The snow is really fucking cold sometimes.

It soaks through his jeans, and gives him the chills.

That kind of coldness that makes you certain that you'll never be warm again.

Puck lifts his head from the snow. Sees that his blood has stained it. Slowly gets up from the bus stop bench, walking.

She's wandering. It's a wandering kind of snow. Her dad used to do this with her. When it was snowing softly, and the evening was dim and blew through the trees. She would just walk, leaving footprints behind. Thermos of cocoa in her hand. Everything was kind of perfect.

But then she saw the flickering figure in the distance, stumbling through the night streets of suburbia. Needing help. And when Tina Cohen-Chang started to help the figure, the flickering became more clear. The figure is Noah Puckerman. She helps him anyways.

"Drink this," she commands, holding out the thermos.

Puck is shivering, jaw chattering. "What's in it?"

"Hot cocoa. Drink it."

He puts it to his lips, and the warm liquid goes down his throat. She notices the cuts and bruises. But she doesn't say anything.

"You're Tina, right?" he asks. She smirks.

"Yeah. I'm the freaky vamp girl who you and your little jock friends put garlic in my backpack."

He just drinks some more.

"Should I take you to the hospital?" she asks.

"No. I just need to get home." He offers back the thermos.

"Keep it. Good luck."

Then she's gone. Back to her walk.

He stays there for a while. A while, being a few seconds before the cold starts to burn again. He stands, clutching the drink. Then he walks home, trying to forget. He doesn't remember putting garlic in anything. But then again, he doesn't remember much about his crimes. It all seems to mush together like a huge pot of potatoes. Or something. The door is locked and his old man is asleep. Fuck. He jumps the fence into his backyard, knocking some branches and shit. He's partially glad he's still sober. He opens his bedroom window and climbs in, not bothering to close it behind him. He collapses on the bed, dead tired. Sleep.

Her room is the pinpoint of predictability in the way of Gothic teens. It has black painted walls, candles instead of lights, and poetry stacked in the bookshelves. Cliché, yes. But to make for it, there's splatter rainbow painted closet, and cluttered everything non-goth in there.

When she got in there, she silently tugged off her combat boots, tossing them into a corner. Then she slept.

He still had all of the cuts, she noticed the next day in the hallways. Small bandages covering it. She didn't look at him, and he did the exact same thing. It was one small chance happening. One that will never likely repeat itself, and that's the way it should be. Mike walked her to class, hand in hand. Sugar plum sweetness and such.

In glee club, she was tempted to ask: What exactly happened? But that would be an awkward conversation and the last thing the goth girl wanted was to have more hulking intimidating jocks after her. So she stayed silent as Mercedes had a diva solo and Rachel had a pompous tune about something. All she really cared about was getting home and stuffing her face with leftover birthday cake, because she's skinny and she can do that kind of stuff, dammit.

Puck almost fell asleep during Rachel's song about whatever shit drama was going on in her life. She kept glaring at Finn during it and everyone sang along. Whatever. Too bad he wasn't at home. At home, he has the tennis ball that he just throws at the ceiling, making it bounce right back into his hands. At least the clock says that there's only 5 minutes left. On that thought...

"Yo Dawg Pizza, what are YOOOOOOOOU having?" The annoying-probably-white-as-marshmellows-telephone-dude said. No one even noticed him on the phone.

"Uh, yeah, I'll have a Super Mea-tay Swaggah Pizza." He really hates that stupid pizza place and all of their goddamn pizza names, but put up with it, because it was, honestly, the only pizza joint in town that didn't use pork in pepperoni, but some kind of other animal. Because they're cheap.

"Address?"

"34 Luthur Drive."

"Okay, dawg!" the guy said. Puck growled.

"Shut the hell up before I shove your fake gold 'bling bling' down your throat!" he said.

"O-o-okay. Your pizza will be delivered in thirty minutes or less. Goodbye." He snapped the phone shut and shoved it in his pocket. The five minutes were up, and he didn't even notice that the whole room was now staring at him. He just got up, and left.

She looked after Puck, who stormed out. His last words kind of made you wonder what the conversation on his cell was, and if he was leaving to, what'd he say, 'shove your fake gold bling bling down your throat'. Uh, 'kay. She was the second to leave. Just hitched her messenger bag up, and trudged to her locker. Locker combo? 6 26 6. Take away the 2, and you get a twisted sense of humour. The locker swings open, almost threatening to hit Tina in the face. She pauses, seeing a foreign object in her locker.

Her thermos. From last night. The hot cocoa gone. Interesting.

After he got home, and after a very terrified delivery boy delivered, he settled on the couch, opening up the box. His sister got home a little later, whining to have some pizza. He responded by taking one huge bite of the last slice. It was snowing outside. He really wanted to take a walk, snow walks are awesome, but then again...He didn't want to get even more injuries.

Tina sat on her windowsill, watching the glass fog up. She drew pictures in it with her index finger. She really wanted to take a walk in it, but she really didn't want a repeat of last night.

A/N: A start of a new adventure! AKA, a Puck/Tina fic. My writing style will change back and forth throughout, but I'm aiming for at least 1000 words per chapter. But I am so hungry for some pizza.