Chapter Four: The One With The Extra Seat
iv: you're strumming on my heart strings, like you were a grade 8.
There's a smell of rotten food and sweat that's so overwhelming it makes his eyes water, and he resolves to breathe through his mouth and close off his nose. His nostrils are still burning though, and he fears that his tonsils may burn too if he switches to breathing through his mouth. He doesn't even know where to start, with the piles and piles of filthy dishes, pots and pans, cooking utensils and cutlery hiding the sink from view. Not to mention the crisps and other food he doesn't want to dissect all over the floor in the living room, and the smashed glass. And the filthy toilet that he knows it's his duty to clean. And the stain on the couch (he's not sure what it is, and to be truthful, doesn't want to find out).
"There's a smell of sex in here," Puck announces from beside him, his eyes narrowed and his nose scrunched up.
This makes Finn's stomach churn again. He'd just been able to eat without barfing, and now, he is pretty sure he's going to spit it all back up.
There's a distinct spot on the counter that's free of any plates or pots or food, and he has a bad feeling about it. Puck gestures to the spot then, "I'd say that's the scene of the crime. Certainly wasn't me! I wouldn't have sex in the girls apartment." Finn gives him a look, and Puck rolls his eyes, "Okay, I wouldn't have sex with another girl in their apartment. Not after last time." He gets a look of horror across his face, but quickly shakes it off. "Unless it's one of them, obviously."
Finn puts on a pair of marigold gloves, handing Puck the pink ones. He wonders how they got stuck with cleaning this. There were at least three others involved! Puck's comment draws his attention, "As long as it's not Rachel. You and her making out has scarred me for life," He shivers to prove his point.
"Bullshit. You just want back in her pants, and don't want to see anyone else doing it. What the fuck is this?" He asks, holding up what looks to be a half-eaten chocolate bar saturated in something. Again, Finn doesn't want to know.
"Looks like a bar."
Puck glances at him, "Looks like it used to be a bar. And thanks for the pink gloves, dickwad."
Finn grins, "Thought you'd be manly enough for them," the way to please Puck – as a man – is through his ego.
"Fuck you."
"So where's the brunette from last night?" Finn questions, setting about cleaning the mess at and around and in the sink. Puck takes this as a cue to get cleaning the sitting room.
"Ah, man, come on. She's long gone, thank god. Had a mouth like a motor." He pauses, "Like Rachel. It was absolutely awful." Finn is ready to defend the short brunette, and he goes on, "Chill, dude, I love Rachel and all, but you gotta' admit she talks a lot."
Finn can't object. "Not to mention she's a crazy bitch sometimes."
"Puck!"
"What?" He looks at him innocently, and goes about cleaning again. "How the hell did we get stuck doing this?"
"I don't know." Finn replies petulantly and scrubs the pan with all his might, "Why do you always have to cook? Take if from someone who eats just about anything, you're shit at it."
"I know that soberly." As if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
Puck hates cleaning. In fact, he hates cooking and cleaning and always promised himself that if he ever feels inclined to get married, the chick would have to be well versed in these areas. Unfortunately, it seems that every girl he ever feels anything remotely close to like for fails epically at these things. (He never minded with them) It's why he got rid of them.
Puckzilla doesn't deal in mediocrity. Sure, he has enough of it himself. In most areas minus social ones. And sexual – unless that counted as social? He isn't sure. He knows he sure performed last night though, and smirks at the thought. Good 'aul Quinn picking out the screamers, she's good like that. Hot Brunette Who Screams won't forget the name Puckerman anytime soon.
(He never lets girls call him Noah. It reminds him too much of mistakes he's made – he's Puck forever more with girls.)
Either way, he and Santana are the ones with the best libido around these parts. Their other friends close their legs a little more, at different levels of course. Rachel is like a fucking nun. Quinn makes you work, which gets a bit weary for some guys. She doesn't regard sex as 'sacred' like Rachel. Brittany is just as liberal with her body as Santana, but sticks around for longer and doesn't treat them awfully. She generally explains in very plain terms that it will be a one-night thing. Of course, that'd all be done in her innocent, blonde and slightly slow manner. No one takes offence because of that.
Finn scores every once and a while, Mike whenever he tries and Rose (Kurt) barely ever gets any. That said, Puck recognises that it is slightly harder for him.
"Santana," A voice groans loudly, and Puck and Finn's heads both shoot up. A mixture of amusement and disgust dons their faces, and Finn drops the sponge and pulls off the gloves rapidly. Puck laughs loudly, then proceeds to shout, "Go get 'em, slutface."
There's another loud moan, and Puck is not far behind Finn as they race out of the apartment.
It's really a blessing in disguise, Puck thinks as he makes it into his apartment. Now he doesn't have to clean that dump.
And Rachel can't accuse them of not trying.
Mike's a rather laid-back guy. He doesn't cheat any system, he doesn't cause trouble, he follows rules. On the other side of things, he hangs out with friends, has the occasional girlfriend and goes out with his friends on Saturdays every now and again. He lives his life according to the rules, but he doesn't throw away the fun side of living. He enjoys life and stays out of trouble at the same time and is generally rather proud of that. His friends are not quite in the same boat in this regard. The closest to it would actually probably be Finn, because his problems and breaking of the rules is often and largely by accident. He has the most unfortunate luck, really.
(Out of all of them, they know Finn has the worst luck. He's had hard times fall upon him and Mike can never quite forget that while talking to him.)
He's the latest addition to their group, having moved into the apartment next to Finn and the guys a little over two years ago. He can remember meeting them the first day as clear as crystal, and had instantly wanted to become part of what they had. (Because he didn't always live with fun in his life.)
"Puckerman, get out here now! Before I strangle you with my bare hands and feed you to the stray dogs in the alleyway. You know I like to feed them, and I sure as hell wouldn't mind making you their meal for tonight!" Mike stood in the hall way, mouth agape as four girls stood at someone's door, beating it down ferociously. They all had various pieces of clothing missing and some more than others. There was a short, fiery brunette standing at the door, hitting it ferociously. Mike flinched with each bang and realised the girls hadn't noticed him yet. Her bangs fell into her eyes every few moments, and she blew at them relentlessly as she shouted just as relentlessly. He was pretty sure the whole apartment block could hear her.
A stunning blonde leant against the wall beside the door she was banging on, between his apartment and the other. She was looking at the small brunette as she yelled, flinching when she hit a particular high note. She was wearing a white shirt and a pair of bright pink boxer shorts, complete with bare feet. He wondered what had caused them to land in this position.
A second blonde was whispering quietly what Mike thought was a spell from Harry Potter at what he assumed was their door, across from the one short brunette was shouting at. She had an amazing figure and long, wavy blonde hair. She was just in her bra and a pair of rather skimpy underwear that made Mike feel like he had to avert his eyes, and quickly.
He then turned to the tanned Spanish-looking woman sitting on the step that led to their apartments. She appeared to be rather bored, and unperturbed by her state of shorts and a white, lace bra. He also felt the need to avert his eyes. (But she may be the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on.)
It was then that the yelling was interrupted by the first blonde raising an eyebrow at him, "Are you quite done?"
His automatic reaction was stammering, feeling as if he had been caught in an awful act. It wasn't his fault they were sitting there, in their underwear, calling the attention of half the block! Well, he assumed half the block could hear.
"You—you're quite loud. That's all."
"Who are you? I haven't seen you around before," The tanned one asked him, surveying him with – what he hoped – was an appreciative glance.
"Mike Chang. I just moved in," He explained, feeling awkward.
"Quinn Fabray." The beautiful blonde spoke, and then nodded her head towards their apartment, "That's where we live. The tool that lives here locked us out though."
"Santana, and that's Brittany," she motioned to the girl still performing spells at their door. She then turned to the noisy one, "the yeller is Rachel. She doesn't like being so exposed," she added, and he supposed they felt responsible for all her noise. Although Rachel was the least exposed, wearing a short skirt and white tank top.
Brittany turned around with a crestfallen expression, "I was sure that that would work. I saw it work on the tv."
"It's alright, B." Santana replied softly, "We'll get them to open up."
Quinn straightened herself, seemingly fed up. "Oh, enough shouting, Rachel. Guys, open the door or we'll unleash Rachel's secret weapon. You know what that is and you honestly don't want to hear it, do you?"
There was silence. "You're such a bitch, Q."
Quinn smiled, and then turned to Rachel, "Go on. He's not opening."
Rachel took a deep breath, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshi—"
The door was thrown open, and the girls marched in angrily. Santana was the last to go in, and turned to him, "You coming, Asian boy? Strip poker," she winked, and despite knowing that he should probably be insulted, he never felt more proud to be called Asian.
Mike can still remember every touch, whisper, kiss and word from that night. He isn't quite sure when it happened, but he's sure that was the start of it. The start of the angst-ridden love life he leads.
Because, contrary to popular belief, Mike never hated Santana after she told him it was a one-night thing. However, it does seriously affect his ability to tell her he's been in love with her for at least the last year.
"Chang, wake up! Those numbers aren't going to work themselves out, you know," His boss barks, and Mike shakes all those thoughts from his head. They're not important, and they'll never be important. (He wishes desperately that that was true.)
Quinn gets home and almost feels guilty for the atrocity that is their living room and kitchen, but then thinks better of it. It's not her fault the place is so bad, she's pretty sure she had limited involvement in the process.
Carefully stepping over all the bits and pieces, she makes her way to her room where she lays down her shopping bags on the bed. Nothing better than a day of shopping to make you feel better! Her stomach rumbles and Quinn wonders how long it'll be until the kitchen is able to provide food again. Looks like take-out is on the menu tonight.
Guilt rises again, and she decides that she'll get Finn and Puck to help. She would get Santana, but judging by the scrunchie on the door, she's still busy. Quinn's more than surprised the guy is still there; Santana very rarely has men around for this long. He must be good, she muses, unable to help herself.
Her resolve set, Quinn marches over to the boys apartment and opens the door. The place is eerily quiet, "Puck? Finn?"
She knows it's Kurt in the shower, because he had told her he was going to take a long, relaxing shower the moment he got in the door. But where are the other two? Quinn hears hushed voices, and follows them to Puck's room. She hesitates; what if it's the girl from last night? No. The voices sound distinctly male, and Puck is in work tonight – he wouldn't keep a girl around this long.
That covered, she opens his door, "What the hell are you guys doing?" Finn jumps, as if caught in the act, and Puck swerves around to look at her.
They're sitting at Puck's window, gazing out at something that must be interesting, because judging by the cans and food around the window, they've been there a while.
"N—nothing," Finn stammers, avoiding her eyes and standing in front of the window.
"Oh god, you two are pathetic. If you're perving on some poor, innocent girl, don't worry. I'm not going to report you."
"It's more than that," Puck smirks, who had stayed at the window nonchalantly the entire time. "It's a full yoga class, Q."
Her interest piqued, she squirms in between the two of them and finds that there is indeed a class on session across the way in the community centre. She gives them both an exasperated look, "Desperate. Anyway, I came around to get you two to help me clean the kitchen."
Finn is still on the subject of the yoga class, "Honestly, we were only here ten minutes. Don't give me that look! All this shit is just Puck's room," Puck nods in agreement, and she doesn't see any reason for him to lie.
"I don't really care guys," she laughs, "but you are cleaning the kitchen with me now. And living room. And bathroom, Finn."
He cringes, and Puck replies indignantly, "We tried earlier! You can even tell someone started on it. But then Santana was getting freaky down and loud with whoever she's with and we made a run for it. Is she done?" he asks, realising that their apartment may still be unsafe.
"I have no idea, but don't worry, I'll be abandoning the cause if there's any 'wanky' from Santana. Let's go, soldiers." They exchange a look of resignation, and follow the blonde out of the room. They're both powerless to deny her request, and know that if they don't oblige, the next time they go out the mess will be in their apartment.
Puck likes his manly smell in the place, but he definitely does not like the smell of vomit, burned and rotten food or anything akin to that in his apartment.
"Pay can be negotiated. I'm not looking for anything outrageous, just reasonable. My resume is pretty ace, let's admit that Ms. Berry," the man smiles at her from across the table, and she automatically smiles back. Why? Because he's right, he ticks all the right boxes and has incredible experience that she can't possibly turn away. In addition to that, he's looking for half the pay the next guy is looking for. He says he knows what Rent is about, and is ready to embrace it. He knows what it's like to be an outsider, knows what it's like to cope with prejudice and he will do everything to make Rent the hit it is.
She's thoroughly impressed for the second time today, and turns to Brittany. Brittany isn't looking at her at all though, she's staring at him with an awe-filled expression, "How do you dance?" She suddenly asks, and her expression is more serious and levelled than Rachel's ever seen.
He shifts a little at the question, and Rachel gets the distinct impression that he's a slightly uncomfortable. Despite that, he's not angry or offended, and answers her quite simply, "I can't."
Brittany's face is one of sorrow, and her eyes soften in sympathy. She reaches across the table and grabs his hand, "I'm so sorry." She truly means it, too. Rachel knows how highly she values dance, how she believes it can power the world. How she believes it can fuel magic and make a person whole again. Furthermore, she knows that Brittany thinks that if he could just dance, he would be whole again.
He gives her a smile that's as charming as it is genuine, "Don't be. I can direct, and that's all that matters." Rachel is bristling now, because Brittany is still looking at him intently, and her hand is still on his.
Rachel pulls their hands apart, reigning in the comment about professionalism somehow. "I think, without even privately consulting, I can safely say we both would love for you to direct Rent, Mr. Abrams."
Mike gets a text about dinner at the girls apartment tonight, and smiles in anticipation of a dinner with his closest friends. He knows he'll be the latest again – work sometimes holds him up, especially at month end – but hopes that they waited for him again. He hates having to play catch-up at dinner, but in their defence, they usually wait for him until it crosses the boundaries of acceptable. Meaning, when he is over an hour late. It's only fifteen minutes over time tonight though, and so he has a good feeling that they've waited.
Who cooked dinner crosses his mind, and Mike hopes against hope that it was Kurt. Not one of them could cook like Kurt, and Mike considers himself pretty handy in the kitchen. Finn and Puck are awful, so he knows it wasn't them. Quinn is also god awful so that rules her out. Brittany makes the strangest combinations so he decides that he may skip dinner if she cooked it. Santana is not bad, and Rachel's very good.
He's not ready for the sight that greets him when he opens the door though. There's a proper, traditional spread of all things 'Sunday Dinner' and he blinks. There's chairs pulled in from the boys apartment, and it looks squashed, but they've always coped with that. Something's different.
He counts the chairs and finds that they're one extra up. Who on earth would be coming to dinner here?
"Mike! Where've you been? Always late, mister. I'm getting you another watch for Christmas."
"We're doing Kris Kindle this year for Christmas!" Brittany immediately interjects. She pouts then, "I've no money to get everyone something."
"Who's the extra place for?" Mike asks, taking a seat next to Brittany. They never sit in the same places, and he likes that. Tonight, Rachel and Finn are heads of the table. Quinn, Puck and Kurt sit to Rachel's left while Brittany, Mike and two vacant seats are on her right. It makes his side far more cramped than those across from him and he grumbles. "Who's the extra seat?"
"Santana's man from last night," Rachel whispers excitedly, her eyes bright.
She's obviously had a good day, and Mike makes a mental note to ask her. Asking Rachel things is often a dangerous game though, as sometimes, she just goes on and on and on and—
"Rejects, this is Blaine. Blaine, rejects." Santana says by way of greeting, and takes a seat next to Mike. He gulps at their close proximity, but he should be used to it. He's done this so many times before.
"Funny, San." Finn replies. He extends his hand to Blaine then, who's sitting beside him, "Finn Hudson."
There's a whole host of hello's then, and Mike watches them all, still in shock from the news delivered to him. He's never met someone Santana's slept with the evening after. His stomach is queasy all of a sudden, and he has a strong urge to leave the table. But Kurt looks so proud and eager for their opinions that he's rooted in the spot.
It's then he notices everyone is looking at him expectantly. He raises his brows in question, and Quinn kicks him under the table, "This is Mike, Blaine.." she sends him a questioning look then, but he shakes it off.
"Nice to meet you," He tells him, shaking his hand firmly. (He's lying. Mike never lies.)
"You too, Mike. Nice to meet all of you – intimidating as hell, but nice."
"Bet you didn't expect to stay for dinner," Puck laughs, receiving several warning glances.
But Santana laughs with him, "Yeah, it's not a normal thing, but me and Blaine.. We're pretty hot together."
"If the screaming is anything to go by.." Finn mutters quietly, and Mike see's Blaine redden. He feels sick.
"I'm sick of discussing Santana's love life. Guess what happened to yours truly today?" Rachel poses the question, but none of them respond all that enthusiastically.
Finn takes it for the team, "What happened?"
"This is amazing, Kurt," Blaine interrupts, smiling at the boy. "Really, how did you learn to cook like that?"
Rachel Berry narrows her eyes slightly, and Mike hides his smile by glancing down at his plate. Mistake one, new kid.
That's it for now :) Let me know what your thoughts are please! thanks a million to those reviewing at the moment btw. Just out of curiosity, what do you all ship? I wish I could reply to anons too, perhaps I'll give a quick shout-out in another chapter.
Disclaimer: Don't own glee, friends or "Grade 8" by Ed Sheeran, from which the second chapter title is taken.
Thanks, hope you enjoyed!
xCNx