I guess writing really is my hobby.

Here's the Monday-chapter I shouldn't have had the time for. ;p

Chapter eight – Songbird

Sam stared at the food that Puck had left him with. He carefully took a bite of the sandwich, but instantly felt nauseous. His head fell back on the headboard with a soft bang. Great, so now he also wasn´t been able to eat anymore? He sighed while looking at the sealing. He really needed a plan to fix all this, because it was eating him alive. He thought about just going over to his parents, trying to talk to them, but a hopeless feeling rushed through him when that idea popped into his head. Like they would ever listen. Ha, like his father would ever even let him inside the house again.

The blond put the tray on the nightstand and started looking for his cell phone. He noticed it lying on the bureau and grumbled while getting out of the warm bed to get it. Puck only had left half an hour ago. Sam thought about texting him, but didn't. His boyfriend deserved a day away from him. Sam could imagine Puck was wanting to get away from him for a while. The green-eyed boy was hopeless and no fun at all the past few days, so yeah. Sam started to feel guilty again, for claiming the Mohawked boy and forcing him to be with him, but the hurt of not being able to go home was worse. It actually surprised Sam that he felt that way, because he thought that Puck was way more important right now.

He sat back on the bed again, still looking at his phone. He was trying to remind himself of how the past two months had been with his best friend becoming his boyfriend. Sam was the one who admitted his feelings to Puck and Puck just agreed. It was all so sudden, but it had always looked like the boy was just okay with it, like he was okay with the fact that their friendship had become something more, but not something like love. It seemed like Puck was thinking of it as if it was just something in between those two things and Sam still doubted the fact that Puck wouldn't leave or cheat on him. He thought of what Puck said two days ago, when they were teasing each other and Sam called him gay. Puck looked angry, and not playful angry, but upset angry. Coming to think of it, Puck never seemed bothered by them being together, unless when they were using labeling words or something like that. And, when Sam asked about Puck's sexuality, he still claimed he was straight.

Sam felt that his emotions and feelings for Puck were taking a turn. What if he was in this mess, but didn't had to be, because he and Puck were never actually in a relationship? What if Sam was right and Puck was indeed thinking of him like just a friend? Oh wait, that isn't true, it's called 'friends with benefits'. Sam quickly put his phone on the nightstand, because he wanted to clench his fits as reality fell down on him. Puck wasn't in love with him. He probably even thought about it as some weird game, while Sam was convincing himself that Puck actually was feeling something for him. And now he was here, alone inside of his house, because his own parents had kicked him out. They had kicked him out for something that, most likely, wasn't even real. Sam's life got ruined because of it and it didn't had to be that way. Sam's pansexual, so there is a 50% chance that, if he hadn't done anything with his feelings for Puck, his next love is a girl. Maybe even being the one, so that Sam's parents never had to know that he wasn't straight and he would've never gotten into this mess.

Sam stood up from the bed, walking up and down the room, thoughts racing through his head. He was realizing more and more that he was stupid for being in this. This was nothing. Their relationship was nothing. Their friendship was nothing. Puck, was nothing.

His head started pounding, so he got himself dressed and walked downstairs to get some aspirin. He swallowed the tiny, white pill with a glass of water and let out a deep breath. After that, he walked upstairs again and grabbed his phone, searching for one particular number in the datebook.

"Hey, am I interrupting something?"he asked when he heard the phone on the other side of the line got picked up.

"Trouty mouth!" Sam rolled his eyes by hearing that name, "no, you're not, I was just admiring myself in the mirror," Santana said with a sarcastic undertone.

"And? Do you like what you see?" Sam asked, softly grinning.

"Yeah," Santana answered, "do you?"

Sam's face turned serious again and he swallowed the lump in his throat. He walked to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. His blond hair was pointing every possible direction and he had a shocked look on his face.

"I don't know, actually," he hesitatingly said.

"Sam, I was kidding. Since when do you think I'm into all this psychological bullshit?" Santana responded.

Sam sighed deeply and chuckled a little.

"You're right, I don't," he answered.

"Good. Now, why are you calling me?" the girl asked.

"I need your thoughts on something…" he started.

"Yes, you should get your mouth fixed," she interrupted.

"No! Not that!" Sam uttered, quickly walking back to the bedroom, because he caught himself looking at his wide lips, "I wanted your opinion on me and Puck, as a couple."

"You're cute," Santana instantly said, "but it's still weird looking at you two holding hands,"

"Thanks," Sam tried to remove the smile that was showing on his face, "but do you think it… Fits?"

"Explain."

"Well, when you see me and Puck together, does it look right? I mean, do you think we truly are in love with each other?"

Santana fell silent for a moment, probably thinking of an answer.

"When I look at you, I do. Your big mouth shows a smile every time when you lay eyes on him. And for Puck…"

Sam hold his breath.

"I've never seen him look the way he looks at you at anyone else. Not me, not Quinn, not anyone."

Sam released the oxygen in his lungs.

"But why are you asking, Blondy?" she asks.

"I started thinking about our relationship, or whatever it is we have, and started to think Puck isn't actually in love with me. I think he just likes me as a good friend…" Sam explained.

"Then why would he even have sex with you?" Santana interrupted again.

"Because he's Noah Puckerman?" Sam responded, upping one eyebrow.

"Point well taken," he heard.

"And when I realized that," Sam continued, "if that's true, I don't even have to be in this mess with my family and all."

"Kind of true," Santana said after a while, "but not entirely. When I told my abuela, she got furious too. She said that it was rude for me to put her in that awkward position and that acting out my feelings for Brittany was a sin. I should've kept it a secret, but I didn't want to do that. Remember how I fought almost everyone around me? It was slowly tearing me apart. My abuela never wanted to see me ever again and I've accepted that. Even though I don't like the label, I'm a les and if I ever wanted to be happy, I had to come out."

"But I'm pan," Sam instantly said, "so that means if Puck isn't the one, there's a chance a girl actually is and that means my parents accepting me."

"But who says Puck isn't?" Santana asked him.

Sam fell silent and got touched by hearing a tad of sympathy lightly shining through Santana's voice. She was right. He didn't know for sure, but right now it just didn't feel like Puck was it, as in the real thing.

"Look, Sam," his best friend said after a while, "it's your choice and I'm not going to judge you for whatever you decide, but choose wisely, because when you'll leave Puck, you're never getting him back."

Sam nodded slowly, looking outside the window.

"Y-yeah, thanks, Santana," he blurted, after realizing the girl on the other end of the line couldn't see him nodding.

"Anytime, Trouty," she said.

Sam heard her turning off the conversation they had. He pressed the red button on his mobile and turned around, gazing around Puck's bedroom. He ran his fingers over the wooden desk and looked at the double bed, where Puck had comforted him the past few nights. Sam smiled as a tear ran down his face. Even though Santana's words were reassuring him of Puck's love for him, he still wasn't convinced, but suddenly knew what he was going to do.

He petted his own hair out of his eyes and took a deep breath.

He had made a decision.

"Sam! I'm home!" Puck yelled as he walked into the hallway, closing the front door quickly, before the December air could get in.

He took of his jacket and opened the door of the living room, looking for the blond boy, but didn't saw him there.

"Sam?" he shouted, walking up the staircase.

"Sam?" he asked again, while he peeked around his bedroom door and swung it open when he noticed his boyfriend wasn't there either.

He got a confused look on his face and scratched his Mohawk. Where the hell could he have gone to? Puck searched his phone in his pants and called Sam's number, but it instantly went to voicemail. Then, he noticed a small note on his cushion.

I'm sorry, I can't

- Sam

Puck's eyes widened as he turned the paper around to see if there was more, but there wasn't. His thoughts started racing through his mind. What did Sam mean by that? What couldn't he? But as soon as he was asking himself that, everything instantly fell into place.

Sam had left him, that's why he was sorry. He couldn't bear being away from his family anymore and that explained why the note said he can't.

The little piece of paper fluttered from his hands as he sat on the bed. He pulled up his feet, resting his head between his knees and let out the first sob as he started to feel an ache inside of his chest. Sam had left. He was gone. He'd broke up with him on the same day Puck had realized he truly loved the boy. He had never felt that strong about anyone before. And now it was gone. Now it was the shittiest feeling ever.

Puck stood up from the bed and started punching the brick wall by his door. He felt shocks of pain going through his knuckles, into his wrists, up his arms. Tears streamed down his face uncontrollably as he let himself fall forward, his jaw hitting the hard structure. He collapsed into it and buried his head into his hands, his knuckles slightly covered with blood…

Sam felt a boulder in his stomach when he rang the doorbell. He heard tiny footsteps running to the front door. It clicked and a little blond head cautiously peeked around.

"Hey Stace," Sam smiled awkwardly, not knowing what to expect.

"Sammy!" she squeaked excitingly, "You're back!"

The eight year-old girl almost tackled him with a tight hug. Sam heard another pair of footsteps rushing towards them. His little brother got a surprised look on his face when he saw his big bro' again.

"Yay!" he exclaimed, "dad! Sammy's here!"

Sam immediately felt his muscles tighten when Stevie called his father. The small boy took his hand and pulled him inside, out of the cold air. As Sam gazed up again, he locked eyes with his father. He could read a mix of emotions on his face; angry, anxious, but there was also a little happiness somewhere.

"Can we talk?" Sam nervously asked.

His father only nodded and turned back into the living room, telling the kids to go play upstairs. Sam zipped down his jacket and hung it on the coat rack. His dad sat down on the sofa when he entered the room. He wondered why his mother wasn't home, it was Saturday after all. Sam took place in the armchair, located on the opposite of his father. The man looked at him, as if he was trying to see if he had changed in the last four days, which was pretty odd. Sam figured he was the one who should break the silence.

"I'm glad that you let me in…" he said with an insecure undertone.

His father shrugged indifferently.

"I assumed that you must have had a good reason to come here," he explained with a persuading look in his eyes.

"I have," Sam responded quickly, "I came to apologize. I didn't know what was wrong with me… You and mom are more important to me than anyone else,"

"And what about your…" his father swallowed, "preference?"

"There's nothing about that. Like I said, I don't know what I was thinking," Sam said with a reassuring look in his eyes. His father had to accept him again, because if he didn't, Sam had nowhere to go anymore.

His father nodded with a little, satisfied smile on his face, but he didn't say anything. Sam figured he was proportioning whether to let his son live with his family again or not.

"I swear it will never happen again," Sam pushed a little more, trying to get his father over the edge, "and, of course, I will also apologize to mom."

His father nodded again, this time agreeing.

"I'm glad you finally came to your senses, Samuel," he said finally, "but one apology isn't going to erase what did you to us and we certainly need time to start trusting you again."

"I know, dad," Sam's eyes went to the ground, ashamed, "but I'll do anything for that."

His father got a small grin on his face when he heard his oldest son say that.

"Good, because you really scared your mother and me," he said, "we were actually starting to believe you were possessed by some devilish creature…"

A stabbing pain went through Sam's chest.

"…We prayed for you every night and it seemed like it worked," he continued, "another sign that He is truely here."

His dad's index finger pointed upwards, making more clear what he was saying. Sam swallowed a lump in his throat and kicked himself in his head for it. Why did he suddenly had the feeling he had to cry? And why was this ache in his chest not going away?

"Still, I'm not sure if you have perfectly healed from what… Happened to you," his father ended, "but we'll figure something out."

Sam forgot about the paining feeling around his chest when his dad stood up and walked towards him. He stuck out his hand and Sam took it gratefully.

"Welcome back, Samuel."

Author's note: Please keep reviewing, it inspires the hell out of me! ;D