It should've been easy to manage. For anyone who was normal, it would've been easy. But Puck was never exactly normal. He was a bastard. A simple, straight forward, frustrated, selfish, self loathing, fire cracker of a bastard with low expectations of others... But mostly himself.

The feelings stirring within him should have been easily defined, easy to grasp and then say aloud. Easy to manifest and communicate, act out even.

But none of it made sense to him.

He kept catching his eye during group therapy; kept stealing glances across the table during meal times but couldn't find it in himself to let go.

Fuck, that was crazy. Puck was known to never be a creature of inhibition. He lived by his own standards... He lived to let go.

Not now though. God, he wasn't gay.

Kurt.

If Kurt was a Kloe, or a Karry, or anything but a fucking Kurt. Maybe it would be better, make some semblance of sense.

He hid inside himself, still present, still watching over the kid to make sure Gavin didn't try anything again, but he remained a loose member of the group. A silent entity that simply observed, grunted in response here and there, and kept mostly to himself.

The kid was patient with him. He seemed to understand something. Not that he didn't try to engage Puck in conversation or invite him to exchange casual looks, but he didn't push and definitely never commented on what had happened between them several days before.

Puck was truly thankful for that. In his mind, what happened in that fucking shower room stayed in the shower room.

But... It sort of didn't though. Not really. The memory of it was carried everywhere with him, burning his insides like brightening embers waiting to light up and blaze into a fire.

"Puckerman? Puck?"

"Hm?"

"You okay?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry, just got lost in thought."

"Love again?"

Puck sighs. His dark eyes rove over Dr. Schuester's desk, uncertain, then move up to lock on the other man's carefully trained gaze.

"I dunno."

Dr. Schue remains silent, waiting.

"I can't love. I'm no good at it. I don't know how."

"Well, I'm sure it was difficult with everything you experienced in your childhood. The only person you ever grew to trust and truly care for passed away. It's difficult to learn values about things like love when you don't feel you can trust people. I think you've been disappointed a lot."

Puck nods slowly. "Yeah. I have."

"Do you want to love?"

Puck stares intently at the other man. He nods again. "But I can't. I'll just end up hurting them."

Dr. Schuester nods thoughtfully, his fingers laced together in front of his face signalling that he's considering his next words carefully.

"I don't think it's necessary to be anything but who you are. As long as your honest with yourself, the rest will fall into place. You'll know what to do."

God if he had to hear that whole 'be honest with yourself' schpiel from one more person, somebody was getting punched. Seriously. Dr. Schue must have cottened onto Puck's doubtful expression because he hastened onward.

"Can you honestly say that hiding and denying your feelings is doing you any good?"

Puck considers this, his gaze falling away while he contemplates the question. Finally he shakes his head. Dr. Schuester gives him an encouraging smile.

"If that's the case, then the real question is what are you going to do to change that?"

The teen sits still, his eyes glazed over in deep thought. Dr. Schuester stands and walks around his desk to stand by Puck's side.

"I'll see you next session, Noah."

Puck swallows and then stands. He holds out his hand. Dr. Schue doesn't hesitate to grip it firmly.

"Yeah. Till next time, Doc. Thanks."

Dr. Schuester nods again, his gray eyes warm. Puck's not a genius but it doesn't exactly take one to figure out that the Doc seems to be proud, though he doesn't voice the words aloud.

Outdoors.

Again. He was outdoors.

He had time between his next scheduled medication intake to spend to himself. True he could be shooting hoops but he had become admittedly accustomed to lounging outdoors doing nothing in particular. It was starting to feel sort of nice, peaceful.

That's why he found it rather odd that after sitting alone, looking rather sullen and cross to the outside world, that he would be joined by Mr. Irish Spring himself.

The dude nestled quietly next to Puck on the bench. No words. No distinct looks. He just sits down and stares forward, his eyes locked ahead, zoning in on whatever it was he assumed Puck was watching.

"So I gotta ask you. Did you really try to kill your sponsoring family?"

Irish, also know as Rory, smiles mischievously.

"Now where'd ya hear a thing like tha'?"

"Around, man. So's it true?"

"Is it true you're here cause ya molested some ducks and then drank their blood in front of a group a' school children?"

Puck couldn't help but snort. Wow, the shit that sailed around this place. He snickers as he remembers the day in group that he had made some utterly moronic comment about 'fucking ducks' or some shit like that. Who knew? He was high as a kite off his meds.

"Absolutely."

"I as well, then."

Hm. Puck feels strangely comfortable around the little weirdo. Wittiness was always a trait he could admire in someone.

"So ya gotta thing for Israel then?"

Puck had indeed been staring ahead, his eyes glimpsing the figure of one, Jacob Israel, who was sitting on a grassy area under a tree several yards away. If he had the energy he would go kick his ass. He warned the dude about sitting under a tree acting like some Jewish Puss-cake.

"Nah. He just happens to be in my line of sight."

"Ah. Makes sense."

Several beats of silence pass between the two before Rory states, "Ya haven't been as moody lately. What gives?"

"And that shit is your business cause...?"

"It isn't. But I'm askin' so take mercy on me."

Puck pauses, considering his situation. He had never actually spoken to Irish outside the basketball court, and that itself usually encompassed Puck shouting curses at him. He's never participated in the same free time activities or the same group therapy sessions. They have no formal relationship with one another.

"I guess lately I haven't seen the point."

"What was the point before?" Rory drawls.

Puck hesitates. "I... I don't know. Fuck. I just hated everything. Nobody gave a fuck. So why should I?"

Puck falls silent while Rory stares ahead, his face a mask. Then suddenly the smaller teen speaks.

"It wasn't the whole family. Just the boy. He's a year younger. He kept doin' things, takin' me belongin's, blamin' things on me, causin' all this tension between me and his folks. He hated me bein' there so he tried to make me leave. One day when we were on our way to school to be dropped off by his Mum, I saw him sittin' there, smirkin', all cocky and self righteous... He'd just gotten me blamed for somethin' - can't exactly 'member now - the snarky lil' twat... Too good for his seatbelt apparently. So I pushed him out the car while it was movin'."

Rory looks up to meet Puck's eye for the first time since he sat down, a smirk twisting his mouth.

"He never blamed me for anythin' a'gin that's for sure."

Puck nods. Whoa. So, both stories were sort of true. No attempted killing spree against the whole sponsoring family. No vespa, and instead of being smacked by a car or vehicle, the teenaged son of the family smacked the pavement after being pushed from one. Puck was about to ask but was unexpectedly cut off by Rory.

"He was in a coma for a week. They got rid of me the same day. Some doctor's analyzed me, said I needed to be isolated for a while; that my thoughts were a bit warped. Dangerous. That a hospital would be more fittin' for me. So here I am. In a fuckin' mental institute."

"They say it's the little one's you need to watch out for," Puck says sincerely. Rory chuckles. Puck returns his gaze to the figure huddled beneath the tree, not really seeing him. And then his lips are moving, and words are coming out.

"I've done a lot of shit over the years. You name it, I've probably indulged at one time or another." He pauses, takes in a deep breath, then exhales.

"Chuck. That was my last Care giver. Foster Dad. Whatever you wanna call him. I always hated all of them. Mostly cause they always found an easy reason to hate me and dump me. But he was actually cool. Uptight and shit, but mostly he really tried to be there. His wife, Sharon, she was nice enough. Caring, tried to overlook my bull shit. I think with them, I actually somewhere deep down, wanted to try to be like - better, ya know? I really wanted that..."

Puck trails off and huffs. "I came home early from school this one day. Normally I stayed out late but I just wanted to get home for some reason - wanted to actually try to attempt this essay I had or somethin'. Chuck had come home early too. He had the babysitter, the same little girl who would come over to watch the younger kids, spread eagled on the fuckin' kitchen table."

Rory swallows as his eyes dance over Puck, who's still glaring ahead.

"I thought of her only bein' fifteen, about his wife who really loved the asshole so much, and then I saw the bottle. Every word he'd said, every thing he'd told me... It was all fuckin' lies. He was just some hypocritical sack of shit who cheats on his wife and fucks underaged girls. I smashed it over his head. Went upstairs packed my shit. I gave him a couple gnarly kicks too before I took off. When they found me, I was outside a liquor store, high and drunk out of my mind. Covenient store owner called the cops after I'd busted up his store. I was so gone, didn't even bother to run off when they came."

"And that's why you're here?"

"Among other things. But yeah."

Rory whistles as if impressed. Puck didn't realize that he had been breathing heavily as he regaled his tale. He was clenching his fingers which were laced tightly together as he slumped forward on the bench. He wasn't sure why this Irish kid became the target of his confession but he wasn't complaining. It actually felt sort of good to spill. Not really knowing the kid seemed to make it more acceptable, like there was less room for judgement.

"Things can change."

"Yeah but can people, Irish?"

Rory gets a thoughtful look, a genuine smile gracing his lips.

"Dunno. But I think people who want it badly enough, can make it 'appen. We're all fuckin' nutty in one way or the other. But as long as ya find someone who accepts your crazy, then change fer the better... Why can't it be possible?"

Puck relaxes, leans back on his arms as he observes Count Chinkula herself join Jew fro underneath the tree. A lazy grin spreads across his face.

Guess Jacob had finally grown a pair and actually talked to the Asian goth. They were sitting closely together, Jacob blushing while he looked to be explaining something. That Tina chick laughing and playfully smacking his shoulder.

Change. If you wanted it bad enough.

"I still think your secretly a fuckin' leprechaun with evil intentions to steal my gold, but I suppose you're alright kid."

"Thanks. I think."

Puck raises from the bench and for once, actually knows exactly where his feet are carrying him.