AN: I know I'm terrible at updating this fic, but I want to thank each and every one of you for reading!

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. I merely used Ryan Murphy's amazing characters to get me out of my writer's block. All typos, errors and overall crappiness belong to me.

"Hey, Rach! Wait up!" Finn called after his girlfriend as she walked up the stairs to her next class.

Rachel turned to look down at the smiling boy and stopped mid-step. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she smiled down at him, closing her eyes and puckering her lips, requesting a kiss. Finn chuckled lightly and brought his lips to meet hers.

"How was your Sunday?" He asked when they pulled apart. They continued their walk up, as Rachel slipped her small hand into his. Students jostled past them, all of them hurrying to their next period. "Did your parents freak 'cause you broke curfew?"

Noticing the worried expression on Finn's face, Rachel gave his hand a light squeeze as they reached the top of the stairs. "No," she replied. "I simply explained that Noah was having a difficult time that night and that, given his inebriated state, you and I had offered to drive him home, which was why I got home twenty minutes past my curfew."

"So you lied," Finn asked, smirking. "Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?" he joked, arching an eyebrow. Noticing Rachel's blush, he smiled, adding, "Kidding, Rach."

"I know, but..." she pursed her lips, not knowing how to proceed."You're right. I shouldn't have lied to them. It's just... our relationship is going so well right now that I was worried that being forthright with them would only lead to questions and that would eventually lead to them finding out about you sneaking into my room most nights and to be honest, Finn, I have never been grounded in my whole life! Quite honestly, the entire concept frightens me. It seems... barbaric. And, besides," she smiled shyly up at him, the effect making Finn's heart hammer against his chest. "Being grounded would mean that I couldn't see you as often as I do. I would hate that."

Finn smiled, letting go of her hand to lightly pull her against his side. "I get it. But, just in case, maybe you should tell them the truth. It's not like we were doing anything bad that night anyway." He shrugged.

Looking back on their Saturday night, it had lived up to his expectations. Sure, a night spent at the Lopez's mansion was nothing new to him, but spending the entire evening with Rachel glued to his side was a welcome change. She was in awe of everything and Finn couldn't help but smile at her cute observations.

"Beer pong. Beer. Pong. The name makes me think of some video game. Don't you have one called 'Bong' or something?"

"Is Noah tapping his knuckles against the keg because he's testing to see how hollow it is? He could just open it if he wanted to check for that."

"Everyone is peeling the labels off their alcohol bottles. It's fascinating! I wonder what it suggests about their current state of mind."

"Santana's parents must trust her immensely to let her throw this kind of party..."

"Did you see those two girls go into the room with that boy? Finn, what if one of them gets impregnated?"

"I... I thought that only happened in movies."

Sure, things had been off to a shaky start after Azimio shoved him against the wall, but he and Karofsky somehow backed off after that brief exchange. Finn figured that the two homophobes realized that no matter what they said or did, Finn wasn't about to let anything ruin his night. And, to be honest, things would have been perfect had it not been for Puck.

All night long, Finn worried that Puck would pull some shit stunt. He always did. It was Puck's MO. (Score! Finn had always wanted to use the term ever since he heard it used in the movie Taxi with Jimmy Fallon―Puck had made fun of him for actually liking that movie, but Finn couldn't help but relate to Andy. The guy was a shit driver and, well... let's just say that Finn wasn't the best driver.) And ever since Puck's been back from juvie, Finn's been waiting for the moment when everything just goes to shit. That's why he offered to give Puck a lift home. That's why Finn knew that Rachel shouldn't worry about his childhood friend.

Puck can, and always will, take care of himself.

And anyway, Puck had spent the whole night holed away in Santana's kitchen, doing God knows what. The only time Finn really saw the dude was when he went to the bathroom and happened to "look in" on Puck (Finn won't admit it, but he was worried, okay? It's not like he hadn't known Puck since third grade. Not like Finn doesn't know what Puck will do to get attention. Hello, stealing an ATM machine? Totally a Puck-stunt.) and saw him hitting the keg pretty hard. So, it was no surprise that he offered him a ride home. Dude shouldn't drive after drinking that much. He just got out of juvie.

And okay. Finn will admit he loves it when Rachel takes on other people's problems as if they're her own. She's just so... nice, y'know? And seeing her worry over Puck did things to his heart. Made him want to act impulsively and y'know, do the right thing. Do things like offer the dude a ride home.

And, all right. After Puck jumped out of his car at the intersection on Dudley Road, Finn's pants might have gotten a bit tighter at the idea of being alone for the first time that night with Rachel. He's a dude. He can't help that his girlfriend smells like Christmas and vanilla and apples all rolled into one. He can't help that just thinking about touching her makes his stomach churn in the best way possible.

He. Can't. Help. It.

So, yeah. When they got to Rachel's house, Finn might have been a bit... handsier than usual, but that wasn't why she was late for curfew. They were in the middle of their makeout, when Rachel pulled back. Finn was totally confused. Wasn't she feeling it that night?

"What's wrong," he'd asked, frowning a bit.

"If I tell you something, do you promise you won't get upset?"

Finn knew that when Rachel said something like that, it meant he wasn't going to like what she was about to say.

But he was curious.

"Okay..."

"Look, I know you don't like talking or even thinking about either Quinn or Noah." She paused, briefly, and Finn wanted to stop her; wanted to get back to their mack session. But he knew that he'd promised not to get upset and if he kissed her, he'd show her how upset he really was. So, he took a breath and forced a smile. Rachel sensed his discomfort and placed her hand over his. "But Finn, you and I both know that what they went through this summer was absolutely traumatizing. To give up a child... I... I can't even imagine. And look. I know you don't like Shelby," Finn tensed when Rachel mentioned her birth mother's name. He had spent many nights helping her sort through her Shelby issues. It was because of Shelby and Jesse that Rachel went into that funk the previous year. Still, he made a promise, so he squeezed her hand, urging her to continue. She took a breath. "But what she did for Quinn and Noah... it was the right thing. And those few times that you and I had the opportunity to spend time with them... when they were together... you must have..." she paused and Finn looked up to meet her gaze. He leaned forward, smiling before pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. She smiled at his tender gesture. "I know that while it still makes you uncomfortable, that you would never stand in the way of either Noah or Quinn's happiness because that's who you are, Finn. You want everyone to feel joyful and you wish no one ill will. You're just so... kind."

"Hey, you're making my head blow up," he smiled.

Rachel giggled. "I'm serious, Finn. I know you saw what I did this summer. Noah and Quinn. They were happy. I would argue they were as happy as we are in this instant. But... after you and Noah went to football camp, Quinn distanced herself. I know she stopped hanging out with Mercedes and, while I know we were never as close as she and Mercedes were, Quinn confided in me. I know there was mutual respect between us. I know..."

"I get it, Rach," Finn said lightly, interrupting what he knew would soon turn into a nervous ramble. "But where are you goin' with this?"

Rachel answered his question with steely determination.

"We need to get them back together."

Of course, by that time it was already way past Rachel's curfew and that was the exact moment her father, Leroy, phoned to say he could see Finn's mom's car from their window and are you planning on coming in anytime soon?

Since Saturday night, Rachel and Finn only contacted one another through texts. There wasn't any sense in giving her fathers any reason to forbid her from seeing him. That would be suckier than that time he got sick over the summer. Granted, they were only allergies, but Rachel didn't want to risk getting sick, so he only saw her once that whole week.

But thanks to Leroy's call, Finn had narrowly avoided telling his girlfriend to leave Puck and Quinn alone. He's sure it would've led to an argument and Finn hates it when he and Rachel fight. Sure, it doesn't happen often, but he'll do anything he can to avoid them. Besides, Finn didn't want to get mixed up in all of that. As happy as he was that Puck was genuinely happy with Quinn (and visa versa. Like, he's happy that Quinn's happy, too. He may not love her the way he loves Rachel, but he knows Quinn's not a bad person. Not intentionally or anything.), it still hurt to see them together. It was a constant reminder of what they did to him. And, sure, hanging out with them had been easier than he'd thought, but... still. Finn had pride, okay, and helping the two people who made last year's Christmas break miserable for him is not something he ever planned on doing.

Does that make him a bad person?

"Finn?" Rachel asked, bringing him out of his thoughts. "What's wrong?"

Puck chose that exact moment to push his way past them and Rachel used her mind-reading powers to decipher exactly why Finn was so quiet.

"You know, we really should talk about Quinn and Noah," she said quietly.

"Rachel, drop it," Finn snapped. The moment he caught the hurt in Rachel's eye, Finn felt like the King of the Douchenozzles. "Look, I'm sorry. But... can you drop it? Please?"

"No, I will not drop it." Rachel's hands rested on her hips. "Noah is your friend. And, fine. Quinn and I aren't exactly bffs or whatever, but I like to think that she and I are friends, too. Don't you..." she swallowed thickly. "Don't you want our friends to be happy? Like us?"

"Sure. But I don't see why we," he gestured between them. "Need to get involved." His nostrils flared. Why couldn't Rachel understand that this was ridiculous?

Rachel's expression softened and she put her hand on Finn's arm. Finn met her gaze and he really was convinced of his girlfriend's psychic abilities. Yeah, he really should stop imagining her naked when she's right next to him, shouldn't he?

"Look," she said. "I know that what Quinn and Noah did to you caused you a great deal of pain. And I know that you're too proud to voice this out loud. But I feel passionately about this."

"And I feel just as much as you do."

She glared at him, stomping her small foot in frustration.

"FINE. This is one time that we'll have to agree to disagree!"

"WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME?"

"I am not yelling. I am being forceful. There is a difference."

"Are you calling me stupid?"

"My God, Finn! Where are you getting this?"

"You might not be saying it with your mouth or whatever, but you're definitely saying it with your eyes. Rachel, Why. Can't. You. Just. Drop. It?" Finn pulled on his hair, frustrated beyond belief at how their happy morning had been disrupted by Saturday's events. Finn knew he was being the opposite of cool right now, but Rachel's determination was really getting under his skin, okay?

"What are you even saying?" Rachel retorted. "You know what?" She said before he could even formulate a reply to her previous question. "I'll walk myself to class today, thank you." And with that, she turned on her heel and marched into her English class, leaving a very frustrated Finn behind.

Puck's morning? It's been shit.

Like, liquidy, diarrhea-type shit.

Explosive diarrhea shit.

And it's only gotten worse as the morning goes on.

First, he woke up with a raging boner. That's a plus, really, since it proves that his junk isn't broken or whatever, but he's worried. The only reason it was up in the first place was because he kept having these dreams about Quinn. They were so vivid, too. It was like she was right there, sleeping next to him like she had back in January. He could smell the expensive shampoo she'd bought at that salon, could smell the lavender from her lotion. Hell, he could feel the rise and fall of her stomach, the way his arm curved over her form. It was fucked up. Really it was.

And that freaked the shit out of Puck. It's not like they were even sexing it up in his dreams, so what gives? Why was mini-Puckasaurus reacting to Quinn when she wasn't straddled over his lap?

Second, his ma's been on his case again about drinking. He gets it. He does. She's scared he'll end back in the slammer and once was traumatizing enough for the family. His sister Hannah still checks in on him once every night to make sure he's still there. It's as if his little sis is worried he'll just disappear again like he did the night he stole the ATM. But he won't.

But he can't convince either his mom or sister of this.

Third, he caught some Cheerios laughing at him. And that? That's trouble.

He pushed past the hoard of students shuffling their way down the stairs as he hurried to get to his next class. Ever since his return to McKinley, Puck's attendance record is emailed to his proby officer once a week. If he even sits his ass down one second after the bell stops ringing, his proby's on the phone. So yeah. Puck was in a hurry.

He saw Finnessa and Berry huddled in the less busy part of the hallway, talking, and, feeling like a dick, he pushed past them, hoping to disrupt their chat. He doesn't even look back to admire his handiwork, he's that focused on getting to Chemistry on time.

But, just as he was about to step foot inside the class, he hears his name springing from the pouty lips of Jenna Eissman. She's the left corner on the Cheerio pyramid, sharing the bottom row with Santana, while Queen Quinn reigns on high. What the hell is she doing talking about him?

He hung back a bit, using the door for cover as he snooped.

"Yeah, Tiff―y'know, the freshman? Anyway, she said they hooked up this weekend. Well, more like they almost did. " She cackled. The chick legit cackled! Like a witch!

"No way!"

"Way. And, like―excuse me! Don't shove me! I'm talking here!―Anyway, Tiff said he like, had difficulty. With his piping. If you get my drift." He heard the definite laughter.

Fuck. That's twice now people are laughing at him.

Screw Chemistry. He needed to talk to that loud-mouthed Cheerio and set her straight. His junk is not broken. His piping is just fine. It was her. It had to be. She fucked him up.

Fuck.

"Mr. Puckerman?" Mr. Sinclair had his fingers on the door and was about to close it on Puck's face. "Are you joining us today?"

"Yeah." Puck looked dejectedly back at the gossiping Cheerios. "I am."

Fifty boring minutes later and Puck was antsy. When was the bell going to ring? He needed to talk to whatever-the-hell-her-name-was before more people started to talk. 'Cause that would be the cherry on his shiteous day.

The bell went off and Puck ran out, rushing past his surprised teacher and ignoring the bits and pieces of conversations he heard through the crowded hallway.

Knowing the Cheerios, which he does (he's only slept with the majority), he knew that they'd all be congregating in the caf (not eating) during their lunch period.

He turned the corner and that's when he saw her. She-whose-name-he-can't-bother-to-remember.

"Hey," he called after her.

The girl slowly turned on her heel, her eyebrow hitching when she recognized him, a smirk playing on her pretty face.

"Why if it isn't my Saturday night hook-up," she sweetly said. "Thanks for your help!"

"Uh, the fuck is your problem?"

"I'm not the one with the problem," she replied, looking at his crotch.

"Listen, I'll make this easy for you..."

"Puckerman!" Santana approached them, standing beside the girl, hands on her hips. "I suggest you gets the heck away from her. You're wastin' her time. Time she ain't got. 'Cause the Cheerios? We needs to eat."

"No, that's bull! I'm not leaving until Steph here aplogizes!"

"Who's Steph?" Santana asked looking at the younger Cheerio.

"Isn't that her name?" Puck answered, pointing an angry finger at the Cheerio.

With a slightly trembling lip, the Cheerio―Tiff―spoke up. "My name is Tiffany. Tiff. How... why don't you remember that? Is it 'cause I'm not pretty?"

"Jesus! Go eat," Santana barked, shoving the girl into the cafeteria. She eyed Puck, her lips a thin line. "Spill, Puckerman. Why are you here?"

Puck tensed his jaw, counting mentally to ten with every flex of his muscle.

"I'm waiting."

He took a breath and pulled Santana by the elbow, bringing her closer to him. At her raised eyebrows, Puck finally spoke.

"Saturday night."

Santana narrowed her eyes, her mouth hanging open. "What about it?"

"I... Damn. This is hard."

"Spit it out, Puckerman, afores I yank your dick off!"

Puck instinctively covered his manhood, knowing that Santana's threats―especially when she hasn't had anything to eat―should never be taken lightly. Sam exited the cafeteria just then, nodding politely at his fellow glee clubbers. Obviously sensing an awkward situation, he nearly jogged down the hall.

Puck stared after the blonde wunderkind, hating every little thing about him, before he looked back at the girl beside him.

"Okay, okay." He took a deep breath. "Saturday night I almost hooked up with―the Cheerio that was here. Y'know..." Puck snapped his fingers, trying to come up with the name.

"Tiff," Santana supplied.

"Yeah, her. So we're in Carlos' room―"

"You were in my baby brother's room?"

"Not like we haven't done it there before."

"That's not... Continue."

"Anyway, we're starting to get busy. She's panting and moaning and―"

"Spare me the hairy details. Please."

Puck rolled his eyes. "Kay, so we're getting started, right? But I couldn't... That is, my..." Puck felt his face flame in a decidedly unstudly blush. Unable to finish, he hoped Santana would get the hint by raising his eyebrows. At Santana's befuddled expression, however, Puck glanced significantly at his groin.

"You had to pee?" The hot cheerleader guessed.

"Dammit, Lopez." He ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath, managing to answer in one breath, "I-couldn't-get-little-Puck-to-get-up-goddammit!"

Santana's expression―a mix between revulsion, confusion and wonder―would have been funny, but Puck was too busy tensing every muscle in his body to keep from running away, scared and embarrassed, to cower in his bedroom.

"Is that why you booked it out of my room that night?" Santana's hand covered her mouth in shock. "'Cause you knew you wouldn't be able to 'service' me?"

"One, don't call it that. It's gross," Puck tried not to gag. "Second, no. Fuck. I just couldn't have sex with you that night. Don't ask why."

"When you tell me not to ask why, guess what? I want to know why. So, spill." She arched a neatly penciled eyebrow. "Or do I have to tell Jose what you almost did in our baby brother's room?"

"Dammit. Fine. I couldn't sleep with you that night 'cause I knew I wouldn't be able to get it up, for one thing, but also... well, I can't do that anymore."

"Do what? Fuck?"She crossed her arms, trying to understand. "So it is broken."

"No! I can't just hook up with randoms anymore," Puck answered, exasperated. "There. Happy?"

"I sure as hell am not a random, you ass! And, why the hell not? You're not... You don't have an STI, do you?" Santana looked like she wanted to hurl.

"No. I'm not covered in crabs down there, Hopez."

"Screw you, Puckerman. I'm not a ho."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever, man." He looked down at his shoes, embarrassed and frustrated.

Santana's expression softened. "Does this have anything to do with Q?"

Puck didn't answer. Puck didn't move. Puck wished more than anything that today never happened.

"I get it, dipstick," she said. Smiling softly at her ex-boyfriend-slash-late-night-booty-call, she placed an encouraging hand on his bicep. "To be honest, she's the only other girl I can tolerate you with. Fuck if I didn't want to rip Wheezy's hair out last year. And another thing, Berry? Why the hell would you go with Berry?"

"We dated for a damn week."

"Still," Santana shuddered. "'Twas nasty."

"You're nasty," Puck said, pushing lightly against her bare shoulder. He smiled. "But now you know."

"Yeah. Douche." Santana licked her lips, looking deep in thought. "Does anyone know about your malfunction?"

"Yes!" Puck threw his hands in the air. "That dumbass freshman made sure that a few of your fellow Cheerios found out."

"Damn." Santana hissed. "You need damage control."

"And how do I fix this. S'not like you let me talk to the blabbermouth!"

"We go to the janitor's closet," Santana smirked.

"Uh... I can't get it..."

"We won't do anything," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just. Trust."

Puck nodded, appreciating the way Santana's mind worked. There was a reason they got along so well.

"Kay," he said with a wicked smile.

"Is there any chicken today?" Sam asked the friendly lunch lady. "White meat is a lot healthier, y'know," he added conversationally.

"No, we're serving sloppy joes today, Sammy," she answered kindly. "Want some?"

"No, thanks." He pursed his lips, staring at the lunch menu. "I'll have a salad, then."

"Sure!" She handed the food over. "$4.80, please."

Taking the food, he handed the money over. "Thanks."

Sam knew he needed a refuel before he met with Quinn. Every day after his lunch, Sam meets with his... friend? Yeah, he still didn't know what they were. And if you asked him, they needed to define them―their relationship. Whatever they had. If they had anything at all, really. He knows he's a pretty guy, but just 'cause he's pretty, don't mean he's dumb. Anyway, he meets with Quinn and they walk to History together. But Sam really needed to talk to Quinn today. Like, bad. That meant he needed energy. He knew he should've brought another protein shake...

Who knows what other crap can go wrong when he talks to her.

Like, Puck had almost killed him this weekend. And Quinn obviously had some residual feelings or whatever for the angry freak. It was just too much drama. And if being with Quinn created more drama, Finn had made it quite clear that Sam would no longer be welcome in glee club. Which, by the way, would totally blow―totally―but would totally diffuse the tension. If Sam left, that is.

He'd been so worked up all of Sunday (not even paying attention while he worked on his graphic novel) that he'd signed onto AIM, hoping to chat with Kurt about everything. But, no dice. Kurt didn't sign on that night. And dang, Sam really needed a friend. Someone to help him sort through all of this. 'Cause Sam literally had no clue what to do.

Should he dump Quinn? But I like her.

Should he quit glee? But I'm when I perform. And I'm good at it.

Should he hire bodyguards to protect him against Puckerman? That's just stupid, man. Stupid.

So Sam definitely needed some solid advice.

Ultimately, he figured he'd talk to Quinn. Make it obvious to her that he knows. Right? That he's aware of the fact that:

a) Puck can and will kick his ass twenty different ways.

b) Quinn and Puck seem to have fairly strong feelings for one another. Still.

c) Sam's a chicken-shit who'd rather sell his comic collection than hurt someone.

Beause that's what it ultimately came down to: hurting Quinn. He doesn't want to add more hurt. She'd told him that this year was all about her. She called herself selfish and maybe she is. Ah, who's he kidding? Quinn is selfish. That's partly why she and Sam started dating. Quinn needed a good old fashioned distraction.

Enter: Sam.

And he got it. He finally got it. Really. Sam finally understood that Puck attacked him on Saturday because of his feelings for Quinn. When the dude told him to take care of her, it clicked. So really, why would Sam sacrifice his safety?

Again?

He finished his salad, chugging the water he had left over from last week―it was probably not the cleanest of water, but Sam was thirsty―and made his way out of the cafeteria, thoughts of Puck still swirling anxiously in his head, making his stomach knot.

And, speak of the devil. Standing right outside of the cafeteria was Puckerman. Looking mighty close to Santana, he might add. Actually, upon closer inspection, it looked like they were ready to kill one another. Yeah. Stay away, Sammy. Stay away.

He nodded politely at them and almost ran down the hall. He didn't need the two scariest glee clubbers on his ass. And Sam's pretty sure that Santana could cause as much―if not more―damage to him, as Puck. And really, he'd rather not know for certain. Some mysteries―like the truth behind the legends of the Loch Ness monster and Sasquatch, for instance―are better left unsolved.

Mentally patting himself on the back for avoiding what he's sure would have been a beat down, he spotted Quinn at her locker. She looked... sad. Crap! Second-thoughts, go away! Quinn turned around, almost like she knew Sam was there, a big smile on her face.

"Hey!" Quinn laughed.

"Oh, hey," Sam answered, rather lamely.

Quirking an eyebrow, Quinn pulled out her books. "Something wrong?"

Sam noticed the way she held her books protectively over her chest. Noticed the way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Noticed the way the guilt weighed heavily on his heart. Could he do this? Could he dump this girl who looked like one rebuke could break her?

You weren't even dating, a lilting voice reminds him. Oh. Right.

"Nah, nothin's wrong," he smiled. "But I do think we should... talk?"

"Oh?" Quinn looked at the floor, scuffing it with her white sneakers. She hunched her shoulders a little and Sam instinctively put his hand on her shoulder, wanting to comfort her.

"Hey," he waited until she lifted her gaze to his. "We're friends, right?"

She nodded, a shy smile playing on her lips.

"And, well, friends, they talk, right?"

"Yes," she was now laughing.

"So you know that as my friend, you can tell me anything. Right, friend?"

Quinn was no longer smiling and Sam was never more grateful for befriending her. She was smart and was totally picking up on his gigantor hints.

She jutted her chin out, nibbling softly on her lip, her right eyebrow slowly arching.

"You're breaking up with me."

"Quinn," he pulled her in for a hug. "We're not... we're not dating. We never really labeled what we are. I mean, were." He felt her nod against his chest. "I like you. But I... I dunno. I don't think you like me. Not the way you liked Finn." He paused, readying himself. "Not the way you like Puck?"

Quinn looked up, annoyed.

"None of your business."

"I'm just sayin'," he said, smiling to show her he didn't mean to overstep any boundaries in their friendship. "What you went through last year―"

"Please, stop talking." Quinn closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Fine. I'll shut up," Sam chuckled. "But hey," his tone was serious and he waited until she opened her eyes. "As your friend, I expect you to talk to me. I know we won't work out or whatever, but... I'm a good listener," he shrugged.

Quinn smiled, a soft laugh escaping her lips before she wrapped her arms around Sam's neck, hugging him tight.

"Thank you, Sam," she whispered into his collar.

The last thing Puck wanted to see that fantastic Monday was Sam hugging Quinn. Or was it Quinn hugging Sam?

Okay, it wasn't a full-on makeout session and it wasn't like he walked in on them having sex in her room or under the bleachers. It was an innocent hug.

And Puck had told her to sort herself out, so he really had no business getting his proverbial panties in a knot over Quinn and Sam hugging.

Really. He didn't.

Puck knew that.

But fuck if he didn't feel like the hallway walls were closing in on him. He knew he was verging on Jacob Ben Israel territory, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the blonde couple. The way Quinn was nestled against Sam's stupid chest, the bull's eye on his blue t-shirt marking the spot Puck wanted to punch the most.

Screw this. He couldn't deal with it any longer, so he forced his legs to walk away.

He managed to get through the afternoon without a hitch.

Of course, Quinn found him, tossing his homework (yes, Puck does homework now. Part of the deal he made with his proby.) into his bag at the end of the day.

He heard the distinct sound of her footfalls. After spending months living with her, Puck learned to recognize the quick, light sounds of Quinn Fabray's feet on the ground. He didn't even look up when her feet stopped right next to his bag; he just kept chucking papers and books, clenching his jaw to keep from exploding on her. Yelling at her to leave him alone, knowing he'd be fighting the urge to hug her the moment the vicious words sprang forth.

"Hi," Quinn greeted. She sounded almost shy. But Puck knew better.

He wasn't playing that game anymore, remember?

Seconds ticked by.

The chatter that once filled the hall had considerably waned and as Puck looked around, hoisting his bag over his shoulder, he realized Quinn and he were the only two left.

"Puck, please don't..." he heard Quinn's quiet voice, but he walked around her, trying to control the hammering pain in his heart.

"Please don't ignore me!"

He willed his legs to move.

She was with Sam.

She'd never ditch him.

She'd never help herself.

Why should he care?

So he kept walking, pushing open the doors that led into the east hallway.

He heard her hurried steps behind him. Heard the way her voice strained as she called after him.

"Puck! Please."

He rounded on her, then. Annoyed. Hurt. At the end of his GD rope.

"Please what, Quinn? Can't you take a hint?" Quinn opened and closed her mouth, seemingly trying to form a response. "We talked on Saturday. You know how I feel." He clenched his jaw, glaring at her, trying to show her how much he despised the way he felt. "Just... please, Quinn. Go back to Sam and live your fairytale life. I told you. I'm done."

He gave her one last cold look before he turned around and left the school.

He would get over Quinn. He simply needed time.

And she... she'd finally understand that she couldn't control his heart.

AN: Thanks again for reading!