(Authors' note: If you haven't noticed by now, Puck is back at the beginning of season 3, reliving their senior year. All canon elements are suspect from this point out. We would like to point out that Puck's mention of the sneakers is straight out of the show. Also, the scene in which Finn asks Kurt advice about sex was originally written, but was cut from the final script of 3x05. Spoilers in this chapter through 3x05, and warnings for masturbation and making out. Enjoy! -amy and ca-babs)

That first day back was completely fucking surreal. Puck went home after football practice and proceeded to spend the rest of the evening wandering around his bedroom, touching things he shouldn't own anymore and looking at the pictures on his phone from a year and a half ago. Only now, a year and a half ago was today.

He paused in front of the mirror more than once, inspecting himself from all angles, wrinkling his nose at the remains of his mohawk. That was going to have to go, pretty damn quickly. He prodded his stomach with curious fingers, feeling the lack of a beer gut, thanks no doubt to constant access to McKinley's weight room. His face was noticeably younger, slimmer, but he could somehow see shadows on his face that he didn't remember being there during senior year. Maybe the memories of his obliterated future had changed him somehow. Would change him? Had? He shook his head, trying to clear it. There was no way he was going to make it make sense.

He kept picking up his phone and putting it back down again. He could call anyone, do anything, but none of it felt real anymore, not if he was playing the part of his younger self. How was he going to be convincing? He was sure somebody would catch him in a slip and challenge him.

And then he laughed.

"Nobody knows any of this," he said aloud. "Nobody knows what really happened. Fuck, if I told them, they'd never believe me anyway."

He thumbed his phone on and typed in Finn's speed dial code, putting it to his ear. It took a few moments for Finn to pick up.

"Hey, what's up? My mom's going to be on my case about getting enough sleep before early practice tomorrow."

Puck looked in the mirror again, frowning at himself. "You've got to come over. I need your help with something."

Finn sounded doubtful. "What is it? Can't it wait?"

"No, it can't wait," he snapped. "I'm not doing this alone. And this... I don't want anybody else. It's got to be you."

He scowled, listening to Finn laughing. "What are you talking about?"

"I need to take care of this - this thing, on my head. I need your clippers, the good ones. And beer. Lots of beer. Just get the fuck over here."

Puck made it through two beers on his own before Finn arrived, coming in through the garage so his mom wouldn't hear. Finn tossed the clippers onto the bed, regarding Puck curiously.

"What brought this on? When'd you decide to cut it off?"

When you joined the fucking army. Only you haven't done that yet. Puck shrugged. "I looked at myself in the mirror and I couldn't deal with this stupid excuse for a combover. Just don't nick the scar." He sat in the middle of his bed, pulling his t-shirt off and tying it around his neck, like a cape. "The number two guard. Come on."

Finn didn't question him anymore. He fired up the clippers, evaluating him from all sides, and then swooping in to take off a little here and a little there. Puck watched the locks of hair litter the bed around him while Finn chattered about football and Glee and Rachel. It was almost better than the beer: Finn's voice, talking about nothing in particular. He was pretty sure he could listen to Finn doing that forever.

When he mentioned the new substitute teacher Ms. Corcoran, Puck couldn't help snorting.

"You know she's the one who got Beth," he said.

"Yeah, I remember," Finn agreed. "Is that weird? Having her in town like this?"

"Definitely not the weirdest thing that happened to me this week," Puck muttered. "Hand me another beer, okay? I can still feel some long parts here in the back."

Finn stood back, admiring his work. "Okay. I think it's done. What do you think?"

Puck let his hand travel over the bristly-satin surface of his head. It felt more familiar, at least. He took a second to untie his t-shirt and bundle it up with the hair-covered sheet from his bed, and deposited it into the laundry basket before standing in front of the mirror. He could see Finn watching him. Finn looked almost anxious.

"Better," Puck agreed. "I think it was time to get rid of it. Time to grow up, you know? Start thinking about the future."

Finn nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess? Not that I have any idea what my future's going to look like." He touched his own hair. "You think I should cut my hair too?"

Puck shook his head. The last thing he needed was to be staring at Finn's buzz cut every day, thinking about him in that recruiter's office. "You don't need to." He turned around to look at Finn. "Just... think about this. If you could do anything, anything at all, with the rest of your life, what would you do?"

"Uh..." Finn laughed uneasily. "I don't know? I think I'd want to make a difference, somehow. Like my dad did, you know?"

"You know there are lots of ways you can make a difference," Puck said. God, Finn's fucking dad. He was going to have to go through that all over again. Puck tried to focus on the now and ignore all the anguish that was yet to come. Might come. "Look at what Burt is trying to do with his run for Congress. He's going to make a difference if he get's elected."

Finn gave him an odd look. "How did you know about that? He hasn't told anybody but me and mom and Kurt that he's thinking about running against Coach Sylvester. Well, and Mr. Schue."

"Yeah, uh, I heard Schue talking about it." He moved across the room, trying to avoid letting Finn see his face. He'd been back for one fucking day, and he was already screwing up. Was Beiste going to appear in a puff of heavenly smoke and revoke his do-over status?

"Are you saying I should go into politics too?" Finn asked. "Should I be paying close attention to what Burt is doing? Because he said I could run the tire shop if he gets elected. And don't you have to be old to go into politics?"

Puck sighed. "Finn, you don't have to do any of that stuff. You don't care about politics, and you don't want to run the tire shop. Come on, do you really want to be stuck in this town all your life? Don't you want to dream bigger? We could do anything."

Finn shrugged. "I don't know. I thought it would just come to me, that I'd wake up and I'd know what I want to do. That's the way it seems like it's been for everyone else."

"I don't think it has to be like that." He recognized that lost look on Finn's face. He'd seen it a lot, senior year, before Finn had decided to ask Rachel to marry him. Puck reached out and grabbed Finn's arm, making him look at him. "You're a senior. You're going to graduate this year. This is the year to figure it out, to make plans."

Now Finn looked scared. "What if I don't have any?"

"You will," Puck insisted. "We'll figure it out. I'm going to help you."

It was just another useless promise, he knew. There was every chance he'd fail at this, too. But there was no way he could look at Finn's living, breathing, earnest face and not try to help.

Suddenly being that close to Finn was doing weird things to his heartbeat. He let Finn's arm go and dug in his drawer for a clean t-shirt.

"You always did dream big," Finn said. He sounded quiet and sad. "I don't think I know how to do that."

Puck blew out a breath, turning back to face him. "What the fuck do you mean by that? Who's the one who joined New Directions?"

"That was just because Mr. Schue -"

"It wasn't just because of that, and you know it. None of us would have joined in the first place if you hadn't done it first. Glee club would have been a real joke without you. But we made it to regionals, and nationals. So don't give me any of that pussy shit about you being afraid to dream big. Your dream should be as big as you are."

It was so close to what he'd said to Finn when Puck asked him to come to L.A. Fuck, was he just going to end up repeating himself, recycling all the dialogue they'd already had? But no, this conversation was new. And he'd waited a lot longer to shave off the mohawk, in the past. Future. Whatever. Finn was smiling a little, and Puck smiled back, giving him an encouraging pat on his chest.

"You really believe in me?" Finn asked softly.

Puck had to swallow before he could answer. "What the fuck does that mean? You're not, like, the tooth fairy. You're right here in front of me. Of course I believe in you."

"I mean..." Finn laughed. "Never mind. I should get home. See you tomorrow."

As soon as Finn was out the door, Puck began pacing his room, across from the desk to the table by his bed and back again. Finn being obsessed with Rachel was familiar enough, but Finn being hopeless was more than Puck could deal with right now. What if he wasn't good enough to save him from himself, this second time around? What if he made it worse? The way things were at the moment, Puck was starting to worry things might already be going horribly wrong.

He needed a plan. He needed a plan good enough to keep himself focused, even while he did senior year all over again. A plan to help Finn as he went through all the same old shit. The fact that he had absolutely no idea what that plan was going to look like yet didn't deter him. Finn was right; he did dream big. There was no sense in playing it safe - not when lives were at stake.

Puck wanted to kick Mr. Schue when he proposed the dance booty camp, because that was exactly what Finn didn't need: another opportunity to feel bad at something. Standing in the wings, watching Finn trip over his own feet while Schue and Mike flanked him, was nothing but painful.

When he saw Kurt wincing, Puck realized he wasn't the only one who thought so. He moved in close enough to talk to him without drawing Mr. Schue's attention.

"This sucks," he said.

Kurt sighed, leaning on the parallel bars. "Finn's never been the most graceful individual."

"Yeah, but I don't understand why he's so uncomfortable with this," he insisted. "He's captain of the fucking football team, but the moment you mention the word dance around Finn, he loses all the confidence he has in himself."

Kurt nodded in agreement. "I know. It's a huge mental trigger for him. And I can't figure out why either. It's not like he can't dance. When I taught him how to waltz for the wedding, he was easier to teach than my Dad."

Puck quirked one eyebrow at Kurt. "Yeah, I can't imagine why that would be."

"Oh, shut up," Kurt exclaimed, his cheeks going pink. He gave Puck's chest a halfhearted slap with the back of his hand. "That's ancient history. It's just…"

"Okay, let's run it again," Mr. Schue called. "Sam, you and Finn try standing behind us this time."

"It's just?" Puck asked.

Kurt pulled Puck a little further away from Mercedes and lowered his voice. "Mercedes is a great friend, but she's a bit of a gossip, and I promised Finn I wouldn't tell a soul."

Puck snorted at Kurt's comments about Mercedes, but he he had to wonder what Kurt might know about Finn that he didn't. "About what?"

Kurt leaned in closer to Puck, dropping his voice still further. "So after the disaster in New York, at Nationals, he's really kind of taken all the teasing to heart. Only not just about the unscripted bits."

Puck nodded, encouraging Kurt to continue.

"Finn came to me and asked me to help him with his dancing," Kurt admitted. "Not like I'm some great dancer, but because he trusts me. I managed to teach him to waltz decently without constantly putting him down, like some people would." A fierce protectiveness flashed in Kurt's eyes.

"So if you've been helping him dance, why does he still look like that?" Puck thrust his arm out, just before Finn tripped over his own feet again and landed in a heap on the floor. They both winced.

"I don't know!" Kurt hissed. "At home, he's better. He's more calm, he listens to the music and he just - feels it." They both watched Finn struggle, humiliation and frustration both evident on his face. Kurt's voice grew thoughtful. "At home, I'm not trying to teach him choreography, I'm just trying to get him to loosen up and feel the music. I'm convinced memorizing a bunch of steps isn't the key; he needs some sort of connection to what he's learning."

Puck straightened with fresh determination. "Ok... I've got a plan. Just follow my lead."

Kurt nodded, eyes wide, and walked with Puck over to where Finn was standing with Mike and Mr Schue.

"I just can't do it," Finn was saying.

"I think we could all use a break," Puck suggested to the group at large. He tilted his head towards Mike and lowered his voice. "Maybe let Kurt and me give it a try?"

"All right, fine," Mr Schue said, clearly exasperated with the lack of progress. "Let's meet back here in 20 minutes."

"My mom made almond cookies last night," Mike said to Mercedes as he led her away from Puck, Finn and Kurt.

As soon as everyone was gone, Finn dropped to the floor and lay flat on his back on the stage, his arms flung over his eyes. "This sucks!"

Kurt kicked at Finn's shin lightly. "Get up, Finn."

"I give up," Finn mumbled. He edged away from Kurt's foot.

"I told Puck about our rehearsals," Kurt said simply. "Get up and show him what I've seen you do."

Finn dropped his arms, sitting up and glaring reproachfully at Kurt. "You promised that was going to be a secret. Besides, what does it matter? That's not really dancing. if it was, I'd be a lot better at this than I am."

Kurt sniffed. "I was kind of surprised you hadn't already told Puck. He's your best friend."

"It's not a big deal, Finn," Puck said. "Just show me."

Finn shifted his glare to Puck while Kurt dug out his phone and hooked it up to Mike's portable speakers. "Well, you've gotta do it too, Kurt. I'm not doing this on my own."

"Fine by me." Kurt stalked over to the center of the stage, poised to move, as Finn shuffled into place beside him.

Puck watched from the side as Finn closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. As the music started, he began to let his body go. At first it was obvious Finn was anxious about Puck being there, but by the chorus, he was in fact moving freely and fluidly to the music. Without even seeming to know he was doing so, Finn was actually incorporating some of Mike's choreography from the other song into what he was currently doing - and it didn't look half bad.

When the song stopped, Puck knew he was wearing a shit-eating grin. He didn't bother to try to hide it, but when Finn saw his expression, his face fell. "I know, stupid, right?"

Puck shook his head. "No. Totally not what I was thinking."

He grabbed a towel and mopped off his sweaty brow. His cheeks were red, and not just from the dancing. "Then why were you looking at me that way?"

"It was good, Finn," Puck said. "You were even doing some of Mike's steps."

Finn rolled his eyes. "No, I wasn't."

"You were. Look, at the beginning, you did something like this." Puck mimicked Finn's steps. "How about if you try this, then add this from Mike, and what do you think would come next?" Puck put a couple of steps together and demonstrated them to Finn, waiting for his input.

Finn shrugged. "I dunno. I'm not a dancer."

"Finn," Kurt said firmly, rewinding the track to the beginning, "just listen to the music. What would you do next?"

Puck watched as a little of the tension in Finn's body slipped away and his expression went from self-conscious to thoughtful. Close scrutiny had always bothered Finn, whether it had been in class or on the field. Finn never got embarrassed when he was leading others, but when the focus was on him, he clammed up. Watching him now, Puck realized all over again how seriously Finn always took everything. He always wanted to do his best - not because he wanted fame or attention, but because it was the right thing to do, to help the team win.

"Puck," he heard Kurt say. He sounded a little impatient. Puck realized he was staring at Finn.

"Uh... yeah." He took several hurried steps back, giving them room to move.

This time, when they got to the part Kurt was talking about, Puck watched Finn's face instead of his body. He was counting out the beats, nodding his head in concentration as his eyes flicked to the side. The small rhythmic movements compelled Puck to count the beats along with him.

"... six, seven, eight," Puck chanted. When Finn paused, Puck reached over and replayed the last thirty seconds. "It looked like you had something. An idea?"

"I don't know." He was tensing up again, looking to Kurt for direction. Puck stepped in between them, twisting his body as Finn tried to look around him at Kurt. Puck wouldn't let Finn hide from him, standing on his tiptoes so he was right in Finn's line of sight.

"Don't lose it. What was that routine? Show me, again."

This time it was all three of them, Kurt watching Finn's movements and following them exactly, and Puck doing his best to keep up, but it was clear that Finn was the one leading them. The change in Finn was dramatic and impossible to miss: he stood straighter, moved more confidently, and even smiled a little. When they were done, they both clustered around Finn with words of praise, and Finn didn't seem self-conscious at all.

"How'd I not make this connection before," Puck heard Kurt mutter. He was shaking his head a little, a crazy smile on his face - and he was looking at Puck.

"What are you talking about?" Puck asked. His own grin, at watching Finn emerge from his creative doldrums, was equally broad, but he wasn't going to guess at Kurt Hummel's motivation.

"Football," Kurt replied simply. "You guys let me teach you how to dance, on the field." Kurt turned to Finn, poking him in the chest. "You did that."

"No, you did that," Finn retorted.

"Whatever. The point is, you were fine. You danced as well as any of those guys, and you did it with confidence and grace. And trust me, I was watching, so I would know."

Finn ignored the aside. "I don't get what your point -"

"No, last year," Puck interrupted. "Homecoming. Kurt wasn't even on the team."

Puck felt Kurt begin to bounce up and down on his toes. "I was at Dalton. I had no idea what you guys were even doing. And half the team was gone, and the girls were on the field. And then you danced, Finn. You led the whole team. You brought them back together."

"But it wasn't about dancing." Finn squeezed his eyes shut. "It was about football. It was about winning. We'd been winning, and we'd come so far. It didn't seem right for it all to come to an end over something like-"

"When we go back to Nationals this year, Finn, it's still going to be about winning," Puck countered. "We've all come so far, and for a lot of us, this is our last chance."

"We're counting on you Finn, to lead us," Kurt said softly. "Tell us what you need us to do. Tell us what we need to do to win."

Finn opened his eyes, and Puck could see they were shiny with unshed tears. "Crap, you guys. I just - I don't know what we need to do to win all of this."

"It's not just you on the field, right?" Puck said. "You're following Coach Beiste's plays."

Finn nodded, puzzled.

Kurt's grin reminded Puck of the Cheshire Cat. "Mr. Schuester and Mike are your Coach Beiste here on the stage. You're still you; still Finn; still the quarterback. And you've got the best team behind you."

Puck smirked, watching understanding dawning on Finn's face. "I remember this guy on the football team, started hanging out with a bunch of losers. He pulled a guy in a wheelchair out of a port-a-potty and told the rest of the football team that he was in fact going to still be on the football team, and join the Glee club, no matter what his coach told him. And do you know why he did that?"

Finn's lips twisted up into an equivalent smirk. "Because they weren't going to win without me."

"That's the spirit," Kurt crowed, and he reached around and smacked Finn on the ass.

Puck watched in amusement as Finn didn't react to Kurt's slap, other than to laugh. His eyes crinkled in the corners, a sign of true Hudson laughter. Before Puck was fully aware he was doing it, he too brought one of his hands down, slapping Finn's other ass cheek. "You've got this, Hudson."

Finn cracked up, rolling his eyes at the wings above them. "I can't believe you guys tricked me into believing I could do this."

Kurt leaned in against Finn's ear, dropping his voice to a stage whisper. "I don't think it was a trick." He grinned, backing away as he pointed at Finn. "Now you do it for Mike and Mr. Schue."

"Oh," said Finn, his smile dropping away, "I - uh..."

Kurt didn't wait for an answer. He beamed at Finn, then hopped down off the front of the stage into the pit, hurrying up the aisle toward the back of the auditorium.

Puck wasn't going to wait around for Finn to get all nervous again. He tugged Finn back to center stage, pressing play on the iPod. "Run through it again. Show me the part that you just added."

Finn loosened up again once he got moving. It seemed to help him to close his eyes, and although Puck worried a little about Finn accidentally throwing himself off the stage, he could clearly see Finn made the best turns and the cleanest, sharpest moves while his focus was completely internal. It also distracted him from noticing the approach of Kurt with Mr. Schue and Mike. They paused in the middle of the auditorium, watching Finn dance.

When the music ended, Finn shook out his shoulders, reaching for the iPod. "Let me go back to that middle part," he began, but jerked his hand away when the applause began.

"What was that?" Mr. Schue called, clearly amazed.

"That was Finn's improvised routine," Kurt told him with satisfaction. "He's been working on it at home, but a third of that was new today. It was better this time, Finn."

Mr. Schue scrambled up onto the stage. "From now on, when I'm writing choreography, I'm going to come to you first, so we can make adaptations."

Finn gave him a rueful grimace. "Because I suck so much?"

"No," Mike replied. "Because you dancing like this is a hundred percent better than anything I could get you to memorize." He turned to Kurt with awe. "You're the Finn whisperer."

"Actually, you should talk to Puck," Kurt replied, still looking smug. "He's the one who brought it to the stage and convinced Finn to give it a try."

"The both of you, then." Mr. Schue was smiling wide, and Finn couldn't help but smile back. "Can I convince you to do it once more, so I can learn it?"

They stayed in the audience while Finn took Mr. Schue and Mike through his routine, which was getting more elaborate and solid with each repetition. Kurt nudged Puck. "That was good."

"Yeah, I'm impressed. He's a hell of a lot more comfortable."

"No, I mean... what you did. Helping him like that." Kurt watched Finn demonstrate a series of steps without tripping once. "Honestly, I was beginning to think you'd given up on him."

"I haven't been the best best friend," Puck agreed, trying not to act defensive. "But I'm different now."

"And why's that?" Kurt's gaze was far too insightful. Puck kept his own eyes on Finn.

"I guess I realized what I was missing out on by being an asshole friend. He deserves better than that."

"You do, too," Kurt said. He patted Puck on the shoulder. "Lucky for both of you, you came around."

Puck was beginning to think about his former past like it was an earlier version of Super Mario. Here he was, running through the same scenes with the same characters, but knowing already just when to jump to make the invisible mushroom appear. It felt like a cheat in some ways, but in other ways, he could tell his actions were opening up a whole new series of possibilities. What he had resolved to do was to take all of the possibilities seriously this time - and to focus on the ones which included Finn feeling good and making positive choices. If he had anything to say about it, this road wouldn't end the way the last one had.

He already felt different, seeing the world with older eyes. Watching Shelby now, for example, made it hard to find her as appealing as he once had. Perhaps he had better judgment, knowing how things came out between the two of them. When she came to Puck and asked him if he wanted to come over and get to know Beth, he still immediately said yes. Nothing would have stopped him from wanting that. But he was toning down the flirting, to the point that she was treating him like just another student, and he was okay with that.

In the moment when he found himself sitting across the kitchen table from Shelby, at which point he'd once sung Waiting for a Girl Like You, he couldn't quite muster the enthusiasm for it, and ended up singing Beth by KISS instead. It choked him up a little, watching the sappy look on Shelby's face, the way she obviously loved her daughter. And Beth was definitely Shelby's daughter, no matter who her biological parents were.

"What do you think about gay dads?" he asked her while he put his guitar back into the case.

She looked confused. "In what context? I mean, I don't have any problem with gay men wanting to raise kids."

"Good." He nodded, watching Beth struggle to her feet in her playpen, fall to her well-padded butt, and try valiantly again to stand. "Like, if I had a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend, that wouldn't make you want to keep Beth away from me?"

"No way." She made a face. "I never had a problem with Rachel having two dads." But she was obviously curious. "Did you think - I mean, I'm surprised. I didn't expect you to think about that possibility for yourself."

"I'm just saying, hypothetically," he assured her. "I don't have a boyfriend or a girlfriend. But I'm glad to know you're open-minded like that."

When it came time to choose between doing West Side Story and football, Puck wondered what would happen if he chose football this time. He felt a little guilty, thinking about picking the play again, when Finn was so obviously dedicated to football.

He overheard Rachel talking with Finn outside the locker room one day, sounding positively condescending.

"I know you want to support me in my decision to focus on getting into NYADA," she told him, patting his chest decisively, "but Tony's not a good fit for you. You're better off here."

Finn looked around himself as Rachel walked away, looking for all the world like he couldn't even figure out where he was. He sighed, sinking down on the bench next to Puck.

"This sucks," he complained. "I mean, I like football, but... it's not the only thing I've ever wanted to do. It's not like the way performing is for Rachel. This isn't my dream. I wish she wouldn't force me into choosing it." He looked wistfully at Puck. "Do you think I have a chance at getting discovered? Coach said there was going to be somebody on the sidelines at the next game, watching."

"You're awesome, dude," Puck said vaguely. He didn't want to try to predict the future anymore, not considering the way he was already changing things.

Coach was definitely being harder on the remaining athletes on the team, now that Mike and Puck were absent from the planned plays during West Side Story rehearsals. They still came to practice, but Beiste mostly had them staying on the sidelines while they ran plays. She bawled orders, gave them extra drills, and even though she wasn't mean about it, Puck could tell she was feeling stressed out.

"Come on, guys," she called, encompassing the locker room with one sweep of her arm, "let's get this stuff cleaned up. This ain't your bedroom, you know. You can't leave your clothes all over the place. Your mother's not here to pick up after you." Her critical eye passed right over Mike and Puck, waiting by the door for Finn to join them for booty camp. "For the love of God, Finn, are those your shoes? They're as big as gondolas."

Finn's face was red as he gathered up his gear and stuffed it into his bag. "It's not like I meant to have the biggest feet of anyone in the senior class," he muttered. "And what the hell is a gondola, anyway?"

"It's a long canoe," Mike told him helpfully. "Like they use on the river in Venice."

Finn looked positively affronted. "Dude, my feet aren't that big. I'm perfectly proportionate."

The comment made it impossible for Puck to not investigate. When Finn dropped his bag backstage and went to work on his Spanish homework in the auditorium, watching Rachel rehearse, Puck rifled through to dig out one of Finn's sneakers. He prodded the heel, trying to decipher the faded size stamped inside.

"What are you doing?"

Puck spun to see Kurt watching him. He quickly dropped the shoe and backed away from Finn's duffel. "I'm just checking. Coach was putting in an order for new shoes for the team. She made a comment about his feet. I think he was feeling self-conscious about telling me what size he wears."

It was enough of a diversion to distract Kurt from asking him more questions about why Puck was messing with Finn's stuff. Puck had to wait until Kurt was rehearsing the Officer Krupke number to return and filch the pair of shoes. He stuffed them into his backpack, shoving them down as far as they would go. He really didn't know what he would say if somebody else found him with Finn's sneakers. Especially not Finn himself.

The shoes stayed in his bag while he ate dinner with his mom and sister, but he couldn't stop thinking about them. About what Finn had said. Perfectly proportionate. What exactly did that mean? He'd heard stories about the size of a guy's feet and the size of... other things, but was there any kind of evidence to point to that?

He had to wait until his sister was done with her homework to claim some time on the family computer. It wasn't exactly private, but he could get away with wiping his browser history after he was done.

A quick search and a visit to told Puck that the story about big feet being equal to big other things was a myth. But he still couldn't get Finn's voice out of his head. I'm perfectly proportionate. The article did say that bigger people tended to be bigger all over.

Puck hadn't lied when he said he was good at math. He opened a blank spreadsheet. Trying to not make it too obvious, he used H for Hudson and P for himself. On the side, he decided on T for height, an F for feet and a D for their proportionate parts.

His was easy. He filled in 5'11" in the height column. He'd worn a ten and a half shoe since he was fourteen, and his feet hadn't gotten any bigger since then. Finn, on the other hand, had topped 6'3" at the beginning of sophomore year. Puck was absolutely sure Finn's feet were bigger than his, but he didn't know how much bigger.

He took his bag into the bathroom and locked the door before taking Finn's shoes out. They didn't smell great, but he worked the tongue open and pulled the laces loose enough to be able to find the size label, affixed halfway down the top of the sneaker: 15.

Puck blinked. "Jesus," he muttered, feeling lightheaded.

Glancing at the door nervously, he took his pants and boxers down. Then he recovered the tape measure he'd borrowed from his mom's sewing kit. He felt like a total idiot, sitting on the lid of the toilet, letting his dick flop in front of him. He was going to be scientific about this. No stretching it to make it seem longer, just base to tip and that was it.

He'd definitely erased his browser search for average penis length, and all the subsequent searches during which he'd discovered the mortifying word for a limp dick was flaccid, but it was still a little satisfying to discover his own dick was a little longer than average. He scribbled 3.5" on a scrap piece of paper with no identifying marks.

He decided he was not going to even think about how he might measure Finn's dick, but the reading he'd done already had stirred his imagination plenty. It was clear that some dicks were small when they were limp, but the actual size of a guy's junk wouldn't be obvious until it was erect. And he definitely wasn't going to make any plans to ask Finn about how long his dick was when it got hard.

But unfortunately, being reasonably good at math meant his brain was doing the calculations for him. Sitting there with his pants down and thinking about Finn's probably-five-inch-long dick was inspiring some significant growth in his own. He stifled a groan, giving himself a squeeze.

It wasn't something he did in the bathroom much anymore, but that wasn't the real question. The real question was, was he actually going to jerk off while specifically fantasizing about Finn's erection? And the answer appeared to be - yes, he was.

Puck was just curious enough to make himself stop in the middle and and measure again. It wasn't because he was particularly interested in how big he was. He just wanted some more math to inspire his brain's calculations. Because if he had a five and a half inch dick when it was hard, Finn might have something like seven and a half, or more. If this was the way his dick felt in his hand when it was erect, what would it feel like to hold Finn's? How would it stretch the webbing of his palm when he wrapped his fingers around it and stroked?

He gave up pretending not to care, and let himself think about that in great detail for about three more minutes, about Finn being perfectly proportionate.

Then he cleaned up, stuffed Finn's shoes back into his bag, and went back to the computer, where he deleted the spreadsheet and, for good measure, wiped his browser history once more.

The next day in the locker room before football practice, Finn sidled up to him and whispered, "Dude... I have a question for you."

Oh, shit. Puck was not going to panic. "Dude, I thought they were my sneakers."

Finn blinked. "What?"

"What?" Puck echoed. Finn shook his head.

"No, no... look, I figured since you have some more... experience than I do, that you could recommend a brand of condom." Finn's voice got softer and softer as he spoke. The embarrassed look on his face made Puck's breath catch in his throat.

"Are you cheating on Rachel?" he demanded. "Because if you are, man, that is not cool, and that's coming from me."

"No! No. I want to use them with Rachel."

It was both better than what Puck had been imagining, and so much worse. Finn hadn't had this conversation with him in the original timeline, or possibly Puck just hadn't remembered it, but of course Finn wanted to have sex with Rachel. Of course he had, and - why would that even be a problem? Puck had had sex with more girls than he could count, and Rachel was Finn's freaking girlfriend.

He opened his mouth to say Hey, good job, or something like that, but what actually came out was, "I don't know, dude. Do you really think you guys are ready for that?"

Finn wrinkled his nose at Puck. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Puck insisted. "Berry... I mean, I always thought it'd be me, but..." He wasn't able to finish his sentence, not the way he wanted it to end. He shrugged. "Whatever, man. You guys knock yourselves out. And as for the condoms, I never used them. Worked out for me about 99% of the time."

Finn's expression was hurt, but he didn't say anything more to Puck about it.

Soon enough, Cooter Menkins was there, giving his pitch to the team. Puck couldn't help glaring at Cooter the whole time. Whenever Cooter grinned at Beiste, he wanted to snarl, Get your damn eyes off her, you worthless prick. But he managed to restrain himself to a mild throat-clearing noise. Cooter and the Coach were barely friends at this point, after all. And she wasn't going to keep herself from falling in love with Cooter, no matter what kind of advice Puck offered. Still, it made him feel like punching something, the way he was fawning all over her. He knew what was coming: Finn was going to get ignored, and Cooter was going to go out with Coach Sylvester, and in the end, both Beiste and Finn were going to wind up with broken hearts.

He gave up on school before fifth period and ditched the rest of his classes, driving his truck to the park by the highway and sitting there for over an hour. He didn't smoke or anything; he just sat there looking at the water, feeling so completely stupid and useless and pissed for no reason - which only pissed him off more.

Eventually Puck drove back to his house, where his sister was still nine, and his mom hadn't yet found out about Jacob, and he was the only one who knew that Finn only had two more years to live.

He'd almost gotten desperate enough to try doing his Spanish homework when there was a knock on the door. "Noah? Finn's here."

Puck opened the door and let Finn in. Finn was looking even more antsy than he had that afternoon, and Puck eventually pushed him into his desk chair and sat across from him on the edge of the bed. "What's going on?"

"Well..." Finn sighed, staring at his hands. "You didn't exactly have any kind of advice for me about having sex with Rachel. So I went to talk to Kurt."

"Kurt?" Puck stared at him. "No way he and Gold Star Gay have even gotten to second base."

"Yeah, that's what I discovered." Finn sounded miserable. "Not like Blaine's anywhere near good enough for him anyway. But he didn't have any more suggestions than you did. He just told me to be careful."

That made Puck bristle, for some reason. "Well, fuck, Hudson. It's not like it's your first time. You and Santana -"

"This is nothing like it was with Santana." Finn sounded angry. "I love Rachel. I want it to be special for her."

For her. Not for you. Puck wasn't going to say that. He gritted his teeth and tried to smile.

"Shouldn't the fact that it's with you be special enough?"

"Shut up," Finn muttered, flushing. "I'm trying to be serious."

So am I, Puck thought. "Look, we're talking about freak-loser Berry nailing the fucking quarterback. Even the head cheerleader can't claim that. She should be begging you, not the other way around, regardless of how you feel."

Finn pushed off from the chair, pacing the room. "Just... forget it." He gave Puck a hurt look. "You know, I should have known better than to expect you to take this for real. Rachel's not some stupid Cheerio. She really means something to me. But what would you know? You've never felt like this about a girl."

Puck watched Finn head out the door, feeling the last words echo in his gut.

"No," he said to the empty room. "I never have."

There wasn't any reason for him to hang out outside of his coach's office after lunch, but Puck did it anyway. He told himself it was because of the stupid way she was mooning all over Cooter, but he was pretty sure it was actually because he missed having an adult in his life who liked him for who he was.

She looked surprised to see him there, herself, but she just called mildly, "Don't just stand there, Puckerman; come on in and take a load off."

He sat on the bench across from her desk, the one that smelled vaguely like feet, and waited for her to finish whatever paper she was writing.

"So you think Hudson's got a chance?" she asked, not looking up.

It was a casual comment, but it put him on edge anyway. No, she didn't know what was going to happen with Finn, but she was a skilled athlete herself, and even back at the beginning of senior year, she'd known her kids. Puck didn't see any point in lying to her about this.

"Not really," he said. "I wish he did, because he could use a little boost in confidence, but I don't think Finn's going to play football again after this season."

"No?" Now she did look up, gazing at him steadily. "He could play college ball. Maybe not quarterback, but he's a solid player."

"He wants it too much." Puck hadn't realized until the words slipped out how bitter they were going to sound. He tried to backtrack. "I mean, he's good and all, and I think he's been a real good leader in the past. But right now, I just think he's having trouble figuring out what he should be doing."

"You mean, with his life?"

Puck shook his head. "He knows what he wants to do with his life. He's always wanted it."

She sat back and regarded him. "Wanted what?"

"To make a difference. To be... important, to somebody who otherwise wouldn't have had that." Like Rachel, he thought. He tried to smother the images in his mind of Rachel and Finn doing anything naked.

"Huh." Beiste looked thoughtful. "Funny to think that a guy who's got that much heart would need more proof that he's important. But hey, he's your best friend; you know him better than anyone."

Puck suddenly found himself blinking hard. He wasn't going to start crying in the middle of the Coach's fucking office for no reason. "Yeah, well, he always wanted everything to mean something. Nothing was ever casual with Finn. It was always a big deal, or nothing."

"'Was ever?''

"Huh?"

She was still looking at him steadily. "You said nothing was ever casual. So what's it like now?"

"It's... the same. I mean, he's the same guy he always was. Nothing's changed." He shook his head. "I'm such an idiot."

Now she grinned. "Like you said, nothing's changed."

"Oh, thanks," he muttered, but he grinned back. But when he turned to go, she stopped him.

"If Finn's not going to play ball after he graduates, he's going to need to figure out what he will be doing. And I can't think of anybody better to help him figure that out than you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. Far as I can tell, you've never steered him wrong before. I think there are lots of people waiting to take advantage of Finn, because he's the good guy. But you see him for who he is. You're not trying to make him into something he's not. He could use some of that this year."

Puck had to shake his head. "You do know I'm barely passing most of my classes? What kind of help do you think a guy like me can give a guy like Finn?"

"I think you already know the answer to that, punkin." She turned back to her pile of paperwork with an absent wave. "I gotta get caught up here. Stupid bureaucracy."

Finn had basically avoided him for most of the day. Not that Puck blamed him. So Puck sat with Mike and Tina at lunch and went to play rehearsal without exchanging more than three words with Finn. He told himself it shouldn't have felt like such a hardship to spend twenty-four hours without talking to Finn, considering they'd gone months like that in the old timeline.

But now I know the endgame, he thought, watching Blaine and Rachel circle one another from the wings, waiting for his cue. Now I know how many days we've got left if things don't change. It's not going to be enough.

Being on stage was both cathartic and depressing, because it just made Puck think about the dancing that Finn had been doing in Glee since he'd had that breakthrough with Kurt. He flung himself into the ensemble numbers, watching Santana and Mike and Brittany working their magic, all the while carrying the regret that Finn wasn't there doing it with them. It was easy to blame himself, to say, fuck it, it's just another way Finn's distancing himself from his friends.

But after dinner, his phone rang, and it was Finn. Puck picked up right away. "Yo."

"Rachel's in the other room. I'm supposed to be making dessert, but..." Puck heard Finn took a shaky breath. "I'm freaking out. And Kurt's at that gay bar with Blaine and I don't know who else to talk to."

Puck scrambled up from the Monopoly game he was setting up with Sarah, waving away her questioning look as he retreated to the relative privacy of the hallway. "Hey, I'm your best friend. You talk to me."

"Yeah?" Finn sounded so tentative. It was starting to piss him off.

"Yeah. What's Miss Diva Berry doing now?"

"She's trying to get me to have sex with her."

Puck unsuccessfully stifled a snicker. "Rachel?"

"Look," said Finn. Now he was exasperated. "I need to talk this out with someone, and I'm not going to do it over the phone. I'm going to take Rachel home, and then I'm coming back here. Are you going to be asshole Puck, or can I count on my best friend Noah?"

It was enough of a slap in the face that Puck managed to mutter something affirmative before hanging up. He apologized to Sarah, promising her a rain check on Monopoly and a bonus get-out-of-jail-free card the next time they played, and hurried out to his truck.

But when he arrived at the Hudson-Hummel house, Kurt's Navigator was sitting in the driveway. Kurt was in the driver's seat with the window down. As Puck approached, he realized Kurt was crying.

"Uh," he said, feeling uncomfortable. Kurt immediately wiped his eyes and put on a wounded expression, and Puck added, "I can go."

"No." Kurt straightened his shirt, putting both hands on the steering wheel. He sighed. "I'm just feeling sorry for myself, and... it's completely pointless. I should have expected something like this would happen."

"Something like what, exactly?" Puck asked. "Finn said you and Blaine were out at the gay bar tonight. I'm just wondering what's up with the waterworks."

Kurt sniffed. "Blaine's idea of a good time apparently involves dancing with another guy all evening - a guy who's demonstrated clear interest in him, I might add - and making sloppy drunk moves on me in the back seat of the car. I mean, I knew when he said he wanted to wait to have sex that he was lying, but I didn't expect him to be so - so awful." There went the tears again.

"I'm sorry," Puck offered, although it sounded empty and hollow to his own ears. "I'm sure you'd love nothing more than to go into your house and do whatever it is you do that perks you back up. But I just got a SOS call from your brother about Rachel." He paused, not exactly sure how to continue, and settled on guilt. "He's not in a good place to see you like this, because he'd probably fly off the handle to try to protect you and do something we might not be able to bail him out of." Puck stared at Kurt meaningfully. Your brother is likely to beat Anderson to a bloody pulp at this point was what Puck didn't want to have to say.

Luckily, Kurt seemed to be self-aware enough to pick up on this. "You think I should find someone else to cry on, is that what you're saying?" He looked at Puck more closely. "And since when do you care about what Finn does with Rachel?"

"I care," Puck said, stung. "He's - maybe I don't want him to make the same stupid mistakes I made."

Kurt put the key in the ignition and started the Navigator again, and Puck took a few steps back from the window. "Well, good luck. When people are in love, they make all kinds of stupid mistakes. I don't think you're going to be able to keep Finn from doing that."

Puck watched him drive away. He waited on the front porch until Finn returned in his mom's sedan. Finn's expression as he parked and approached Puck was wary, but he let him hold the door open and followed him into the house.

"So," asked Puck, trying for casual, "is this an ice cream sort of conversation, or a six-pack sort of conversation?"

Finn smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I think it's more of a sit me down and tell me I'm not insane kind of conversation. I mean, Jesus." He sighed. "I was right in there, in front of the fire, we had a blanket on the rug, and... she would have done anything I wanted. Anything."

Puck doubted that was true about Rachel Berry, but he wasn't going to argue with Finn about how much anything there was out there. "Okay. So why didn't you?"

"Because I want it to mean something. Not for it to be about the play, or about improving her acting, but about us. About me."

Finn was gesturing with his hands, looking so serious, and Puck realized with a start just how huge Finn's hands were. Which was not the track his mind should be going down at the moment. He closed his eyes to try to clear the images. "What does the play, and her acting have to do with the two of you having sex? You're not even in the play."

Finn sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "I know. I think it was something Artie said to her. She and Blaine, being in character... Tony and Maria, each of them wanting the other person so much. Like it physically hurt them, not to be that close with the person they loved. I think she felt like she should know what that was like in order to be able to pull off the part."

Shouldn't she know that already? Puck thought, although he had enough brains not to say it out loud. Instead, he said, "You and I both know she loves you, dude, the best way she knows how. And we know how insane she gets about giving a perfect performance. Don't let this be anything more than just her usual brand of crazy - which you admittedly love." Puck tried to smile.

"I do," Finn agreed, smiling back. At these close quarters, even in the ordinary light of Finn's living room, it was hard for Puck not to have a whole incredible range of stupid feelings about that smile. "I just... I don't think she should be settling for that. I wish I hadn't. She deserves the fireworks, the romance, the perfect first time. And tonight... that wasn't going to be it."

Puck nodded, and managed to ask, "You, uh. You wish you'd had that?"

"Maybe. I mean, i don't think I care about the roses and the music and all that stuff, but I wish..." His voice trailed off, and he sat there looking at the floor until Puck reached out and nudged him.

"What?"

Finn grimaced. "You aren't going to laugh?"

"Probably," he said, very gently. "Just tell me."

"I wish I'd known. What I wanted. Like, I still don't even know. I know how it works and how it's supposed to feel and - I guess I've only barely done enough to realize now that there are definitely things I would have liked better."

Finn was blushing madly, but Puck wasn't going to harass him for it. He was barely able to make words come out of his own mouth. "Yeah? You don't think you could ask Rachel for some of those things? Maybe talk to her about it, before you guys get naked? Find out what she wants too?"

"No," he said. "I really don't think I could. And I think... I think that tells me something. I think she just expects me to know. I'm the leader, I've done it before. She expects me to be perfect."

Puck let out a brisk sigh. "Well, I can't make it perfect, but at least I can help you with that stuff. You're going to want to go into that first time having some idea of what to do to make a girl really, really happy. And I'm just the guy to tell you."

Finn was staring at him with this fascinated, horrified and ultimately hopeful look on his face. "You - you'd do that?"

"Sure." Puck clapped him on the shoulder. "Anything for my bro."

Puck was putting on his makeup for the dress rehearsal when Kurt pulled up a stool right next to him, much closer than he normally would sit. Puck gave him a baleful glance. "Yeah?"

"What exactly is your problem?" Kurt demanded, in the kind of whisper that everybody in the entire room could hear clearly.

"Well," Puck drawled, "I'm thinking you might be talking to the wrong dude. I'm the guy who has zero problems."

"What did you and Finn talk about the other night?"

"His shoe size. Come on, Kurt, I'm trying to do my eyeliner. This is fucking impossible."

Kurt leaned back, staring at him expectantly in the mirror as Puck tried to keep his eyelid from crumpling. Finally he gave him an exasperated sigh and plucked the pencil out of his hand. "First of all, you should be using liquid eyeliner for the stage. And this is brown; you need black for Bernardo. And you're putting it on way too close to your eye. You're not dressing up for the club; this is stage makeup."

Puck let Kurt swivel Puck's stool around to face him, while he focused with deadly precision on outlining his eyes with the correct tools. "Ow!" He winced as Kurt pressed hard with the pencil. "That hurts."

"Don't be a baby. And hold still."

Puck set his mind to ignoring what Kurt was doing as best as he could and sat there. "So if you have to know, he came back to me to tell me Rachel was trying to make the moves on him, and-"

"What?" Kurt's exclamation didn't even try to be sotto voce. Half of the rest of the cast looked over at them with curiosity.

"I'm not finished. He didn't, because he thought she was just doing it to play a better Maria, and not necessarily because she wanted to sleep with him. And you can imagine how that went over with your brother. Because he still plans on doing the nasty with her."

Kurt squinched up his face and shook his head, like he was trying to deny the existence of a Finn who had sex with Rachel. "I really don't want to think about it."

"Tell me about it," Puck said heavily. "Yeah, but I was an asshole to him the first time he asked me for advice, so... I figured I should be cool about it."

"And were you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I actually was."

Kurt stopped applying makeup for a moment and looked at Puck. "Why do you care?"

"You asked me that before. You're really all that surprised that I care about my best friend?"

"It's just not the type of friendship I thought you had," Kurt shrugged, moving to the other eye. "Things seem... different. Did something happen this summer? I feel like I was spending so much time with Blaine, and Finn with Rachel, that I barely even saw him."

"I don't know. Like I said, I noticed I wasn't being a very good friend."

It was impossible to ignore the way Kurt was looking at him when he was holding very still like this, but Puck did his best. Kurt's eyes looked preternaturally blue. As soon as he could, he backed away from Kurt's probing hand with a muttered thank you. For a minute, he'd been reminded of the eyes of the guy in New York, the one without a name who'd let him pretend it was Finn he was fucking. Puck didn't want to think about those eyes, or that guy, or really anything about that humiliating encounter.

The dress rehearsal was terrible, but Artie and Mr. Schue made sure to let them know that that was normal, and it had no implications for opening night. And it turned out they were right. Opening night began without a hitch.

That was, until Puck spotted an absolutely ecstatic Rachel backstage, glowing and sparkling like a star, gushing over the flowers Finn had had delivered even though he was at the football game. It simply reminded Puck that there was nothing Finn wouldn't do for Rachel. And seeing her like this, Puck didn't know if Finn would be able to resist her. It made the entire performance, the whole evening, seem hollow and pointless.

What the hell am I working so hard at this for? he thought, watching all the Jets file out of the dressing room for the second act with a sense of futility. This isn't my future, and it isn't Finn's either. Why the fuck are we here at all?

He did his part anyway. He danced the shit out of Bernardo, and smiled until his face hurt, and stood up on stage and bowed with the rest of the cast while the audience cheered. He accepted hugs and congratulations from any number of nameless, faceless people. Then he escaped into the dressing room, where he scrubbed his face clean and abandoned his costume, and finally snuck out the back of the auditorium to sit on the hill overlooking the football field, alone.

Puck sat there long after the assembled crowd had gone home, and the cast had dispersed to their various parties. He assumed somebody would spot him there eventually, but when he turned to look at the person trudging toward him through the grass, it wasn't who he'd expected it would be.

"Hey." He stayed where he was as Rachel sat down beside him. "I thought for sure you'd be with the rest of the cast, partying all night long."

She gave him a wan smile. "Yeah, well, it turns out I'm not the party all night type."

"Maybe you would be if you had the right guy."

Rachel took it exactly the way he expected she would. "Noah, you're very talented, and certainly good-looking, but... my heart belongs to somebody else." She turned to look out over the empty football field. "I never thought I'd feel so disappointed on the opening night of my first big musical."

"You did great, Rachel."

She nodded. "The play, it was wonderful. But I didn't get what I wanted."

He wasn't going to ask her for details, but he was a little ashamed at how glad he was to hear that. He just shrugged. "Maybe it'll turn out better next time."

"I don't think so," she said wistfully. "I think... you only get one chance at things like this."

He tugged on her arm until she faced him again. "And I'm here to tell you, with a hundred percent certainty, that that's not true. If you're willing to fight for it, you can get a second chance. Maybe even more than one."

"I hope you fight the good fight, Noah," Rachel said, shoving her hands into the pockets of her cape. "You deserve a second chance too."

He didn't watch her leave, but he heard her footsteps crunch on the gravel until the parking lot was quiet again. Then he flopped back onto the grass, looking up at the overcast sky. It was warm and muggy enough to still feel like fall, even though November was rapidly waning.

He didn't even hear Finn approaching until he was standing directly over Puck, peering upside-down at him from an impossible height. Puck scrambled up to a sitting position and stared at him.

Finn held up the six-pack he was carrying. "Okay to celebrate?"

"Sure," he blurted, accepting a can from Finn's hand. He busied himself with opening it and drinking half of it as Finn sat down in the same spot Rachel had occupied. "You... really feel like celebrating tonight? With me?"

"That is a very interesting question." Finn drank his own beer, propping his long arms on his knees. "Not about some things, that's for sure. For example, did you know Cooter Menken didn't even look at me once when I was out on that field?"

"I didn't know for sure," Puck said honestly.

"Yeah. And when I got back into the locker room, he basically told me I should give up on this dream and find something else. Fat chance of that happening."

"Hey, fuck 'em. College ball doesn't match up all that well with Rachel's dreams for New York, anyway."

"I think I should feel worse about the other thing. The thing with Rachel." Finn looked over at Puck. "But I don't."

Puck's mouth was almost too dry to speak, but he nodded. "No?"

"Like I was telling you, about the perfect first time, and figuring out what girls want - and about what I want. And I decided, yeah, if I wasn't going to be sure that's what I wanted, that thing with Rachel, I shouldn't try to do it with Rachel."

If this had been anybody else, Santana or Britt or Rachel or a Cheerio or practically any other person he'd ever tried to sleep with, Puck would have said something clever, and then she would have laughed (or slapped him) and then he would have leaned over and kissed her, and it would have moved on from there. But this kind of feeling, the one he was having right at that moment, made him realize what it might be like to be actually paralyzed with indecision. "Um."

"What I'm trying to say is, I don't think I feel bad about Rachel not being perfect for me. I could probably live with that." Finn stretched out on the grass, his enormous sneakers resting just inches from Puck's. "But, I don't know, you made me question if I should. Like, maybe I could have... the perfect second time, and now I'll know it for sure when it happens. I won't need to ask my best friend or my brother for advice."

Puck wondered, with cascading panic, if Finn was going to keep saying words that were going to make him completely unable to function. But Finn seemed like he was done for now, and after a moment, Puck added a quick, jerky nod before opening another beer.

They sat there, drinking and not talking for what felt like hours. It wasn't awkward; they'd never really needed a lot of words to fill in the silence. But there was still something, and it made Puck feel like his skin was pulled a little too tight. He had no idea how to bring it up, not with Finn, but it was absolutely present - and he was pretty sure he wasn't the only one feeling it. In a way, that made things feel even more impossible.

Leave it to Finn Hudson to hit on the one thing about sex I still feel inadequate about, he thought, leaning back on one elbow and downing his fourth beer. Kind of. Considering we've already done stuff. Only we haven't yet, and at this rate we probably never will.

That just made him annoyed. He glared up at the stars, glistening through the clouds like miniature fires, taunting him with the voluminous catalog of regret he had when it came to Finn. You failed the first time, they seemed to say. Don't let it happen again.

"Puck?"

"Mmmm?"

Finn's hand landed on his shoulder, with less intent than blind luck, pulling him into a wobbly half-hug. "Thanks for being here."

"On the grass?" he asked, wondering what he was going to do with Finn this close to his face.

"All over the place," Finn clarified. "For being my friend all over the place."

It turned out that Finn, that close to his face, turned his head so that Puck's chin connected with Finn's lips, and there was a small gasp that Puck wasn't sure came from him. He made an effort to position his lips a second time so that they would touch Finn's chin, just to see if somebody made that same noise again.

"Oh," said Finn, sounding bewildered.

"Yeah," Puck agreed. "I want to be... all over the place."

He put his beer down so he could hold Finn steady, letting his lips make contact with other bare patches of his skin. At some point, he swung a leg over Finn's, not really to hold him down, but to get better leverage, and Finn let him. He was letting Puck do everything. It was enough to make Puck worry, even though Finn's reaction to Puck's lips on his neck and his temple and his cheek was undeniably positive.

"Are you thinking I should stop?" Puck asked at last.

"What?"

The reaction on Finn's face to that question was equivalent to Are you fucking crazy? Puck choked back a laugh. He leaned forward, aiming for one particular target now, but instead of claiming it, he waited, his breath mingling with Finn's, feeling the heat of it, for several long moments.

"Are you," asked Finn, the words making little explosions on his skin, "wanting to stop?"

Puck was all set to give an answer, but before he could, Finn had closed the distance between them, the touch of their lips accelerating from gentle to urgent to bruising in seconds. Kneeling over him, straining into the kiss, Puck could have gotten off from the sound of Finn's amazement alone. He wanted to say, this is that thing, that thing you were talking about, about two people who need to touch each other so much that it hurts when they're not doing it.

Instead, he said, "Your hands. Under my shirt."

Finn didn't hesitate, groaning into Puck's mouth when his cool hands made contact with Puck's heated skin. He wasn't exactly gentle, but Puck didn't need him to be. Instead, Puck reveled in the feeling of Finn's hands on him, almost like he was branding him.

"You didn't have sex with Rachel," Puck said.

"No." Finn gripped him more tightly, and Puck let Finn feel the pressure of him against his hip. Finn groaned again.

"You're not going to have sex with Rachel."

Puck didn't stop to decide if he was asking a question, or stating a requirement, or making a desperate plea. It was enough that Finn shook his head, pressing his lips to Puck's neck as he whispered no, no, I won't.

His adrenaline was riding so high that when he heard the hissing sound, he thought it might be an animal, getting ready to attack. Puck leapt back from Finn just in time to get a spray of cold water from the automatic lawn sprinkler full in the face.

"Mother fucker," he roared, and Finn staggered to his feet with a shout of protest. Sprinklers were being triggered all around them. They both ran to the edge of the grass, away from the offending spray, and stood there for a few seconds, dripping and laughing hysterically.

"That," Finn said, trying to catch his breath, "was not how I expected that to turn out."

Puck had all kinds of jokes about spurting liquid on the tip of his tongue, but he decided he wasn't in any position to say them. Instead, he tugged Finn after him. "Come on. My truck's over here. I'll take you home. It's, like, the middle of the night."

But when Puck started his truck, the clock read only a few minutes after eleven. They shivered on the seat, separated by a gear shift and awkwardness, until Puck put it into drive and aimed it toward Finn's house. It took way too short a time to get there, but Puck wasn't going to tell Finn that all he wanted to do was invite him in so he could keep touching him.

"Are you, uh..." He focused on the water droplets in Finn's hair. "Are you coming to the show tomorrow night?"

Finn took a few moments before nodding. "I wouldn't miss it."

Then he got out of the truck and walked into the house. Puck sat there, watching him go, feeling like a complete idiot but still not willing to let go of the other feelings that went along with that one. Some of them were physical, like the tingling of his skin, and the shivering, and the enormous boner that wasn't showing any sign of subsiding, but mostly they were inside him. He wondered how he was ever going to figure those feelings out out if they just stayed in there all the time?

Eventually he did drive home, took a warm shower, and put on a clean pair of boxers before climbing into bed. It didn't take long before his hand was inside those boxers while he pictured another three-minute fantasy session involving Finn's dick - but this time was different. This time it was actual memories of Finn Hudson's huge hands resting on his stomach, and his lips touching Finn's chin, and the sound of Finn saying oh, that carried him through into sleep.

Don't wanna wait til tomorrow,
Why put it off another day?
One more walk through problems,
Built up, and stand in our way
One step ahead, one step behind me
Now you gotta run to get even
Make future plans, don't dream about yesterday, hey
C'mon turn, turn this thing around

Right now, hey
It's your tomorrow
Right now,
C'mon, it's everything
Right now,
Catch a magic moment, do it
Right here and now
It means everything

Miss the beat, you lose the rhythm,
And nothing falls into place, no
Only missed by a fraction,
Slipped a little off your pace, oh,
The more things you get, the more you want,
Just trade in one for the other,
Working so hard to make it easier
Got to turn, c'mon turn this thing around

Right now, hey
It's your tomorrow
Right now,
C'mon, it's everything
Right now,
Catch that magic moment, do it
Right here and now
It means everything

It's enlightened me, right now
What are you waiting for
Oh, yeah, right now

- Van Halen, "Right Now"