A/N: I'm dabbling with Glee fics starting with the most awesome pairing in the show choir universe--Puckleberry! Enjoy and please review.
I had three simple rules for dealing with everyday life. Rule number one: wake up. Rule number two: survive the rest of the day by not making an ass out of yourself. And rule number three: get all the sleep you can, because it starts all over again the next morning.
I lived by these rules until a sad Rachel Berry came into the picture.
Sure, we were together for a while. Making out with her was not as bad as I thought it would be, and possibly popping her cherry didn't seem like a bad idea then. But I broke things off after a week; no second base action, no lovin' from this stud muffin.
It happened one day when I skipped football practice for karaoke club rehearsal. I would have been the first one out the door had I not forgotten my stupid jacket. So while the rest of the gleeks were heading out, I was jogging along the hallways trying to remember where the hell I placed my jacket and if I left some dip in one of the pockets. I was on my way to the music room when she pranced out of it, my jacket hanging off her arm.
She spotted me from across the hall and squealed, "There you are, Noah! You left your letterman jacket behind, so I took the courtesy of bringing it with me. Since you're here—"
She didn't get to finish her speech. A bunch of the guys from the football team came out of nowhere and dumped Gatorade all over her. My jacket wasn't spared.
She just stood there while the laughing jackasses made their way towards me.
"How's homo explosion going for you, Puckerman?" said Karofsky. "If you miss football practice again, you'll be sharing sticky underwear stories with little miss crybaby over there."
My reply came in the form of a fist. But it was three against one, so I got my ass beaten. If it weren't for Berry screaming her head off and threatening to call the police, my guts would have probably been sprayed all over the lockers. When Karofsky and the others left, I leaned against the wall and assessed the damage.
"Oh my…Noah," Berry began, "you're bleeding."
"No shit, Sherlock," I grumbled. My nose was most likely broken.
"Let's get you cleaned up."
She held onto my arm and led the way to one of the bathrooms. It was déjà vu when I went inside, only last time I was soaked in corn syrup, not blood. She got a chair for me and propped my head on the edge of a sink. I closed my eyes as I tried not to think about my sore stomach. Karofsky got a lucky punch there.
"You should get dressed first," I told her.
"I didn't bring any extra clothes today," she mumbled as she started wiping my face.
I cracked open one eye. "Why?"
"I haven't had a slushie to the face in a long time. Guess I forgot to make contingency plans."
I shut my eyes again. "When was the last time someone got you?"
"I, uh, don't remember."
"Oh. Well, who did it?"
She didn't say anything after that. I knew why.
"It was me, wasn't it?"
"It's all in the past, Noah," she said softly.
She finished cleaning me up soon after. "Are you sure you're okay? I think it would be best if you went to the emergency room to make sure your nose isn't crooked," she prattled.
"Does it look crooked?"
"No. It might swell up, though."
"I'll be fine." I pick up my stuff from the floor. "What about you?"
"Uh, yeah. I'm good." But the look on her face was a different story.
I dropped my stuff on the floor again and walked over to where she was rinsing off some towels. From behind her, I turned the tap off and spun her around so she could face me. It was weird seeing her with her head hung low; everyone was used to the singing, dancing and smiling Rachel-Berry-on-steroids.
A little teasing could help. "You need to brush up on your acting skills, Berry."
She wouldn't look at me and her voice cracked when she spoke. "You should go. I'll just finish up here."
I tilted her chin up and wished I hadn't. The waterworks were about to begin.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. She looked like a fish out of water, but it wasn't funny at all. We stood there for what felt like hours before she spoke again.
"I was surprised by how much it hurt to watch them beat you up."
I wasn't expecting that. "Relax. I'm fine."
She smiled, but it was a really small and kind of sad smile, like the one my mom gave me yesterday when she came into my room to get my dirty laundry. I was bored, so I picked off my clothes from the floor, separated the whites from the colored ones and put them away in different baskets.
The smile was gone before I could blink. "I can't stand seeing my friends get hurt," she whispered.
I don't know what came over her, but next thing I knew, she was on her toes with her arms around my neck. She was pretty gentle about it; she didn't smack the bruise on my stomach or anything. It felt awkward just standing there and doing nothing, so I hugged her back. And even though she was normally loud and bossy, which annoyed me to no end, and she was currently covered in Gatorade, she smelled just as I remembered when we were dating—like the sweet summer rain.
I couldn't help but bury my nose into her hair. It hurt, and at the moment I felt like a pansy, but it was worth it. She smelled so good. It felt good to touch her. And her boobs were pressed against me, so that was another plus.
She was the first to pull away, but her hands stopped to rest on my shoulders. "Sorry," she said, "I thought you could use a hug before you left."
I surprised her by planting a kiss on her forehead. "C'mon. I'll take you home."
Since then, I've lived by one simple rule. I should make an ass out of myself more often as long as it means making Rachel happy.