Title: After All This Time
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 7.1k
Summary: See, you've never really been one for bright ideas. Sure, you're phenomenal at revenge plans and being a total bitch, but when it comes to genuinely decent ideas, you're lacking to say the least. But this one? This one could actually work.
Notes: Interesting to see what your favourite fics are! Love the feedback guys, thank you! And I like that you guys liked Dani's sensitive side!
/
Three Months Later
You couldn't stay in Lima.
After you left the diner that night, you ran back to your apartment complex as fast as you could, tossing your phone into a nearby drain on the way as it wouldn't stop buzzing in your pocket.
You didn't want to talk to anyone. You didn't want to see who or how many people had tried calling and you just needed to get away from everything and everyone. It was all too much to handle, and you just didn't know if there was any reason to stay, which was a good enough reason to go.
The second you got through the front door, with tears blurring your vision, you grabbed a bag and packed as much shit as you could. You didn't even plan on doing it, but then you were grabbing the hundred dollars you kept as emergency cash in the back of the toilet, taking barely any of your stuff or clothes and got in your piece of shit car and left, deactivating all your social medias so no-one could reach you. You blasted out Fleetwood Mac, singing through broken sobs and kept driving and driving for hours on end until you joined the interstate and saw a sign for New York.
Something felt right about it, like you were supposed to see it and you couldn't go back to Lima. You couldn't be in that apartment. You couldn't be in that life anymore and you didn't want to be.
Since coming up with the stupid idea to make a freaking porno, your entire world shifted, and you never wanted to leave but you had to for your own sake.
You wanted to stay, but you couldn't.
So, when you reached the Big Apple, you sold your car to a shady looking guy in a used car place and used the money for a deposit on a small box room on the other side of Brooklyn, in some run down building that had nightly raids from the police. It wasn't much, but it got you on your feet and luckily, due to being young and hot, you were a shoo-in at a bar close to you, Coyote Ugly. Sure, you weren't their usual employee considering some things, but you kept to yourself and wore confinement briefs, and no-one noticed when you got up on the bar to dance as you used your tits to distract them.
For that, you were glad, and so that's how you got here, in a nicer apartment in Brooklyn, but the Bushwick part – which is still dodgy – but nicer than the hole you were shacked up in before, and it's been over three months since you left.
You haven't spoken to anyone from back home, and due to your instant deactivation of all presence on social media and literally tossing your phone down a drain the night you left, no-one's been able to contact you either. You're kind of glad, because it's meant you could find space and time and get over it, but as time has gone on, you've concluded it's harder than you thought, which has answered a few questions of your own.
Like now you're fully accepting that you are in love with her... Or were. You haven't seen her so you're not sure.
(Even though you are.)
But that only reinstated the belief that you needed to leave. You needed to get away from everything and maybe in a year or two you can return and rekindle your friendship with her, but it's only been a couple months and it's still as fresh the day you left. You still feel the dull ache in your chest like it's just happened, like you're right back in that diner, with everyone watching you as you opened up your heart and let Brittany in, but she didn't enter. She just walked away.
You've never been someone to beg, though, and that's the main reason you left. As much as you wanted to do the film too, it just wasn't worth the way you felt with Brittany stood in front of you, not agreeing that she felt something between you, and you're assuming they got all the material they needed, and Artie put it together eventually anyway. He probably was splicing scenes in between and all that videography crap he's into and you're sure it's great, but you don't want anything to do with it.
Not anymore.
So, that's why you're here, six nights a week, clearing up the bar and dancing on it with the other girls, and the entire building is crowded as anything most of the time. This is your life now and you can handle this type of thing. This is easier than pretending and hurting yourself and no, it doesn't involve sex – which you're yet to have with anyone, it just feels wrong after… well, just after – but the tips are good because you've got a great smile and a better set of twins on your chest, so it'll do.
For now.
/
It's not like you're not happy, but it's hard not to be when you're dancing on a bar, kicking random strangers faces in when they try to touch you, but otherwise getting drunk, getting paid, and kind of having a party every night.
But, you can't deny that it feels like a massive hole has been punched through your chest whenever you return home to your apartment.
It's cold, and empty, and doesn't feel like your other apartment back in Lima, and there's no-one around to talk to. Yeah, you've made friends with a few girls at the bar like Mack and Mercedes, and you're pretty close to your boss, Cassie, but she's not the same as Holly. No-one compares to the friends you had back home, probably because you've never opened up to these ones and they don't ask too much about your past, fearing you'll ask them about theirs.
You're cool with it now, though. It's been twelve weeks, and the first month fucking sucked and you went to bed every night, sobbing into your pillow, but it got easier with time. Most nights you're pretty drunk from the bar, or at least buzzed so everything seems fluffy and surreal, and you pass out in your bed, but it's the nights where you don't work that are the worst.
You sit in your apartment, on your new cell phone, signed into an anonymous profile on all social medias, catching up with your friends lives back in Ohio. You visit Artie's page, who went to Paris with his mom. You take a peek at Kurt's Facebook, and see he's hooking up with a new gay every other week, which always look scarily similar to Blaine, but it's nice to find comfort in these updates, even if there aren't any updates of your own and you know if you were them, you'd be pissed that you just up and left without another word.
There wasn't even a note left on the side. You just got in your car and drove away from everything.
Those thoughts always make you cry though, and when you feel them tonight, you toss your phone on to the sofa and turn on something on Netflix, staring at the screen but not paying attention. You want to reach out and talk to someone, maybe Dani as she'd probably keep the contact on the down low, but you don't know how she's going to react. She might go crazy on your ass, not be what you thought and tell everyone where you've been living (read: hiding) and that'll just send you back to your dark, lonely hole of zero social interaction and you don't want to go there again.
Moving to the big city was terrifying enough, let alone actually being alone when you did it, no family, no friends, just you and yourself. For the first few days, before you got the gig at the bar, you tried going on Tinder to see if there were any friends, but everyone was looking to hook up and that wasn't for you, so you just stayed inside and ordered takeout.
The other thing you haven't been able to do, despite catching up on everyone else's lives on social media, is look at the one profile you're just dying to. You've seen her tagged in Sugar's Instagram stories, and glimpses of her face in the background of pictures, but you haven't been able to bring yourself to go further. The mere thought of seeing her smiling and living her best life, potentially after making some serious money from the porno, just kills you and you don't want any more punishment.
You didn't do anything wrong, but you were the one to run away to another life.
But that's just the way it is.
/
It starts like any other normal night.
You get home from a run and shower, quickly getting dressed into jeans and a racer back tank top and shrug on a leather jacket before heading off to work for the Saturday night shift. It's the busiest of the week, and you went from cleaning bars in the early week to singing and dancing with Mercedes at the weekend.
It wasn't easy, as Cassie is a tough bitch, but she can handle her own and that's what makes her so successful. She made you work for it, but you impressed her with your raspy vocals and the sexuality that pours from you when you turn it on, and she put you up on the spot when Mercedes was throwing up the questionable burrito she had for lunch, and you nailed it. Everyone was throwing cash like it was a damn stripper joint, and you even influenced the bar take by fifty percent that night, so talent recognised talent and that's why you're headlining with Mercedes tonight again.
She always gets the big tips.
You head into the bar, breezing in like you do the other five nights a week and Mack slides you a tequila shot when you get to the bar, shucking off your jacket and tossing it behind the counter. She grabs it mid-air, depositing it in one of the cupboards behind and you throw back the shot, wincing as the liquor hits your stomach. You don't drink too much before you start, as most of the drinking is done with the patrons in the bar to increase sales on weekends, but everyone has a shot of courage when they walk in and it's tradition.
"Feeling good, Lopez?"
You smirk at Mack and bob your head. You're feeling really good tonight and look hot as hell. "Yeah, I'm good," you confirm and wink at her, rapping your knuckles on the bar top before heading off into the back room to find Cassie going through stock in the far corner. "Crazy July," you greet, and she scowls at you, turning to face you.
"You're getting a little too comfortable here, you know," she quirks with a narrowed glare, but you've got a love hate relationship with the woman, so you know she's just teasing.
She's just as fiery as you are and you've only known her two and half months, but you've already been in arguments with her over the way patrons act towards you, hence the nickname. She doesn't allow touching – and if any happens, there's a boot to the face – but you're not too okay with the way some of the guys try to handle you when you're up on the bar and you've learned to pick your battles as you delivering a kick is apparently not allowed.
The last girl that crossed Cassie got fired and didn't get any tips after a long weekend double. You're not one to back down, but you're not dumb and know when and when not to push your boss so you've (mostly) kept your feet to yourself.
"I make you money, so you love me," you retort and head to your locker, pinging it open to apply a layer of lip gloss on your lips, plumping them up in the mirror. "Who else we got on tonight?"
Cassie rolls her eyes at you but returns to her stock count. "A new girl called Kitty is doing a trial shift, and we've got a drag queen coming in," she says, and it earns your attention, your eyes sliding to her as your eyebrow raises.
"A drag queen?"
"I think that's what she is," Cassie shakes her head and hisses, making you laugh. You made her miscount and now she has to start again. "But she's got a hell of an act and I'm here for it."
You run your fingers through your hair, adjusting your eyeliner with the tip of your finger, swiping away the smudge beneath and check yourself out one more time before slamming your locker shut and leaning against it, arms folded. "How'd you find her?"
"One of my favourite gays," she draws out and you cock your head to the side when she looks at you, eyes narrowed. "Do you watch porn?"
You choke at the question, instantly feeling blood rush to your cheeks and you don't know why – there's no way she knows – but you feel your mind reel back to the time when you were fucking making one. You've technically starred in one, but you're not going to tell her that.
"Time to time," you shrug because it'd be pointless to lie. Everyone watches porn at one point or another, and it'd look more suspicious if you tried to sidestep the topic. She's just asked you outright and doesn't seem too put off by your response, so you guess it was the right thing to do.
"Well," Cassie drops her pen to the clipboard and clutches it to her chest, taking a few steps towards you. "Not sure what turns you on, but if you like gay porn, you might have heard of him… Blaine Anderson?"
The name makes your blood run cold, and you can't stop the way your face drops, eyes widening and mouth opening. You're pretty sure someone just snapped their fingers and took all the oxygen out the room because you're finding it hard to fucking breathe, and you choke as you try, slamming your fist into your chest, feigning that you had something caught in your throat. You really need to not react to that for more than one reason; number one being he can't know you personally know Blaine from school and other associations, but number two being that if she catches on that you recognise the name, you're instantly a weirdo for getting off to gay porn.
So, you need to play it cool.
"Uh, yeah I'm not into that," you get out and clear your throat, trying to regain some normality as you meet her quizzical stare, chewing on your bottom lip. "But I've heard of him."
Cassie waits a beat before replying. She hums and runs her tongue along the outside of her teeth, like she's debating what angle to tackle this from as you've reacted visibly and it's a weird thing to react to at all, so you're not surprised. Still, you're really hoping you're not giving too much away because you don't know how to verbalise your side of things. How the hell do you explain that you not only starred in a porno, but you personally know Blaine as he was partial inspiration to the whole fucking idea of making your own?
Not an easy thing to do.
"He has connections and recommended Unique to me," she explains but you can tell she's hovering over the tension now in the room, but you decide this is a good moment to ditch and get back to your feet, nodding at her but trying to signal you don't want to talk any more.
"That's cool. I've gotta get out there," you say and force a smile to your face as you spin away.
It seems to work, because she doesn't press on it the next time you see her either.
/
You finish up your duet of Man! I Feel Like a Woman with Mercedes, sweating like a bitch and you high five her, grinning widely as the adrenaline pumps through your body.
Performing has always got you lit up like this, and you pour a bottle of water over your face to cool down and enhance the swell of your chest as the crowd cheers, most of them pushing towards the bar to take the five-minute break between performances to grab a drink. You head to the end of the bar, carefully stepping down with the help of a few guys on the other side and flutter your lashes at them, even though you'd rather stick a needle in your eye than have any other contact than their help down, but you're still thankful as you've got heeled cowboy boots on, and the bar is slippery as hell.
But anyway, you get down and jump into the crowd, deciding this is your time to get a few extra tips and wander through the people, accepting the dollar bills shoved in your path and Mercedes is hot on your tail, holding on to the back of your tank top which is getting soaked with beer. You'll care later, but you're still fucking pumped, and you've got at least a few hundred stashed around your body now, in various pockets and Mercedes is laughing in your ear.
You live for Saturday nights, even more so because Cassie allows you to have a shot with a few people to enhance sales, so you wander to the back room to grab a tray of jell-o shots before heading back out. You adjust yourself, letting your cleavage spill from your top and wink at your friend before sauntering out there, fully prepared to make some more money, but you only get to handing out the third shot before you hear your name being called and you freeze.
Mercedes sees it, shifting her vision to the right and takes the cash pushed towards her before she turns to you, lowering her head to ask, "You okay, girl?"
You would be if you didn't think you just heard someone say your name, which isn't out the ordinary by the regulars here, but you can't see anyone stumbling over to you and that makes you think it wasn't one of them. Especially because you swear you've heard the voice before, but you search the crowd and can't see anyone trying to catch your eye, so you shrug it off and flash Mercedes a smile.
"Yeah, I'm good," you say and turn your attention back to the drunken idiots throwing cash your way for a cheap jell-o shot, but then there's Cassie's voice booming overhead, announcing that you're up next with the new girl on trial, Kitty, and you throw Mercedes a smirk as she takes the tray off you and smacks your ass as you head back up to the bar.
Except when you get there, you offer out your hand as someone always offers to help, and someone does, but the grip is a little too hard to be kind and you go straight into defence mode, snarling your upper lip and whipping your head around at the person on the end of it.
Your stomach drops out your ass when you see who's there though, because you'd recognise that fucking mohawk anywhere, and your entire body floods with disbelief as you see Puck curl his lip up into a lecherous smile as he lifts his arm up, further into the air to help you get on to the bar.
Then there's a microphone being shoved into your chest, and you're being pulled further along, losing Puck in the crowd as the music starts overhead.
/
After yours and Kitty's duet, you jump down from the bar, not bothering to use the steps but straight down from the edge, using some shoulders around you to steady yourself.
You're panting heavily as you push through the throng of people, not so lively this time when money is thrown your way and search desperately for Puck, but you can't find him. There are faces everywhere, all blurring into one and you shove aside some of the drunken douchebags that grab your ass as you wade through, and they're swiftly pulled out by security. You don't stop looking though, needing to see if you just dreamt seeing someone from Ohio, but after a good five minutes, you know it's like finding a needle in a haystack.
You let out a long groan, clicking your neck from left to right and grab a shot off the nearest customer, ignoring his shouting for taking it off him and throw it down your throat, handing him the glass back before spinning on your heel. You honestly don't know if you just imagined seeing Puck, and maybe you've spent so long without familiar contact that you've just conjured up a vision of the guy, but you're pretty sure if you were manifest anyone, he'd be the last on the list and that makes you feel uneasy.
Now someone knows where you are, and that someone is fucking Puckerman. He doesn't know you well enough to know you don't want anyone to know your whereabouts, and you start clicking your tongue as you push through the crowd to get back to the bar. But then there's a hand smacking your ass and you stop immediately, hoping that this douchebag is prepared to be castrated and slowly spin on your heels to unleash hell...
Except you don't.
Because it's Puck, grinning widely at you. "Knew I recognised that ass," he comments smugly, looking entirely pleased with himself as he looks you up and down, but you're not in the right mind-set to kick him square in the balls.
Instead, you're frozen, your heart beat off rhythm and you're trying to find it in you to breathe properly, but your body is taking over you before you can tell it to move and you're throwing your arms around him, wrapping him up in a hug. You barely know the guy, so it's a bit weird, but he reminds you of home. He even fucking smells like it, mixed in with cheap liquor and cigarettes, and it's the first contact you've had with anyone from Lima, and you didn't expect to react like this but shit, you are.
"What the hell are you doing here?" You ask, pulling back from him as he sets his hands on your hips, but you swat them away. "I'm still gay, asshole."
Puck smirks but shrugs. "Can't blame me for trying," he says but you just roll your eyes. "I was just in the city and heard chicks dance on the bar here, so it seemed like a place the Puckasaurus needs to saw through."
It's a good enough explanation, but you can't deny you're disappointed. If he's here on a whim, he's probably alone and as much as your initial reaction was that you didn't want him to know so he couldn't tell anyone, you're now feeling like you're bothered no-one else knows you're here. At this point, you've been so lonely (not that you'd say it out loud) that even he seems like a great idea, but before you can continue talking to him, you see one of the security guys barrel in from the side and grab at the guys bicep.
"Hey, watch it!" Puck half-yells, tugging his arm away but you snap your hand out, setting it on the security guards forearm and shake your head at him.
"It's fine, he's with me," you tell the guy, and he lingers on you, grunting as he drops his grip and wanders off back through the crowd to deal with other assholes.
Puck dusts off the sleeve of his leather jacket and smiles at you. "Thanks, Lopez," he says. "Didn't think you liked me that much."
"I don't," you reply without a beat and grin at him. "But I haven't seen anyone I know in a while," you admit, your voice lower as you exhale heavily and force your own smile when Puck pinches his lips up at the side. "You want a drink?"
He nods and you jut your head towards the bar, urging him to follow you as the act, Unique, clambers up on the bar and begins her performance.
/
You're cooped up on a high table in the corner of the bar, where most of the staff bring their friends when they visit, sipping on a drink with Puck whilst Unique is owning the crowd.
You've been talking about everything that isn't Ohio, like how he's thinking about joining the air force or the army, and it makes you want to ask him about the film and why he isn't spending the money they all made from it, but you can't bring yourself to do it. You know if you mention back home, he's going to talk about the elephant in the room and even three months after, you still don't have an answer for it other than you had to leave to save your already broken heart.
It seems a bit of a sappy answer, and you don't know him, even if you feel like you do from the brief time you spent together in Lima.
"So," Puck punctuates his sentence with a long slurp of his beer, wiping the dribble off with his sleeve. "How'd you end up here?"
You look to him, then around and let out a long breath. "I just got in my car and drove," you shrug, and it's the truth. That is what you did, you're just not giving him the reason as to why. He should know. He was there watching you and Brittany talk all that time ago, probably listening in, but you don't know how to talk about it still. You haven't spoken about it to anyone. "Hit the interstate and saw a sign for New York and just… kept going."
Puck doesn't seem too pleased with your answer, his brows furrowing, and you've never seen the guy like this. Usually, he's eying up his next victim to saw through, and the only interactions you've had with him had been aggressive (on your side) and pervy (on his) so for him to be studying you like he wanted a different reply, it's peculiar to say the least. You don't know exactly what he knows, or even what went down after you walked out the diner, but you still don't want to know.
You didn't throw your phone down a drain for no reason.
"How comes you haven't talked to anyone, then?"
You chew on the inside of your cheek, spinning the beer glass in your hand, watching the liquid swirl around and inhale deeply before looking back to him. "Didn't feel like I could," you try but he narrows his eyes. You did see the need to, but you were too chicken shit to do it after the way you left. "I just couldn't live that life anymore and it's not like I said goodbye to anyone."
He hums in response, flagging down the bartender for another drink as he finishes his, and you think the conversation is over, but then he's adjusting on his stool, leaning onto his elbow and over the table, closer to you. "Artie's here, you know."
You blood freezes inside your veins, your entire body chilling as you glance around the bar nervously. "Like, here?"
"Not yet," he chortles. "He's in the city. Told him I'd come check this place out before I went to get him."
Your eyebrows pull together in the middle of your forehead. "You've been here for like, half an hour," you point out, noting the time and you don't know much about him, but that's a dick move for anyone. "Where is he?"
A vibration answers for you, and Puck pulls out his phone, swiping at the screen and then he's beaming a grin at you, jutting his chin behind your shoulder and you follow the line of sight to see the crowd parting and Artie breaking through, a too-wide smile breaking across his face as he sees you. You can't help but grin back – God, you've missed him – and quickly get to your feet, scurrying over to him and bending down to wrap him up in a tight hug. You close your eyes as he laughs, probably weirded out that you're so touchy feely as you were the total opposite in Lima, and just sink into the embrace, smelling home for the second time tonight.
You didn't know how much you missed that.
"Artie," you cheer quietly into his ear, scrunching up your face as you pull out and he shows his teeth through a grin, looking over your body and then to your face.
"Santana," he responds and bobs his head. "Still the finest piece of Hispanic ass I've ever seen," he comments in a ghetto voice, and you swat at his shoulder before stepping towards his wheelchair and taking the handles, pushing him towards the table you were with, with Puck who high fives the guy in greeting. "This is crazy, yo."
You chuckle and slide on to your stool as Artie applies his brakes, and Puck orders him a drink before they both turn to look at you.
"I can't believe you guys are here," you follow and revel in the way your body feels warm now you've got two familiar faces staring back at you.
It's been such a long time since you felt a piece of home somewhere, not seeing it anywhere in your apartment as you left half your shit in Ohio, that this is the closest you've been to feeling calm. Which is weird, because you thought you were doing well, but it seems it's taken seeing two of your friends from back home to realise that you haven't been happy. Dancing and singing on a bar can only go so far, and the thoughts get so much the excitement of them being here quickly fades, the dull ache you tucked away in a box inside your chest bursting open and making you feel all the things you left behind.
"Yeah," Artie bobs his head and takes the drink Puck hands him, after taking it from one of the waitresses with a wink. "Who knew you worked here," he adds on, but the smile falls from your face when the unspoken answer crosses everyone's mind and the air gets awkward and tense.
"Ha, yeah, um–" You choke on the words they come out through a broken chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck with your free hand and you suck your lips into your mouth. "About that... I'm sorry, I just had to leave," you say and swallow against your thickening throat, meeting two pairs of concerned, saddened eyes. You don't really want to get into this, but the topic is slightly unavoidable. The last time you saw either of them, you had your back turned and you dropped your headset at the door as you left.
"You couldn't tell any of us where you were going?" Artie prods, but his tone is soft and you're glad it's not Kurt because you think maybe Artie would be the good cop in this scenario. "We were all really worried about you."
Guilt pangs your chest, and you clench your jaw against it. At the time, you were in such a fuzzy mess that you didn't even consider how it would feel for the rest of your friends for you to just disappear without another word. No text message. No email. Just straight up ghosting. But you owe them an explanation, and there's this burning urge forming in the back of your skull to ask about someone specifically, but you don't.
"I know and I'm sorry," you whisper and inhale shakily, biting your bottom lip as you look between them. "I was going to when I got to wherever I was going," you continue and Artie's head tilts with empathy, but Puck removes his vision from you and directs it towards the waitress that walks by in a pair of small jean shorts. "But I kind of threw my phone away and I just thought you guys would be better off without me after…" The words die in your throat, too painful to speak but Artie nods, pinching the corner of his lip up in a sympathetic smile, getting it. "After everything," you finish off, gulping thickly.
"Well, that ain't the case," Puck interjects and your eyes snap to him as he raises a brow. "Couldn't even finish the damn porno without you."
You glance at Artie, confused. You know from heading up the whole thing that Artie could've done it without you, and you were the only person to leave so there was plenty of opportunity to create something with the material you were there for, and even the material you don't want to think about. The one that happened after you left. You still can't think about it too explicitly without feeling your heart crack open even more.
Still, you don't get why they couldn't finish the movie. They had everything needed, and more than you saw, and you had a matter of hours left of actually filming – one scene exactly, if you remember correctly – so it strikes you as strange.
"How come?"
Puck looks to Artie who shrugs back at him, as if he's telling him he doesn't mind if he answers this one and the guy with the mohawk sweeps his hand forward, bowing his head.
"We needed the Santana touch," Artie replies and it's so simple, but it still makes the confusion within you grow. "You weren't there anymore and it all kind of fell apart," he continues, and you lean back, exhaling through your nose as your mind tries to figure out what they're getting at. You don't know what the 'Santana touch' is, seeing as Artie wrote most of the script, and directed and filmed it, and all you basically did was sit on a chair and delegate. Rudely, half the time, in fact.
"Which reminds me," he follows up and reaches into his jacket to grab at his wallet but holds it in his lap as he other arm stretches out toward you. "You technically still owe me money."
You're confused for a whole other reason now, lifting your eyebrow as you focus on his palm. "I owe you money?"
"My mom was pissed about the credit card bill after you got a hold of it," Artie retorts, but you can tell he's joking about the money by the teasing glint in his eye. You let out a short chuckle and he grins at you, retracting his hand and putting his wallet back into his jacket but then his face returns to a less amused one and you can feel it coming. "But seriously, we couldn't do it without you," he repeats and your breath wavers as you take it. "It just wasn't the same anymore."
You understand that more than anything else he's said, the sadness gripping your chest, but you need to swerve out of this conversation. You can feel a certain name – that so far has been unspoken – lingering around, waiting to be brought up and you're not sure how you can deal with hearing her name after all this time, or get any sort of update about how she is. You haven't been able to say it out loud, or even really think it, because the memories that come with it are now tainted.
All you can think about when you think of blonde hair and blue eyes is the way those eyes were looking at you the last time you were in front of them. The way they were defeated, and broken, and you close your own against the throb inside your chest as it wracks through you. Three months and you still feel the same as the day you left.
"You ever coming back?" Puck asks, and it's what you need to restart your brain and get out of this mood before it ruins your entire night. It's Saturday, so you need to be on your A game, and you know you've been sat here with your friends for too long already. It'll only be a matter of minutes before one of the girls comes looking for you as Unique is finishing up, and Cassie will be pissed as hell if she sees you socialising and not working. She's not like Holly was.
"I don't think so," you finally grit out and luckily, you hear your name being called by Mercedes who pushes through the crowd and eyes the table as she wanders up, hands on her hips. "Hey, Wheezy."
Mercedes flashes you an unsure smile, eyes flicking to Artie and Puck with hesitation. "Hey," she utters slowly, vision moving to you. "Who are these guys?"
You shake your head, apologising for your rudeness as you stand up. "Sorry, this is Artie and Puck," you reply and point to the both of them, before pointing to Mercedes. "And that's Mercedes, my home girl."
"Got that right, bitch," Mercedes grins and Puck waggles his eyebrows at her, offering his hand over the table to shake hers.
"Noah Puckerman," he introduces himself and you throw Artie a quizzical look as he watches the interaction. "Pleasure to meet you, my African Queen."
Mercedes looks all sorts of unimpressed as Puck takes her hand and raises it, pressing a kiss to the back before winking at her. "Yeah, no," she deadpans, and you burst out into laughter, slapping her shoulder.
"Ignore him," you wave your hand towards the guy with the mohawk who's no longer smiling, instead looks entirely offended that he just got straight up rejected. "Only thing he'll give you is an STD."
All of you chuckle at your joke, except Puck who groans and clicks his tongue before slumping back on to his stool and returns to his drink, but Artie just flicks his head up, not offering a hand – like Puck did – to Mercedes who nods her head down at the guy, in a silent greeting. She then turns to you, eyebrow raised, and you can see she's wondering why you wouldn't tell her that your friends from back home are visiting – she's the closest thing you've got to a friend in New York – but now isn't the time to explain.
You didn't know they were going to be here, so you're still a little shell shocked.
"Ready to get back up there?" She asks you, and you grab your drink, downing the rest which earns a cheer from Artie, and wipe the back of your mouth with the bottom of your soaked tank top as it can't get any more ruined, and bob your head.
"Let's go," you confirm, and Mercedes flashes a smile at the two guys before whisking off, but you turn to them, hands grabbing on to the table and you know you don't want to leave it here. You haven't felt this good in a while and you'd like to catch up with them. Especially after they've both been able to avoid the topic of a certain someone, so you speak quickly, not wanting to hesitate too much or back out. "Can we have lunch tomorrow? Say midday?"
Artie glances at Puck, but he just shrugs, and they both look at you again. "Sure," Artie agrees and lets his hands fall to his wheels, grabbing them. "We're flying back tomorrow at 4 so will have to be a quick catch up," he continues, and your chest tightens again. "Might need your new number, though."
You click your tongue at yourself and whip out your cell from your back pocket, quickly trading numbers as Cassie shouts your name through a megaphone, calling you over. You almost drop your phone in the process, but you want to see them again and so you smile at both of them softly, silently apologising for having to get back to work so quickly, but they get it and wave at you as you disappear into the crowd once more.
/
More of a filler chapter, but necessary. What did you think?