An establishing shot is a wide shot or a long shot. This type of shot gives an audience a basic orientation to the geography of a scene... thereafter, establishing shots can be momentarily used as reminders or updates on scene changes—where people have moved in relation to each other, etc. In this context they are called reestablishing shots.
- from the glossary on film script terminology
Finn figured Puck had to be looking at porn on his laptop when he shut it that quickly. He set it on Finn's desk and grinned at him before standing and offering a casual high-five. "Hey, dude, we got a call from those frat guys. Second pledge meeting tonight. You game?"
"Hell, yeah." Finn dropped his backpack on the bottom bunk. "I just have a little homework to do after dinner, and then we can head over."
He wasn't going to skip studying anymore, not after Puck's diatribe aboutbeingworth something. We are more than they say we are,he'd said, and he had been as intense about it as Finn had seen him about anything all year. Finn wasn't going to let him down.
But when Puck went into the bathroom, Finn's gaze drifted to the laptop sitting on his desk. Whatever, Finn didn't need to see what got Puck off. It wasn't his business. He didn't have any reason for sitting down at the chair and opening the lid, glancing at what was on the screen.
It wasn't porn at all. It was just a bunch of words. Finn only had time to read a few lines before closing the lid again, but it looked like dialogue, written in parts. His screenplay.
"What's your script about, anyway?" Finn asked, picking up Puck's amp as they headed for the door. Puck avoided his eyes.
"It's a work in progress," he said.
"Like, is it an action movie? A sci-fi flick?"
"It's a drama. I mean, it's got humor, but it's just... you'll have to wait until I've got more done." He grimaced, holding open the door for Finn. "Kitty read my first draft, and she was kind of brutal."
Finn could only imagine. "You're not still seeing her?"
"Nah." Puck waved it off. "She's cool, but I'm not interested. Not with all these possibilities around us."
The party was awesome, but Finn's mind kept coming back to the script. The little he'd seen had been about a guy named Ryan, talking to a girl. It remained with him all night, nagging him as he laughed and drank and talked and drank and flirted and drank. They both stopped before walking home became a problem, waving at Matt and Chip. Finn headed back to the dorm, while Puck headed off, presumably to encounter his newest conquest.
The computer was much harder to resist when he was drunk. He hardly hesitated before sitting down at the desk, opening the lid, scrolled back to the beginning, and began to read.
It was full of spelling errors, but Finn had read Puck's writing before and wasn't bothered by that. The story, though... that was something else. After two pages, he could tell it wasn't going to be anything like what he'd expected. He also knew he wasn't going to be able to put it down until he found out how it ended:
[RYAN crosses to stand by JUSTIN.]
RYAN: So that's it, huh? You're just going to leave?
JUSTIN: I can't sit around this crappy town and watch you throw your life away. What do you expect me to do?
RYAN: Nothing, just... I thought I meant more to you than that.
JUSTIN: You do, man.
[They kiss.]
He had no idea how much time had passed when he heard the doorknob jiggle, but he'd read about halfway through the document. Finn quickly closed the laptop and set it back on the desk, moving to sit on the edge of his bed.
Puck was alone, and more drunk than he'd been when Finn had left him, but still upright and functional. "Well, if it isn't Mr. Finn Hudson, the man of the hour," he drawled, throwing an arm around his shoulder. "Brand-spanking-new pledge of Tau Kappa Epsilon."
"Hey," he said, eyeing Puck's hand on his arm. It had a different connotation now, but it wasn't like he could actually say that without giving away what he'd done.
"Fuck." Puck stretched mightily, his wifebeater straining against his chest. "I think I'm ready to call it a night."
"No writing?"
If Puck thought that was a suspicious question, he wasn't telling Finn. "I got about a thousand words out today already. No rush. These things take time, like a good scotch." He proscribed a smooth landscape with one calm, flat hand. "Anyway, I get super carried away when I'm drunk. Everything's way more serious than it is when I'm sober. Better to do something fun instead of trying to convince anybody I've got a story worth telling."
"I'm... sure it is," Finn said. He meant it. He wanted to say to Puck, you're a good writer, and I couldn't stop reading it. But he couldn't.
Puck made the grin look easy. He always did, even when he said hard stuff. "And how was your night?"
"Quiet. But that was good," he added. "I needed a little down time."
"Understood, bro. Get some sleep."
Finn felt the bunkbed tremble a little as Puck climbed inside. His last thought before falling asleep was, Maybe I do want to know what kind of porn Puck's been watching on his laptop.