Prompt: Quit dreaming of your happily ever after and start fighting for it. Otherwise you'll be dreaming and life will pass you by.

If anyone ever accused Noah Puckerman of daydreaming, he'd probably have to punch them in the throat.

But, fuck, if he couldn't help it sometimes. And lately, he seemed to be drifting off into his own world more often than not.

Mr. Schue goes on a ten-minute lecture about hair bands; Puck creates his own version of Jewels with the multi-colored floor tiles.

The conversation at the lunch table turns into Kurt-and-Blaine variety hour; Puck builds his tots into a mini-tower.

Santana starts bitching about – well, just about anything; Puck starts his own mental game of Survivor starring his fellow glee members. (FYI: he'd vote pretty much all of them off the island.)

But the worst – the very worst – was whenever Finn and Rachel started spinning around each other and crooning out a cheesy ballad. Because, for whatever reason, then his daydreams started featuring Rachel.

Had they just been the normal naked-girl-in-sexy-situations daydreams, Puck wouldn't have been so worried. He had those all the time, about nearly every girl he knew. But nothing concerning Rachel Barbra Berry could ever be normal.

So instead of racy daydreams about her rumored lack of a gag reflex, Puck dreamed about singing a duet with her in front of a cheering crowd at Nationals. He dreamed about walking down the hall with her arm tucked into his. He even frickin' fantasized about her wearing a little silver necklace that said "Noah".

If he could kick his own ass, he would.

One particularly rough day, he was sitting in Glee, watching Rachel and Finn sing out their love when an image of Rachel, dressed all in white, hit him in the solar plexus. (At least, Puck assumed that's where his solar plexus was; he did pay pretty close attention to the anatomy chapters in Biology, after all.)

It was like his dream – the very first one – of Rachel: dressed all in white, soft smile, Star of David resting at her throat. Only this time, instead of climbing in his window, she was walking through the doors of his temple.

And instead of lying in bed, he was standing in front of their friends and family, yarmulke perched over his 'hawk.

Rachel walked to him, her brown eyes big and shiny, and he couldn't help the grin spreading across his face.

He saw her lips moving and slowly realized she had asked him something, but he only had two words on his mind.

"I do."

He saw confusion twist her smile and concern enter her eyes, and heard their friends laugh. "Noah, are you okay?"

Shaking off the daydream, Puck looked around the room and realized he'd spoken out loud.

Everyone was looking at him with varying degrees of puzzlement and amusement and some not-so-hidden hostility was radiating off Finn.

Puck thought quickly. "Uh, yeah. Sorry. I'm just really… I'm… Probably a bad batch of dip," he muttered lamely, sinking lower in his chair.

"Oooookay," Mr. Schue said. "Great job as always, Rachel and Finn. Now as for our setlist…"

And Puck was out again.

After Glee, Puck practically sprinted for the door, hoping to avoid all the concerned looks (from Rachel) and derision (from everyone else).

Obviously, Coach Bieste hadn't pushed him hard enough this season, because by the time he made it out to his truck, Santana was waiting for him.

"Satan," he said coolly, tossing his bag into the bed.

She smirked at him. "Listen, Puckerman, I couldn't care less what goes on between Rachel and her darling Finnegan, but I know you're, like, invested in that drama. But I just want to tell you this: if you like her, you need to go for it."

Puck wanted to scoff, but the downside of having a former fuck buddy who was also basically the chick version of yourself was she knew when you were faking. "No way," he settled on instead. "Finn's my boy."

"That's cute and all," she said with no little amount of contempt, "but would you rather have that or would you rather have Rachel as your woman? Because while I'm sure in your mind, your bromance is legendary, fact is Finn won't put out. And he won't bear your Jewish seed. Nor will he wash your hair – which, yes, I know you still have your mom do from time to time."

She shook her head when he opened his mouth. "Let me finish. I know you're all 'my dad abandoned me and now I don't deserve anything good,' but you do, Puck. And I need to believe that you do, because if you do, then I do, too. So you need to quit dreaming of your happily ever after and start fighting for it. Otherwise you'll be dreaming and life will pass you by."

Puck thought about what she was saying, and then looked at Santana. "How about this: I start angling for Berry, and you and Britt stop dancing around and finally make it official."

He saw her face pale and her confidence falter, but then something caught her eye. Before Puck could turn to see what it was, Santana firmed her chin and nodded sharply. "You're on."