A/N: A little bit of fluff, thanks for reading. T for language.

Chapter 3

They played Smash Brothers for the better part of two hours before Finn set his controller down, stretching his long, gangly arms. "Dude, it's almost two AM. You better put those clothes away before your mom gets home."

That had been Mrs. Puckerman's contingency. As long as all the laundry got done while she was at work, Finn could sleep over all weekend. Secretly, Finn knew this wasn't a real contingency. Mrs. Puckerman was always happy to have him over because he kept Puck more or less in line. But still, it felt wrong to not do the one thing she asked of them.

So that afternoon, they'd taken everything to the laundromat on East Carlisle Street, paid only for a wash, brought the sopping wet mess back to Puck's house and hung it all to dry in his basement. With the remaining money, they bought a box of industrial strength nails. Then, in a stroke of pure genius, they managed to pull off their most epic prank to date—nailing that fag kid Hummel's lawn furniture to his roof! Sure, Hummel's super scary dad did manage to hit them with the garden hose while they ran for it, but it was so totally worth getting super-soaked in October to see the look on Hummel's faggy little face.

"Uh, I'll just put 'em away tomorrow," Puck said evasively before cursing loudly when one of the NPCs smashed his Pikachu with a hammer.

"Nah man, let's just get it done now," Finn said. Although he might not be the brightest guy around, Finn had seen the color drain from Puck's face and he knew The Exorcist was still fresh on his mind. He briefly considered using that to startle Puck again, or maybe just tease him a little, like Puck had done to him so many times before. But deep down Finn was a good guy and he just didn't have the heart to do it. "C'mon," he said kindly, peeling the controller from Puck's hands. "I'll help you."

Sighing, Puck followed Finn to the top of the basement stairs, hesitating before going down after him. It was cool and drafty down there, causing goosebumps to spring up all along his arms. He stumbled forward, trying to play it cool while keeping as close to Finn as possible. They padded through the darkness, groping around for the string to the lone light bulb. Finn eventually found it and gave it a tug, illuminating the room eerily as the bulb swung from its chain on the ceiling.

When Finn looked around at him, Puck took an involuntary step back, heart hammering in his chest. The shadows dancing on Finn's face contorted his features, making him look less like his best buddy and more like the demon from The Exorcist. Puck screwed his eyes shut and tried not to imagine Finn puking all over him the way Regan blew chunks on Father Karras.

Finn watched sadly as the fear marred his best friend's face. Now he really felt like a jerkoff for teasing him earlier. "You know," Finn said gently, balking over what he wanted to say next. It was never a good idea to get too touchy-feely with Puck, unless of course you liked being called a pussy or getting punched. He busied himself with tugging clothes off the line and tossing them into the wicker baskets on the floor. "You know, it's okay to be scared. I'm not gonna make fun of you or anything."

"I'm not scared," Puck countered stubbornly, turning away from Finn. He was yanking down clothes by the armful, not caring about scattering clothespins all over the floor.

"Yes, you are," said Finn matter-of-factly, sorting through fistfuls of Puck's button-up shirts, several of which had been hand-me-downs from Finn himself. "But it's okay. I'm not gonna fuck with you again. I promise. Especially not down here in your creepy-ass basement."

Puck sighed, feeling his body relax in spite of himself with that promise. "Thanks," he said quietly. "You know, I would've fucked with you…If you were the one who was scared. And I wouldn't have apologized."

Finn smiled. "I know. It's okay."

Puck was silent for a moment. "No, it's not okay," he said finally, suddenly feeling very bad about himself. "I'm an asshole. Why do you even put up with me?"

Finn grinned at him fondly, and Puck was keenly aware that he didn't deserve his goofy friend's unwavering kindness. "Because," Finn reached forward and patted Puck's mohawk. "Because you're not just any asshole. You're my asshole."

Puck burst out laughing at that, feeling strangely relieved. He looked up at Finn, overcome with a sudden and overwhelming urge to get in his best friend's space. Finn watched him with raised eyebrows as Puck vaulted several laundry baskets, aiming a well-placed tackle at Finn's chest. But Finn was ready for him. Instead of letting himself get sacked, he caught Puck round the middle and swung him around, setting him down on his feet.

Stunned, Puck didn't move for a moment. He just stood there, pressed flush against Finn, whose arms were wrapped tightly around him, big hands splayed flat across his back. The warmth of it felt damn good, and Puck was vaguely aware that he couldn't remember the last time someone hugged him properly. He just wanted to stay there and not let go.

Clearly Finn felt the same way, because he remained stock-still, solid and warm, with his long arms holding tight to his smaller friend until Puck came back to his senses. He disentangled himself from Finn, clearing his throat loudly. "Let's, uh, let's get these clothes upstairs, yeah?"

Finn grunted in agreement, and together they collected the laundry baskets and pulled the light bulb string, shrouding the basement in darkness once more.