Fill for Pyroclastic's "One Sentence" Fic Meme Prompt: "Any character- obsessive collecting of multi-coloured lanyards (Not at all inspired by the fact that my fiancé has 42 different lanyards hanging off his backpack)."
"Puck, what the hell? I mean seriously, what the fucking hell?"
Santana was staring at Puck's open closet door. There were at least thirty (probably more) brightly coloured lanyards pinned in neat rows to the back of it.
Puck blushed and shut the door hastily. "'S nothing."
"Puckerman, tell me what the hell that is about or I'm going over to Brit's."
Puck blushed a darker shade. "They were my dad's, alright? He kept them after ever show he roadied."
Santana didn't know what to do with that. She didn't do emotions.
Instead, she stepped forward, grabbed hold of his chin and jerked it sharply upwards. She looked him square in the eye and said, "Forget about that jerk. I'm here now - pay attention to me."
And so he did.
That was the thing about Santana - she couldn't tell you how to deal with your problems, but she sure as hell could make you forget about them.
