Sam woke up feeling like someone had hit him in the back of the head with a sledgehammer. The second thing he noticed was that he was lying on a bed - Puck's bed - and he couldn't remember why he was there. Moving his head as little as possible, he felt around, ascertaining that he was indeed alone. Then where was his roommate? Had he taken the couch last night? Why couldn't he remember what happened?
He forced himself to move enough to survey the room, and find Puck. The place was an absolute mess, and he found Puck fast asleep on the couch with Quinn - who was equally out of it - lying against his chest. Great. Just great.
Quinn jerked awake, trying to remember where she was. The motion nearly made her sick, and she had to close her eyes and breathe deeply to keep from being sick on the floor. But whose floor was it? She took sudden notice of the warm body she was pressed against and gasped as the previous night came back to her. She had to get out. He was going to hate her when he woke up, and she couldn't face that right now.
Staggering up from the couch, she stooped down to grab her purse from the floor and stumbled toward the door. She didn't notice Sam was awake until she nearly fell on him and righted herself with a groan. "Sorry," she whispered, trying for the door again.
Puck suddenly felt cold. Very cold, and that's what made him begin to stir. Then he heard a noise, followed by Quinn's voice, and his eyes snapped open. He blinked a few times, trying to get the room into focus. When he did, he realized what was going on. Trying to sneak out? That's becoming a thing for you, isn't it? he accused, even if it was only in his mind.
He made himself sit up, to look at her properly, still not registering Sam's consciousness. "Where you goin?" he mumbled.
Son of a bitch, she thought, turning around. "Sorry," she whispered. "I just thought it'd be easier this way. You can hate me after I'm gone. I just can't handle you doing it while I'm still in the room."
He shook his head and got to his feet, thankful that he seemed to be immune to hangovers. "That starts when you walk out that door," he informed her, like that was just how it worked, and he was passing on the knowledge. "Don't be in such a hurry for that to happen, ok?"
"S'ok" Sam told Quinn when she apologized to him.
The next thing he knew, he found himself smack, bang in the middle of some completely awkward "morning after scene", with Quinn being busted trying to sneak out whilst Puck was still sleeping. Probably in an effort to avoid this kinda thing he mused.
His head was fuzzy and his limbs felt heavy, so he didn't really want to move, if he could help it. He pulled the pillow over his head to block out the morning light and Puck's way-too-loud voice. Why was he speaking at that volume, anyway? Wasn't his head hurting too? At least Quinn had the common decency to whisper.
He didn't even have the slightest clue what the problem was. It didn't look like they'd had drunken sex last night - thank you, God - or anything, considering they were both fully clothed when he'd woken up. As far as he knew they'd passed out whilst... well, cuddling - he didn't really have a better term for what they'd obviously been up to. And why was he going to hate her when she left the room? It was all very strange. But that said - and he could be wrong. He didn't really know Quinn at all, of course - those two didn't seem to have a relationship that he could really compare to any he'd seen before, anyway. She'd spent most of the previous night flicking between casting nervous glances at Puck, and acting like she didn't know he was even there. He, on the other hand, had done nothing but stare in a way that could only be described as longingly in Quinn's direction, until someone busted him doing it. They'd barely spoken to one another, all night. It was strange.
All of this thinking was making his head hurt worse. Or it could just have been the fact that he was, you know, alive... barely.
"I can't stay forever," Quinn whispered. "If you're going to hate me, we should just get it over with. You can join the club." She looked apologetically at Sam, sorry that he'd woken in time to see this.
Puck snapped his head to the left to look at the bed, when Sam moved abruptly. He hadn't realized he was awake. "Mornin' Sammy," he said, before continuing the conversation, trying to ignore his presence.
"I know that." It came out as a resigned sigh. "I know you can't. But..." His eyes wandered, unbidden, back to Sam. This was so uncomfortable. He pushed on anyway. "But there are things that I need to make sure you know... before... I might not... Oh, for fuck's sake!" he scrubbed a frustrated and over his face. This was difficult enough, and while he knew this wasn't Sam's fault, he just wanted him to go away.
Sam hauled himself to his feet, swaying slightly, until the room stopped spinning. "I'm gonna shower... I feel gross," he mumbled, staggering to the bathroom and shutting the door behind him, flinching at the noise.
"Feel better, Sam," Quinn murmured. She wasn't sure when she'd see the other boy again, and she only hoped he'd at least think well of her. She returned her attention to Puck, leaning heavily against the wall and bowing her head as she waited for him to say what he needed to say. She knew it wouldn't be anything good, and her only hope was that she could keep herself together until she was out of the room.
Puck was silent for a long moment, trying to decide whether he even had the guts to say what he wished he could just make her know, without saying the words aloud. Putting this out there seemed too futile to be worth how painful it was going to be... But he had to do it. It was his last chance to tell her.
"I refuse to regret any of this. Not a single second." He blew out an unsteady breath, before continuing. "No matter how bad all of this hurts, how angry I am, or what defenses I put up, I need you to know that, and not forget it. It was worth it. All of it."
"I don't know," she said in a choked voice, looking down at her feet as tears rolled off her chin, "if we're ever going to be okay. If I can ever make you understand why I did...what I did. If you even want to." She swallowed a sob. "But I don't regret it either. I couldn't have had anyone better for my first time. It was the only time I ever," she couldn't swallow her sob this time, and she doubled over for a moment. "I ever felt loved. In my whole life."
She turned away, trying to collect herself enough to finish. "Thank you," she finally managed. It felt lame and incomplete, but it was all there really was to say.
"C'mere," he said, pulling her into a tight hug. "I'll always love you, at least little bit, ok? No matter how mad I get, don't forget that, either." He said quietly, but with total conviction. "You take care of yourself, Fabray," He ducked his head and kissed her cheek, before stepping back slightly. If he wasn't careful, he was gonna start getting clingy again, and that would just make things so much worse.
She hugged him back, holding him like it was the last time - because as far as she knew, it might be. "I'll always love you too," she whispered in his ear. When he stepped back, she did the same, finding the door handle behind her back with one hand. "I should go," she whispered. "Be okay. Take," she all but choked on the sob that she was trying to hold in. "Take care of yourself, too."
This was it. They couldn't go back, he knew that, too much had changed. And staying where they were, was just too painful. So it was time to move forward, to deal with this as best they could. The only way he knew how to do that was to resent the hell out of the only person he still believed loved him. Well fine. He could do that.
"See you around," he said, forcing a casual tone into his words.
Quinn retreated. She'd done it before, and she'd do it again. As she all but fled the room, she mentally added him to the list - her parents, her daughter, maybe god, who knew - of people that either hated her, or were going to. She found her way back to her room, although she couldn't have explained how, and was grateful that Santana, for whatever reason, wasn't in.
If the doc had seen her right then he would have ordered counseling sessions or something, but she was doing the only thing her tired mind could think of to cope. She went into their shared closet, threw a small rack of her shoes out into the bedroom proper, and curled up in the darkest corner of it to cry. She was a bad person, she knew that - this was just another reminder she didn't need.
She was gone. Why wasn't he angry yet? It still just hurt. That was it, just pain. He had to get out of here. Out of the room, out of the school, out of the state if he could get that far, before this hole inside him tore open so wide that it killed him. He was sure it was going to.
He turned and started digging under his bed, searching for something. He finally found a large sports bag and started throwing clothes into it.
Sam came out of the bathroom, dressed in the sweats he'd taken in with him, in case Quinn was still there, when he finished - although, he suspected she wouldn't be.
He stopped toweling his hair, when he noticed Puck packing. "Uh, dude? What's goin' on? Are you okay?"
Puck shook his head, unwilling to look away from the bag that he was packing. "Gotta go," he said, as if that explained everything.
Well this wasn't good...
"Dude, calm down. You're like, shaking." He maneuvered Puck until he was sitting on the bed and perched next to him. "Where are you going? Why? What happened? Did Quinn -" He stopped suddenly, when he realized he was bombarding the already overwhelmed boy with so many questions.
"I'm sorry. Take your time," he encouraged.
Puck felt himself be pushed and pulled, until he was seated on the bed. He didn't resist, just letting Sam's hands guide him. Being made to do something, made him feel a little safer, somehow. He knew he wasn't in control right now, and letting someone else that he trusted - although he wasn't sure when that happened - take the wheel, seemed like a good option. People got hurt when he lost control. He'd learned that last year.
He couldn't tell Sam. He couldn't tell anyone. This was all too much, and talking about it, would be the final step to making it real. He wasn't ready.
He shook his head. "I can't be here." His voice was small, and broken. It wasn't his own.
"Hey," Sam soothed, laying a gentle hand on Puck's shoulder. "I... I don't know what's wrong, but whatever it is, we'll make it ok. I'll help you, I swear... But I can't do that, unless you tell me."
"I... I can't," he started sobbing in earnest, adding shame to the list of emotions that were threatening to destroy him. He shouldn't be crying. He should be stronger than that, but he wasn't, and he hated Sam seeing him for what he was, weak.