "We wear our battle scars with pride around here. Remember that, bad ass." And by how earnest Puck's words were, it was clear he meant it more than just about some ink permanently etched on to Sam's skin. Including calling him bad ass.
The resonant sound of the door bell echoed throughout the apartment. It was unexpected, actually. Nobody was expected to come over; no mail packages to be delivered, no landlord to inspect the apartment, and no friends for a social gathering. The chime of the door bell confused (and slightly alarmed) Nate when he heard it from the bedroom and interrupted his lounging time. He looked over at the halfway closed bedroom door for a second. Should he get up to answer the door or should he ignore it and pretend his wasn’t home? He didn’t have time to dwell on the thought as the door bell was triggered again. It was a cue for him to get up and answer the door.
It was probably best for Nate to get up from the bed and answer the door. He spent three hours watching a show about a fast running man on Hulu. At least he would have an opportunity to get up, stretch his legs, and grab himself a snack. He slid one leg off the edge of the bed and the other followed, along with his body. With the remote in his hand, he aimed it at the television, paused the show, and placed the remote back onto the bed. He lifted himself off from the bed and took a step so he could answer the door. His lounge shorts slightly sagged around his waist while he begun to walk toward the door, but his grey Yosemite t-shirt hid the fact that they were just a little too big on him. His sock-covered feet dragged along floor lazily.
Just as Nate got to the door, he hovered his fingers over the top lock but didn’t grasp it. He leaned his head toward the peephole so he could look outside of his door. When Nate realized who was at the door, he felt his heart stop for a second before it begun to subtly race. Quickly he backed his head away so he could unlock and open the door.
“Mom. Pop!” Nate greeted once the door opened. A joyous smile appeared on his face. “What’re you both doing here?? Come in, come in.” He opened the door more wide and stepped out of the way so his parents could walk in.
“Your mother and I wanted to pay you and your wife a visit.” Nate’s father spoke as he followed his wife inside.
“Where is she is, dear?” Nate’s mother asked. Nate closed the door behind him and glanced around the apartment.
Scout palmed the strings on her guitar to kill the noise. They’d jammed to a couple covers, and Scout had shown Marley a couple guitar licks she was working on, but what she really wanted to hear was the new stuff she’d been working on. She began absentmindedly picking the strings on her guitar letting the practice space fill with some more music, “Yo, I can play Stevie NIcks and Patti Smith covers all day, but I’d much rather hear what you’ve been working on. Ht me with it Hardcore, Marley.”
It was still kind of weird being a husband, a dad... having a family, with two kids. Nate couldn’t believe he was married to someone who he thought was the most annoying person in the world – to be honest, sometimes she still could be, but he he loved her nonetheless. Out of everything, he just could not believe how much time had already passed. The kids were approaching four, starting to speak in semi-full sentences... though most things just all came out as one word without any spaces in between. It was cute, but he kinda wanted to go back to the time where they were just babies. Then again, that would mean less time for him to spend with Cat. At least now they were old enough for preschool and they could spend the days together and whatnot. Well, when they weren’t working of course.
The start off to the new year so far had been pretty uninteresting. Unfortunately, it was just another day at work, away from his family – who would’ve thought him to be a family man? But, it paid the bills and after all was said and done, at 5:00 PM, he got to go home. Which was a bit of an interesting thing in itself. As he walked through the hallway, he heard some very faint yelp-like barks (like the dog was trying to bark, but it wasn’t coming out as such). At first, he just thought one of their neighbours had gotten a new puppy or something, but that was quite the opposite of what he saw when he opened the door to their place.
A large-eyed King Charles Cocker Spaniel was in between the two kids, fussing because someone was trying to put a puppy-sized pink tutu on them. ‘What the bloody hel... heck is going on here?’ he asked, reminding himself that his children were definitely now in their repeating phase. The last thing he needed was to teach them curse words at such a young age.
For Audrey, it had been a long couple days. While not much effort was needed, she’d had to extort a businessman for Celeste on top of already keeping tabs on Dylan. She had to work more shifts at the restaurant which meant late nights, and while she had Freddie around to stave off the simplest of her needs, it was starting to not be enough. She was going to ignore it though for as long as she could--and oftentimes, like now, ignoring it meant drinking it away, which was how she found herself at the bar, sipping on something strong while she texted her younger sister, a pang of..something rolling through her as she was updated on how happy Daphne was back in Ragusa with her domme.
