Her nights became a constant cycle of pops, bright lights, and absolute darkness. She fooled herself into thinking it would get a little easier each time, as she'd taken a habit of mentally tracing out the constellations on the ceiling each night before drifting off to sleep.

Orion, Taurus, Pisces, Gemini…

And for a brief moment, the golden shapes burned bright behind her eyelids and replaced the faces that seemed to haunt her.

Cancer, Pegasus, Aries, Aquarius…

The shapes on the ceiling…they weren't in the right position. She knew that much. They were in the incorrect positions on the ceiling of the station itself. But she painted from memory, the image giving her comfort in familiarity. The project had taken nearly two months to accomplish due to her own perfectionism (it'd taken forever to find the perfect shade of jade for the background), and lack of quality painting materials. It was when her manager surprised her with a small set of professional paintbrushes on her birthday that she was able to finally finish her painting. The finished product that she lay admiring that sunny Monday morning wasn't completely perfect. There were a few bumps in the lines thanks to anxious cats and shaky fingers, and the gold paint didn't seem as striking as she'd wished. But it was hers, a creation completed with her own two hands.

Mercedes' eyes briefly glanced over at the easels facing the opposite wall. Blankets draped over the canvases veiled the images from her vision, and she inwardly kicked herself for being unable to remove them from the room. Each day, Mercedes would approach the easels, and then shy away as if invisible forces were keeping her at bay. This time around, she forced herself out of bed, and shifted her gaze to the analog clock sitting atop the crate at her bedside just as it struck six. The morning motions were automatic and monotonous, all the way down to Trixie playing in the leaky faucet water and the faulty toaster allowing the bread to get too crisp on one side, but not crisp enough on the other.

Aside from the loud thunder of the train speeding along the tracks, the morning commute remained silent, completely contradicting the packed subway itself. Mercedes supposed it was just the affect of having a crowd of people each trapped in their own heads. She briefly wondered if this phenomenon had a name: What exactly does one call a bunch of people packed together, yet still ignoring the existence of others?

You could almost always pick the odd one out, as they sat tensed up and warily eyeing those surrounding them. Typically, the skin of their hands stretched tight along their bony knuckles due to the obvious death grip on their belongings. And they tried their absolute damnedest to appear as small as possible. The mousy brunette sitting across from her eyed both the handsome, broad shouldered, suited up young black man in front of her, and the bored looking, spiky haired, gauged Asian girl to her right. Mercedes watched in mild amusement as the woman shrank into herself even more…as if she had every intention of disappearing altogether, or else run the risk of of being attacked by enemies only she could see. For a moment, the two women locked eyes. This pale, baggy eyed, middle-aged woman was absolutely terrified. Mercedes didn't find it nearly as funny as it originally seemed— at this point she found it almost pitiful. The woman clutched her Macy's bag and thirty pound purse closer to her chest, and Mercedes quirked an eyebrow before finally tearing her eyes away.

The quality of the walk to the art shop depended on her mood that morning. On this day in particular, everything seemed calmer than the typical Monday morning rush. At least, that's how it seemed to her as she allowed herself to get lost in "Lovers in the Parking Lot" for the third time in a row. Tucked away in a busy section of Greenwich Village—not far from Washington Square park and within walking distance from the University— "Holliday's" seemed to be a favorite among the artsy college crowd, thanks in part to their "Spoken Word Saturdays", art auctions, and low priced, quality coffee. Owned by local socialite Holly Holliday, most critics didn't expect the tiny cafe and art shop to survive a full year, let alone five. With its "blink-and-you-miss-it-pseudo-sixties-chic" (as Holly liked to call it) storefront in jet black with tinted glass windows, the tiny hang out spot seemed to be Greenwich Village's best kept secret for a time. Soon one customer turned into tens, and tens turned into hundreds. The popularity stemmed mostly from word of mouth.

The moment Mercedes pushed open the freshly polished front door, she was greeted with a tiny bell, the gentle guitar riffs of a John Mayer song she'd never heard before, and the sweet scent of warm chocolate.

"Noah?" She called out, allowing the door to shut behind her and removing her trench coat.

"Back here, dollface!" His voice boomed excitedly from the kitchen, "Just whipping up something for the early morning rush."

The light rumble in her own stomach reminded her that one slice of toast wasn't gonna cut it, and that she was in dire need of something much more substantial. Something like—

"Here, here, here! Try this," Noah Puckerman in all of his bulky, mohawked glory jogged out of the kitchen holding up half of a muffin lightly drizzled with a dark brown syrup. The tiny brunette eyed him curiously as she tied a bright red apron around her back, and fastened her name tag on her left breast pocket.

"What did you put in it? You know I can't afford to take any days off, so if you kill me with another one of your experiments-" Her sentence was cut off by the low grumbling of her stomach.

He grinned and waved the muffin in front of her nose, "Looks like someone missed breakfast. C'mon," he sing songed, "you know you want tooooo."

She squinted at him and pushed her curls back, securing them in a black elastic, "You're lucky I kinda tolerate you."

Puck wiggled his eyebrows and watched expectantly as she leaned forward and took a bite, licking the light drizzle from her lips. She could taste chocolate, walnuts, some cinnamon and nutmeg.

"Noah, did you put chili powder in this?"

The baker bit the corner of his mouth and shrugged, "Maybe. I might've. Just a little, though! Enough to give it some kick."

Mercedes chewed slowly as she contemplated her input, "Lighten up on the chili powder. Just a tiny bit. You know how some people are around here. Too spicy and they'll sue."

She and Puck exchanged snorts and he reached to gently wipe crumbs from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. "So you're saying I should throw this out? I mean, this is just a sample, I didn't add chili to the entire batter. I kinda needed a second opinion, and yours is the one I trust."

"It'll be fine. Just make sure you let Quinn know-" at the mention of the name, she caught his grimace, "What?"

"What, what?"

"What was that?"

"What?"

Mercedes plucked the muffin from his hand and made her way to the main seating area. With one hand she took a bite of the muffin, and with her free hand she removed an upside down stool from a coffee table, "I saw that face, Puckerman."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

The brunette opened her mouth, then closed it again, waving her muffin in the air, "You know what? I don't even wanna know. All I know is that you two need to sort out your issues at some point. You've been here for a month now, it's time for you guys to clear the air. Especially if she's your superior."

Puck snorted and removed another chair from the table and mumbled to himself, "Bullshit."

With a little espresso fueled push, Mercedes was able to power through the early morning rush with a bright smile on her face and pep in her step. The students came in droves, either preparing for early afternoon classes or getting an extra boost from classes already knocked out of the way. As the morning rush trickled into the early afternoon flow, Mercedes took the chance to lean against the counter and sneak a few texts out to her roommate Kurt, reminding him to stop at the grocery store for almond milk on his way back to the apartment. Puck moved from table to table, wiping down the glossy wood free of crumbs and sticky drops of semi-dried coffee.

The tiny bell above the door rang and Mercedes swiftly dropped her phone into her apron pocket. Her eyes fell onto a lanky, freckled blond boy who had to be no older than thirteen. He was dressed in black slacks, and a white button down shirt, with a navy blue blazer and a black tie. It was the standard private school uniform, a suspicion confirmed when she caught a glimpse of the school seal sewn onto the left breast pocket. His eyes scanned the shop, curiously.

"Hello there," Mercedes greeted, brightly, "Can I help you?"

The boy turned to her and smiled back, revealing straight white teeth and deep dimples in his pale cheeks. He shoved his hands in his pockets and retrieved three crumpled one dollar bills, and two quarters.

"Um…can I have a small coffee with cream and two sugars, please?"

Mercedes raised her brows, mildly impressed, "Aren't you a little young to be drinking coffee?"

The young boy perched himself on a nearby stool and rested his folded hands on the counter. "Kids in Europe drink coffee all the time. Over there it makes me all shaky and stuff. But not like the ones here. I like the ones here the most. It doesn't make me all…" he demonstrated by wildly waving his hands about his face, resulting in a giggle from Mercedes. She secured a black plastic lid onto the cardboard cup, and passed it over the counter in exchange for the money. The boy took a small sip, smiled, and gave her a thumbs up.

"Thanks loads, um…" he squinted at the name tag on her apron, "Mercedes."

He pushed himself from the counter and hopped down from the stool when she saw it: The lump in the side of his pocket, and a bit of plastic poking out from the opening. Mercedes leaned over the counter, and noticed the glass door open and a handful of pastries missing from the display beside the counter. She swore under her breath and slammed her hand on the wood to get his attention.

"Hey! Kid! Get your ass back here!" Mercedes shouted, pushing the swinging door out of her way.

At the sound of her voice, the boy dropped his coffee and broke into a run out of the door and onto the street. Before she could follow him out, Puck was beside her, pushing the door out of the way and chasing him out onto the busy city sidewalk. Mercedes watched with crossed arms as the boy bolted across the street, narrowly dodging traffic, and disappearing behind the corner with Puck close behind. Mercedes ran back into the cafe, and grabbed a handful of her hair, wondering where the hell their manager was and why she always seemed to be absent when shit went down. Especially when it'd been her idea to place the display next to the counter when countless people warned her that it wasn't the best decision.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. One hour. She was one hour away from her shift ending, and this is the shit she had to deal with. Granted, it'd been the most interesting thing to happen all day. But she didn't feel like dealing with the bullshit she knew she'd have to deal with for not watching the display. At least that's how she knew Holly would frame it. Her thoughts were interrupted when the door swung open and Puck stormed in with the screaming, swearing boy hauled over his shoulder. He unceremoniously dropped the boy onto the floor and grabbed him by the collar.

"Listen to me you little shit," he growled through gritted teeth, "I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I have economics class in two goddamn hours. The last thing I needed was some punk ass kid making me chase him out into the middle of the street."

The boy glared at Puck, then smirked, "Not my fault you can't keep up. You chubby fuck."

Mercedes decided that it was time to intervene when the vein in Puck's neck throbbed and his hands balled into fists. "Noah…" she raised her brows and he let go of the boy's collar, shoving him hard.

"Look, kid," Mercedes shook her head, "just return what you stole. We really don't wanna deal with this right now."

He poked his bottom lip out and shrugged, "Um…no. You now, I don't really feel like it."

Puck paced back and forth behind her, "I'm gonna kick him."

"Don't kick him."

"I wanna fucking kick him in his smug little face."

"He's a kid."

"I hate kids, I'll be doing him a favor," he stopped and shoved his hands in his pockets, "It'll build character."

Mercedes groaned in exhaustion, "And then you'll get fired."

"Just so you know," the blond boy stated, resting back on his hands, "my brother's gonna kick your ass and then my family's gonna sue you for assault."

Puck tossed his head back and laughed, "Fuck your family. I'm broke. What are you gonna take? My pocket lint?" he turned to Mercedes and motioned to the boy who'd began to push himself onto his feet, "Why am I even talking to this kid? Why am I humoring him? Jesus Christ, Mercy. And where the fuck is Quinn? No where to be found, AS USUAL!"

The bell rang again and heavy, rushed footsteps thudded against the polished floor. Mercedes looked up in time to catch a much older looking version of the young boy running in with his eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clenched. His chest angrily heaved beneath his black Under Armour shell, and sweat dripped from the dirty blond fringe that fell over his angry green eyes. He took one look at his mini-me's disheveled appearance and rounded on Puck.

"What the hell are you doing to my brother? He's a kid, man! What the fuck's your problem?"

"You think I give a shit about how old your brother is? He's old enough to steal, he's old enough to face the consequences!"

The blond puffed his chest up, threateningly, "You wanna say that again?"

Mercedes quickly wedged herself between them, not wanting Puck to lose his job or possibly his life, fighting with a guy who showed up off the street.

"Stop it! Both of you need to calm the fuck down!" She turned to Puck, "Relax. Breathe."

The towering, mohawked baker shot the blond one final look between clenching his jaw and storming away, slamming the kitchen door behind him.

She then took the opportunity to try and explain the situation to the newcomer, "Look…"

"Sam," he filled in.

"Sam, your brother stole from us. All we wanted him to do was give the shit he stole back."

"It was just muffins," the younger boy murmured, his tone sounding much smaller and more juvenile than it had a mere minutes before. "Not even a lot, see, Sammy?" He shoved his hand in his pocket and dropped three from his grasp.

The older blond kept his eyes locked on the kitchen door for a moment before dropping his intense line of vision to meet hers, "So you sic your guard dog on him to get what you want? Is that how you deal with kids? You couldn't just let him off with a warning."

"I would've if he hadn't run out when I confronted him. It wasn't even worth stealing-"

"So just let it go! He's a kid, he doesn't know better."

Mercedes furrowed her dark brows, and cut her eyes at him, "If you don't tell him that he's wrong he'll never learn. He'll just keep doing it and getting away with it."

"It's just some fucking muffins, Jesus! You want him to pay for it? Here," he pulled money from the pockets of his sweat pants and threw five one dollar bills at her feet, "Take your fucking money!"

Mercedes kicked the money away from her, and sized him up, not taking her eyes away from his, "It's not about the money! It's about the fact that he stole and you just want me to be a-ok with it! This could be a learning opportunity and you just wanna let him get away with it!"

A condescending laugh escaped from his lips, "Newsflash, darlin', you're not a teacher. You're a barista at a shit cafe, working for minimum wage and crying over a damn muffin. You're not in the position to teach me or anybody anything."

She raised her brows and took a step back, "You talk a lot of shit for someone who only carries crumpled up ones and is perfectly fine with stealing food, Sammy."

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Something flashed in his eyes before he turned on his heels and stalked towards the door, "Come on, Stevie…Now!"

The younger of the two shot Mercedes one final look and followed his brother out. Through the tinted glass, she could see Sam shove his brother in front of him and whisper something into his ear.

She picked the crumpled ones up from the floor, smoothed them out, and walked behind the counter to tuck them into Puck's jacket pocket.

"Over muffins. Seriously."