Disclaimer: Don't own the characters.
AN: This is longer than what I usually write. I apologize.
"I don't think people realize how ridiculously fucking hard it is not to fall off of goddamn Rainbow Road when you're using the golden mushroom."
Santana doesn't think people realize how (ridiculously fucking) awesome it is to have Noah Puckerman as a bro.
"Lezbro technically– I totally tapped you, but now you're tappin' that hotass blonde, which makes us bros." Puck had explained, a smirk on his face, "Just so you know – bros share their lays, so you totally gotta let me in on the action. Or a threesome. A threesome would be fucking awesome."
She'd punched him in the arm (hard, like really, really hard) for that, but was grateful nevertheless that he'd only received her news (about Brittany) with a half-shrug (and a knowing look), and an offer of beer with a side of ass-kicking in Mario Kart.
Currently, Santana's laying on the couch in his basement with her head on one of the sidearms and her feet in Puck's lap as she totally owns him in Mario Kart. She lazily presses a button on her game controller that sends a flying turtle shell into his character, and smoothly drives past him, winning the race.
Puck gave a low growl, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Fuck. Why are you so damn good at this game?"
Chuckling, Santana readjusts herself on his couch (cause damn, her neck hurts) and reaches for another beer on the coffee table, popping the cap and taking a long swallow. She sighs, relieved for the cool refreshment, because they've been playing Mario Kart for five hours, during which they had their daily smack-talking, excessive swearing and the occasional flying bag of chips.
"You just suck. There's really no other explanation," Santana replies, smirking at the football player and digs her toes into his stomach, prompting him to slap her feet out of his lap.
"Whatever. I let you win that one cause I know you're let down that you won't be ridin' the Puckasaurus anytime soon." Puck stands up and stretches, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at her.
Santana snorts, and watches Noah take a swig of his beer and wonders whether they would've been together in another life, because despite being (acting, pretending) a jerk during all hours of school, and hounding after every piece of ass that looks at him, Puck is a decent guy.
Because, if anything, Noah Puckerman is steadfast.
She likes (loves) that about him.
In sixth grade, Puck had shown up in school with a bright, neon pink cast on his right arm (that tree was begging to be climbed), Karofsky had mocked him for the rest of the day, spewing nonsense about how gay Puck looked in his "gay, pink cast".
Puck could only glare angrily at Karofsky (because he was right-handed and Karofsky was way too big to take on with a stupid cast on his stupid arm and he might've hurt it more) but Santana, who was sick and tired of Karofsky's redundant jokes, stepped up and shamelessly punched him in the balls (cause she was too short to reach any higher).
Needless to say, Santana and Puck were inseparable after that incident, wreaking havoc with everything (and anything) that came their way.
And in eighth grade, Puck was the one who would show up at her house, with a pack of Kool Aid in one hand and a carton of eggs in the other (that would later be thrown at the unfortunate ex-boyfriend's house) and a (genuine) smile on his apologetic face that said everything that didn't need to be said out loud.
And right now, Puck stares at her with that look on his face that always says, ugh you're doing that thing where you think about our magical childhood and blah blah blah and she can't help it but she feels the corners of her mouth turn up. So Santana rolls on her back instead and stares across the room, cradling her empty beer bottle to her chest as she listens to Puck search around his basement for something.
"Dude, get your ass over here and help me find my Super Mario game." Puck throws a stuffed penguin at her head, and misses, landing on the floor. Santana picks it up and stares back and forth between Puck and the stuffed animal.
"Why do you have a stuffed penguin in your basement? I thought you were the king of badasses?" Santana grins and chucks it back at him, the penguin bouncing off the side of his head, just as her cell phone vibrates.
The screen explains that it's Brittany. So Santana picks up.
"Hey."
"Hi, San! Where are you? I couldn't find you after school so I asked Quinn where you were but all she did was give me a weird look so I thought she might have that thing you get when you're pregnant where you throw up all the time – "
"Morning sickness, Britt."
"Right! That thing. Well anyways, where are you? You were supposed to come over today to help with my math homework."
Santana sighs and Puck cocks an eyebrow at her, questioning. She mouths Brittany at him and his eyes light up in realization.
Puck grins and jumps over the coffee table, barreling into Santana on the couch and successfully steals her cell phone. He walks back to the other side with Santana looking on with interest.
"Hey, Britt! Yeah, Santana can't talk right now – um, no? I don't think so...I'm fine actually. We're working on Spanish homework. Er, not that kind of homework. Yeah, uh she'll call you tomorrow. Yeah, thanks. By the way, she got you something. She'll give it to you tomorrow morning. Of course. Alright, cool. Night."
Puck smirks as he snaps her cell phone shut and throws the phone at her. "How badass am I? I just totally got you off the hook with Brittany."
"Yeah, whatever," Santana scoffs, staring at her phone before looking up at him and frowning, "What was that about a present?"
"You're taking this out of my hands," Puck explains, picking up the dejected penguin from the floor, "I'm too badass to have stuffed animals in my bro lair."
"Sure. Whatever." Santana was back to staring at her phone.
Puck sighs, runs a hand over his head and continues talking, "And afterwards, we're gunna fly to the moon on magical unicorns made out of pancakes and cut up parts of the moon to put into our grilled cheese sandwiches that we're gunna fry on the sun."
"Great. That'd work," Santana mumbles, running her thumb over the screen of her phone, totally unaware of the conversation.
"DUDE." She jumps out of her seat in the couch, landing on the floor of the basement and glares at him.
"What? Goddamn it, you probably broke my perfect ass."
"You're doing that thing again, where you're all girly and mopey and shit." Santana glares at him, her expression deadly.
Puck puts his hands up, as if surrendering, and shrugs before going to sit in front her on the floor.
He gives her a good hard look before opening his mouth. "Look, Santana. For you, I'd burn down this whole fucking town if that was what you wanted. But you seriously need to get your shit together. Brittany's here and she wants you. If I were you, I'd get the fuck on that cause she isn't gunna wait for you forever."
Santana winces at his words, because no matter how clueless people consider Noah to be, he proves them all wrong time and time again, maybe not in public but always to her. Puck pauses, a look of uncertainty adorning his face but he continues on because he has to get this through to her.
"And honestly, I'm getting tired of you being all emo and crap. This isn't you. The Santana I know would get off her ass and go get her girl, probably with some added epicness. The old Santana needs to come back cause I wanna be able to egg random douchebags' houses and blow shit up with my best friend again."
Puck falls silent, letting the words sink in. When he doesn't get an answer, he sighs again and gets up from the floor. He stares down at Santana's unmoving form.
"I know you can do this, Santana. The Santana I know always got what she wanted. Don't you want her?"
The yes is on the tip of her tongue and Santana knows it and Puck knows it but he lets it go because despite always being the one to push her to do what she was always too afraid to do, he knows that this is something she has to do herself.
He doesn't even bother faking a smile as he lifts her up from the ground and roughly pulls her into a hug. Santana clenches the back of his shirt and buries her head into his shoulder, wishing she could open her mouth and everything would pour out of her
After a few moments, he lets go of her, stepping back, and clears his throat, "Well, now I can probably kick your ass at Mario Kart cause you're emotionally compromised. Let's go, mofo."
And despite everything, Santana smiles.
