A/N: There will be more to this 'verse. Just so you know! (:
It's pretty fucked how much his apartment still reminds him of her.
It's not like he has pictures out of her or of them (that was the first thing he took down) and she took all of her shit weeks ago. The bathroom is empty of hair products and makeup and the fridge is empty of tofu and vitamin water.
But he can't wash her scent out of the sheets no matter how hard he tries and the closet is still half empty.
The only thing full in his shell of an apartment (life) is his glass of whiskey.
He's not ready to lose that yet.
He ignores his friends when they try to call.
He knows it's fucked up and it's not their fault he's an idiot and lost the only girl he ever loved. He just doesn't want to hear her name and because all of his friends are her friends too…well...every war has its casualties.
He's being a dramatic asshole and he's well aware of that but he doesn't care.
What he does care that he's down to his last bottle of Jack and that it's time to make a trip to the liquor store.
She always hated when he drank too much but she's not here to tell him not to.
(He wishes she was).
He's trying not to blow off work but the thought of playing guitar for whiney pop stars makes him want to punch something.
He manages to get out of going for a week but then he's got messages telling him to get his ass to the studio or he's gonna be out of a job.
So he sits and he plays but his hearts not in it because the only reason he got the gig in the first place was because of her.
Now it just reminds him of everything he's lost and he fucking hates it.
He frequents a bar two blocks from his place because it's an easy walk no matter how drunk he is or how late it happens to be when he stumbles out of it.
One night it's almost five am by the time he gets back home and when he finally gets his key into the lock he barely makes it to the couch before passing out.
Somewhere deep inside he knows what he's doing isn't healthy but right now it's the best he can come up with to dull the pain.
When he wakes up the sun is shining bright into his eyes and he reminds himself that's why he has a bedroom with heavy curtains.
He doesn't need the sun reminding him there is a whole world out there that he's missing out on.
He's running in his dream but he doesn't know what he's running away from. He hears a loud booming sound and it forces him to stop dead in his tracks. He tries to see where the sound is coming from but when he turns around he sees her face instead.
He wakes up drenched in sweat but he can still hear the loud pounding sound. It takes him a minute to realize he's awake and the pounding is someone at his door.
He hopes that if he just ignores whoever it is that they will leave him the fuck alone so he can sleep off this hangover.
He's not so lucky.
"Puck! Damn it, I know you're in there! Open the fucking door!"
Santana…figures. He's known her long enough to know that she's a feisty bitch that will get into his apartment whether he wants her there or not.
He also knows his super is a horny bastard that would probably give her his key without a second thought.
He groans when he gets up and he pulls on the first pair of pants he sees. He doesn't bother with a shirt because it's nothing she hasn't seen before anyways.
He barely has the door open before she's pushing past him and shoving a cup of coffee in his hand.
"Come on in." he says sarcastically. She rolls her eyes and motions to the cup in his hand.
"Drink that. God only knows how hungover you are right now." He gives her a shitty look as he throws himself down on his couch.
"What do you want?" She perches herself onto the armrest and smoothes her skirt over her thighs.
"Everyone is worried about you, Puck." He laughs and takes a drink of his coffee. It's so hot that it burns his tongue but he barely even feels it. "Don't laugh dick, I'm serious."
"Oh, yeah? Who in the fuck is everyone?"
"Your friends, asshole. Me, Mike, Tina, Blaine…Rachel. You haven't talked to anyone in weeks."
He narrows his eyes when she says her name and she seems to know she fucked up because she won't look him in the eye.
"How fucking dare you. Coming to my house and talking about how everyone is worried about me? Honestly San, I could give a fuck. It's my life and I'm going to spend it doing whatever the hell I want."
"Look Puck, I know it hurts, I know it does and I'm sorry. I'm sorry you guys broke up and I'm sorry that you're in pain…" He doesn't give her a chance to finish before he's motioning towards the door.
"You should leave." She grabs her purse and shakes her head as she walks out. She stops when she's out the door and turns around to look at him.
"She hates this, you know? What you're doing to yourself." He doesn't say anything back.
He just slams the door in her face and hopes that gets the point across.
The nights and days start to blur together in a whirlwind of alcohol, work and tears he'll never admit to anyone that he's shed.
"You come in here a lot."
He looks up from his glass and squints at the girl behind the bar. She blushes and shakes her head as she starts to wipe down the counter.
"Sorry, that was rude. I didn't mean it like that." He just shakes his head and takes another drink of his rum and coke.
"No, you're right. I do come in here a lot." He finishes the glass in one sip and motions for her to fill it up again. She gives him a sad smile as she reaches for a bottle behind her.
"You know, they say bartenders make the best shrinks." He chuckles as she pours him his drink and sets it in front of him.
"Is that so?" She nods her head. "I'm afraid my story isn't all that interesting."
"I'll be the judge of that." He stares down into his drink and sighs.
"It's just that classic tale. You know the one about the bad boy that falls for the sweet girl only to break her heart." It hurts saying the words out loud and he hopes that she doesn't notice how hard it was for him to say it. She's just looking at him with an expression he can't read.
"You still love her." It's not a question so he only shrugs in response. "If you love someone, there's always a way to make it better. Even if you don't think you deserve a second chance." He doesn't say anything as he pulls his wallet out and drops a fifty on the bar.
He does look back though, waves and gives her a small smile, before pulling the door shut behind him.
He lies in bed most nights thinking of the stupid fight they had the night he told her he was done.
He'll never forget the look on her face when he said it and the way her eyes filled up with tears. She was packed and moved out before he even realized that he didn't really mean it.
"You told me you were serious about us, Noah. I believed you but I guess this whole thing has just been a lie."
The last words she spoke to him are the ones that echo through his head every time he closes his eyes.
"Say it again."
He groans and nudges Santana with his shoulder.
"I'm sorry for being such a dick." She laughs and reaches for another slice of pizza from the box sitting on the coffee table.
"I forgive you." He grins because it's always been that easy with Santana. He's an asshole and she gets that and doesn't judge him for it. He waits to see if she's going to bring anything else (his obvious drinking problem) up but she doesn't.
She just elbows him in the side and nods like she gets it.
He does cut back though.
He stops going to the bar after work and chooses beer over liquor when he gets home. He makes an effort to see his buddies more. He gets together with Mike and Blaine a few times for basketball and he goes out to lunch with Santana at least once a week.
No one mentions Rachel and for the first time in months he wishes someone would. He doesn't know what's going on with her and he's kind of dying to.
He decides to just bite the bullet one day when he's watching a football game with Blaine.
"So…um…what's Rachel been up to?" Blaine practically spits out his drink in surprise and looks at Puck with a raised eyebrow.
"She's good. She's been busy working on a production at school." Puck nods because she used to talk about the senior showcase at NYADA all the time. He knew she was looking forward to performing in it.
"Good. That's good." Blaine doesn't say anything else but Puck notices the smile on his face when he takes a drink of his beer.
The first time he sees her since she moved out of their apartment she's walking into his favorite bar with two girls he doesn't know.
He's nursing a Stella (his third) while he watches the game on the big screen and he glances at the door out of habit when he hears it open.
She sees him the same time he sees her and she gives him a faint smile. His heart is beating like a bastard in his chest but he just holds up his bottle and smiles back.
He runs into her in the hallway to the bathrooms when she's going there and he's coming back.
"Hi."
She says it first and fuck him if he didn't miss the sound of her voice.
"Hey." They just stare at each other for a minute and she starts to walk away but he grabs her arm gently before she can. "Rach…"
She stares up at him with tears in her eyes and it kills him because for years now all he's wanted was to see this girl happy. It breaks his fucking heart that he's made her feel like this.
"Noah, I can't do this here." She glances at her table and when he follows her gaze he notices her two friends are watching them intently. He lets go of her arm but he doesn't move.
"I know, but I just need to tell you that I'm sorry." She isn't looking at him and he wants her to know he's serious so he cups her cheek with his hand and moves her face so she can see his. "I fucked up. Big time, I know that. And I can't take back anything I said or did but I need you to know that I'm sorry."
She doesn't say anything when he leans down and kisses her forehead. When he pulls away her eyes are closed and he can see a tear about to fall down her cheek. He wishes he could say more, or do more, but he knows that she needs her space from him right now.
So he just pulls his hand away and doesn't say another word as he settles his bar tab and walks out into the cold Manhattan night.