Noah Puckerman has known Santana Lopez well enough to know a condescending look when he sees one. He's gotten them from her a thousand times before. He's gotten the looks where it seems like she's about to smack him into unconsciousness and he's gotten the looks where it seemed like he was going to get a kick the nuts so hard that he would be getting a free sex change operation. And that's the exact look he's getting when he opens his door after Santana knocks only to see Puck standing there, half naked and some chick coming out of his bedroom, some chick that's half naked as well, her hair pulled back in a delicate twist on the top of her head and secured with those fancy hair chopsticks.
Santana folds her arms over her chest and she puts on her 'bitch face', her lips pursed, both of her eyebrows arched as she looks at Puck. The man just looks at her and runs one hand over his shaved head. He doesn't say anything as the woman makes his way through the apartment and out the front door, stepping past Santana and giving her this sort of strangely friendly smile that the Latina doesn't even bother to return. She just keeps on looking at Puck like she wants to stick her super sharp nails into his eyes and gouge them out. And maybe she does because as soon as the other girl has left Santana storms in, her boots clicking against the floor and she slams her shoulder into Puck's bare one, looking more annoyed than anything else.
"Sure, San. You can come right in. No need to ask," Puck drawls as he closes the door behind her, clicks the lock into place. He knows that Santana doesn't give a shit about formalities but that doesn't matter. He still felt the need to point out that she didn't have the manners to at least ask if she could come into the fucking apartment. Not that Santana doesn't always walk in just like she owns the place. That's who she is, after all. She does whatever she wants whenever she wants to.
"Have fun with Madame Butterfly?"
He's not sure if she's calling the girl that because of the butterfly embroidered into her dress or because she's Asian. It's probably both and they both know it. But he decides not to comment on the nickname and instead makes his way over to the little table by the door and pours himself a drink, doesn't even bother asking her if she wants one. He knows if she does she'll get it herself. She's always been that way. She takes what she wants when she wants it. They are a lot of like in that regard. They always have been.
Turning back in his direction Santana clops down onto the couch, crosses her legs and looks at him like she's studying him and odds are that she is. She's developed a habit over the years of just watching him when she's around, like she's just waiting for an excuse to kick him right in the ass. Just to be safe he doesn't keep his back towards her for too long, instead leans against the table and takes a big sip out of his glass.
He isn't sure how he ended up sharing a best friend with his ex-girlfriend. Yes, he was friends with Santana first but somehow Rachel Berry, the girl Santana had loathed in high school, had turned into one of Santana's best friends. The two of them were practically inseparable. And that was perfectly fine when Puck was still dating the little diva. It was actually nice to share a best friend with his girlfriend because then he never had to worry about the two clashing. But now that he and Rachel weren't together anymore it was more of a hassle than anything else. Because he had this sinking feeling that Santana reported every move he made back to Rachel as though it was her business anymore. Which it wasn't. Not by a longshot.
Santana had been coming around a lot to see him and he wasn't sure if that was because she was just trying to be a friend or because she felt the need to check up on him and make sure he was behaving- which they both knew he wasn't one to do. It was getting rather frustrating and in all honestly he didn't understand why she was giving him a dirty look when it came to him being around women. And he totally didn't get that because he was single and single guys could do whatever they wanted. But she was still giving him that nasty look that seemed like he was going to get kicked directly in the ass at any moment. It wasn't surprising at all but it was admittedly a little frustrating.
"Relax," Puck drawled with a roll of his eyes. "Nothing happened with Madame Butterfly."
Santana scoffed loudly, rolled her own eyes in response in a dramatic manner. "Yeah, right."
"No, nothing happened," he insisted with a quick shrug of his shoulders and then took another drink from his glass. "Same as nothing's been happening all week."
"What are you talking about? You've had different girls every day…no."
Puck could almost smirk. Almost being the keyword. The look on her face was completely priceless. If he had a camera handy he'd take a picture just so he could prove he put that look on her face. "I'll take your disbelief as a compliment, San. Thanks."
"No, but I mean, come on, you must have tried-"
"Everything, from the sexual to the drug stuff."
For several beats Santana just sits there and then she starts to crack up. She starts laughing hysterically like she just can't help herself and maybe she can't though he doesn't appreciate it. She laughs so hard that she actually doubles over there on the couch, one hand pressed against her stomach. "I'm sorry," she says though the apology doesn't sound convincing. "I'm not laughing." Another lie. "It's just so obvious. You're not over Rachel. Come on, this is your body's way of telling you."
Puck lets out a disbelieving scoff and shakes his head, finishes his drink in one last gulp. "I don't have a romantic bone in my body. Least of all that one." The fact of the matter is that he knows he liked Rachel but he didn't have deep feelings for her. He couldn't have. He didn't feel that way about people. He refused to. He knew that once you got too close to someone you then it meant that they could hurt you. And Noah Puckerman refused to let himself get hurt by a girl, especially a tiny little bit of a thing like Rachel Berry. No way, no how.
"It's not about being romantic," Santana argued, rolled her eyes again, uncrossed and re-crossed her arms as she shook her head like she didn't understand why Puck didn't get what she was saying. But then she remembered that he wasn't that good when it came to emotions. Not unless they were sexual. "It's not romantic to just wanna fuck one person, Puckerman. It's just about love. And even if you don't want to admit it you love Rachel. And your dick knows it. That's why it won't let you stick it into some random girl you drag in here off of the street."
Puck just let out a scoffing sound and turned his back on Santana again to pour himself another drink. And deep down Santana just wants to scream. She's not quite sure how she ended up with two friends who are the most stubborn people in the world.
Rachel is depressed and Santana knows it. All she has to do is look at her to know that. The petite brunette keeps on insisting that everything is perfectly fine but Santana knows her friend far too well for that. They're sitting in the local bar and yes, they have gone drinking together before but never has Rachel seemed so sad, so desperate for something she couldn't seem to name. And that's just it. Santana knows she's desperate for something. She's desperate for the one person she refuses to admit that she even wants.
And normally Rachel doesn't drink that much. She drinks barely enough to get buzzed but she's definitely on her way to tipsy and if she's not careful she'll be on her way to drunk. Very drunk. She's looking into her glass like she wants to spit she's so upset. But Rachel will never do something that unladylike. The Latina knows that all too well. So she sighs heavily and throws an arm over the back of her seat, adjusts herself so she's more comfortable. "So," she drawls lazily. "Would you be drinking this much if Puckerman wasn't on the other side of the bar chatting up the blonde with the tits so big that she should be falling flat on her face?"
"I don't care what Noah does," she insists as she finishes off the drink in her glass. She swallows even as the alcohol burns in her throat and looks up at her best friend. "Or who."
"We both know that's a lie," Santana insists. She has no idea why both of her friends have to be such suborn mules. Puckerman is obviously in love with Rachel and Rachel obviously still has feelings for Puckerman so she doesn't understand why they don't just admit it, accept it and move on with their lives together. They could be happy with each other if they just got over themselves.
"Look, Berry," she says, invoking her high school nickname for the girl as she looks at her. "You're in love with Puckerman still. We both know that. And whether he wants to admit it or not he's still in love with you. And it doesn't matter if he's flirting up Porn Star Barbie over there. He's not gonna be able to do anything with her. Truth is? His dick wants in you and only in you. So get over yourselves and get back together. Yeah, I know you two broke up because he was flirting with some skank but it was just flirting. Guys flirt. Their eyes wander. Point is he didn't do anything with her. He still hasn't done anything with anyone else. So just swallow your pride and go make up with him because I slap both of you. You're getting depressing."
"Santana, he cheated-"
"He didn't cheat on you," the Latina insisted. "He flirted. He's Puckerman. He's a fucking idiot. That's all there is to it. He has always been a fucking idiot. That's never gonna change. So you should probably just accept that his eyes are gonna wander. But it doesn't mean anything. It's the way of Puckerman. He's gonna look. But he just wants you. So, if you don't go over there and make up I'm going to lock the both of you into a closet together."
"You wouldn't."
"I would. I'd lock the two of you in there for hours if I have to. I'll lock the two of you in there until you make up and get over your shit. So, you have two choices- go talk to him yourself and get over your shit or I make you two talk and you can hate me for a couple of hours and then thank me after you two end up fucking each other's brains out. Better make up your mind quickly before I make it up for you."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't," Santana argues with a slightly amused laugh. "You love me. You both do. Now, make up your mind."
Rachel just sits there with the empty glass in her hand for several beats before she finally sighs and puts it down, shakes her head a tiny bit as she looks at her friend. The truth is though that she'd much rather talk to Noah than have Santana lock her in a closet somewhere. It would just be frustrating as anything so she sends her friend a bit of a glare and climbs out of the seat and makes her way over towards where Noah is standing at the bar. The blonde woman has moved away already but she could come back at any moment. So she knows she has to make this whole thing fast.
She moves over and takes a seat at the bar next to Noah, orders a drink quietly and just sits there with her hands folded. She can feel Noah's eyes on her but she doesn't know what to say at first. After a moment though she licks her bottom lip and turns her head slightly to look at him. "Santana told me I have to come talk to you or she's going to lock us in a closet together. So, I thought it best if I at least come over here and let her see me talk to you for a minute."
"Whatever." Puck finishes his drink and then just puts the glass down on the bar, keeps the alcohol in his mouth for several seconds before he swallows it. "You even got anything to say?"
"To my cheater of an ex-boyfriend? No."
"I didn't cheat." Puck slams his hand down on the bar and Rachel jumps in her seat, turns her head to look at Puck, her dark eyes wide. "I didn't fucking cheat on you. I flirted once with a girl that wasn't you. That's not fucking cheating. I didn't do shit with her so that's not cheating. So stop fucking calling me a cheater. I didn't cheat on you. I wasn't going to cheat on you. So stop with that shit already."
"Don't you think I know you wanted to sleep with that girl, Noah? You must think I'm a complete and total idiot."
"But I didn't want to." Growling in frustration he turned around entirely in his seat. "Why don't you fucking get that? Why don't you get that the only one I wanted to fuck was you? How stupid can you be? You had to know that. If I wanted her I would have fucked her. Being with you wouldn't have stopped me if that's what I really wanted. But what I wanted was you. I wanted to fuck you."
Rachel just sighs and shakes her head a little bit as she looks at him. She wishes she could believe him but she's just so insecure. She can't help it. She knows that he could have prettier girl, much more experienced girls. Any girl he wanted basically. How is she supposed to believe that he wanted just her? So as soon as the bartender brought over her drink she downed it in one big gulp. "Look, Noah-"
"No, you look. I decided to date you because I wanted to. Not because I had to. And I don't want to fuck anyone but you. Why can't you fucking get that? I flirted, yeah. But that's all I fucking did. I didn't do anything with her. I haven't done anything really with anyone else. So, why can't you get it through your thick fucking head that you're the only one I wanted?"
"Wanted," Rachel repeats numbly. "As in past tense. Not anymore."
"I never fucking said that." As soon as the words leave his mouth though he seems like he regrets saying it. He regrets it and looks like he wants to swallow his own words. But he just turns around a little in his seat and looks back ahead of himself. He hadn't meant to say that. He really hadn't. But once the words were out of his mouth there was nothing he could do about it.
"Do you?" Rachel asks him after a moment, her eyes fixed on his profile. She's not sure what she should say to him other than to ask him what he's thinking, if he still wants her or doesn't want her. She just needs to know the answer to that question. It feels like her heart is going to pound out of her chest and she can feel her throat tightening in anticipation.
"Do I what?"
"Still want me."
Well, that's the million dollar question and he knows that it is. He has to answer her. If he doesn't then she's just going to get upset with him. And probably start yelling. He's trying to avoid that though, anyone causing a scene. But he just looks at the empty glass he had set down on the bar before and then after a moment he clears his throat, swallows hard. "Yeah," he admits. "Yeah, I do."
At first she's not quite sure what she should say but then she nods her head a little bit, looks back ahead of her, drums her nails on the bar. "You know…I think Santana really would have locked us in the closet until we made up. That she would have locked us in there for hours. Until, in her words, we would have ended up thanking her for locking us in there because we fucked each other's brains out."
Puck snorts a little like he doesn't believe it only she knows he does. She is positive that he believes it because Santana would definitely do that. "Yeah, well, she definitely would have locked us in the closet. I don't think she would have hesitated for even a second." But he doesn't just think that. He knows that to be true. After knowing Santana for all that time he knew that she would have locked them both in the bathroom without even having to think about it.
"Yes, well, I didn't think you would have appreciated being locked in a closet. And I know I wouldn't have either." She actually would have killed Santana but that's not the point. The point is she doesn't know what to do yet and she's stalling. She's stalling badly. So after letting it run through her brain for a little bit she finally sighs and stands up from the bar stool. "Well, I give you ten minutes."
"Ten minutes for what?"
"To get to my apartment."
Puck just turns in his seat and looks at her, his eyebrows furrowed, the question hanging without being asked.
"Well, you always said your favorite part of fighting with me was the make-up sex."
"Are we making up? Cause I don't know when that was decided."
"Well, if you wanna make up then I guess you'll show up at my apartment, won't you?" Rachel shrugs, keeping her face as impassive as she can, moves back through the bar to the table she's been sharing with Santana, grabs her purse and heads out.
Puck just looks at her leave and then turns his attention towards their mutual friend who all but glares at him and then points to the door, silently demanding he move his ass and follow her. She doesn't have to know what they were talking about. She just knows that if Puck doesn't follow Rachel she's going to kill him. This shit with the two of them pouting annoys her to death.
It's only a couple of more seconds that he spends looking at her before he puts his money on the bar to pay for his drinks and then heads out of there.
Santana silently vows that if she calls one of their phones the next morning and she doesn't hear the other one right there with them she's going to slap the shit out of both of them. Over and over again. At least until they get brains in their heads.