lormenari

"Hey, Puck? I've got something for you." Sam comes in, feeling nervously excited as he pulls out an envelope and holds it out. He's seen Beth a few times now, just hanging out with her because she's a cool kid - she's her dad's kid, definitely - and he's gotten some photos from Shelby of Beth throughout the years. He also has the pictures he's snapped of her as they did stuff like watch movies and have tea parties together, and he's put all the pictures together for Puck, thinking that he'd totally love them.

"So, I have something to tell you, too," Sam continues before Puck can open the envelope, leaning over and giving him a quick kiss. "I... I went to see Shelby. Recently. A couple times. Because I wanted to get you those pictures - they're in the envelope - and I wanted to see Beth... and maybe potentially organize a visit for you to see her, too." Sam smiles hopefully, trying to gauge Puck's reaction.

Sam almost doesn't mind that their entire kitchen counter is covered with various pizza toppings that could fulfill his calorie intake for the next month, because it's been a long, hard week of pretending to ignore the swell of jealousy when Puck's on the phone with Quinn, or when Quinn pops in for a surprise visit, or when Puck quietly leaves to see her, and now it's finally Friday, and Sam has his boyfriend all to himself. He's hoping he can get Puck to talk a little. It's not that he's too hung up on labels or anything, but sometimes he looks at Puck and he has no idea if he's straight or gay or bi or likes kangaroos, and Sam would just like to know, or at least help Puck figure it out. Somewhere along the way, maybe he can convince Puck to have real tab A, slot B sex with him, too. It's one thing if Puck isn't ready to take that step. It's another thing entirely if Puck thinks that's something gay people do and "I am not gay, Sam."

At least his... unique love life gives him lots of material to work with when he's trying to write songs. (He's pretty sure his slew of emo rage ballads aren't going to make it onto their album, though.)

They're making a pizza together, and Sam's trying to keep his half mostly green while Puck piles on meat and cheese. "How do you keep yourself looking like this when you eat like that?" Sam licks some sauce from his thumb before putting his arms around Puck's waist from behind, skimming his hands over the firm muscles of his stomach. He kisses the back of Puck's neck, then rests his chin on Puck's shoulder, grinning as he watches the pizza grow. "I like this super domestic thing we've got going on. All we need are matching aprons."

Sam's mostly asleep, but awake enough to know he feels like shit. Puck's bed is firm and new, not broken in yet, and it feels too hard and way too empty. He'd piled up all their extra pillows to try to trick himself into believing he's not totally alone in their brand new (empty) house, in Puck's brand new (mostly empty) bed, but after sleeping curled up against Puck's warm body for the entire final leg of their tour, this is an unwelcome change. The house doesn't feel like home. And Sam doesn't feel like himself knowing Puck spent the entire night with Quinn. God, they probably fucked at least three times, and Quinn probably told Puck how much she loves him, and Puck held her all night and breathed against her neck and might have realized just how much he truly misses girls, with their dainty figures and silky hair and smooth skin, and fucking hell, Sam was so stupid to think he could ever compete with that. Like he could ever have Puck completely.

He buries his face further into his pillow, furrowing his brow miserably. Everything always comes back to Quinn. Groupies, he can handle. They're just temporary. But Quinn? She's permanent. It's different when Puck is with her. It means something. The way Puck looks at her isn't just an act to hide what's really going on. The way he kisses her, the excitement when he shamelessly touches her - it's real. When he fucks her, it's real. And it's the only thing he won't do with Sam. Because Sam's not a girl. Sam's not Quinn.

He hears a key turning in the front door, and he starts slightly, surprising himself. He thought he'd be ecstatic when Puck got home, but he just feels hurt. He pulls the sheets up to his shoulders and turns onto his side, his back to the door.

It’s 6am and he’s already tired. He slept on the floor. Stevie, Stacey, and his mom all fit themselves into the bed, and there’s a cot for his dad. Sam’s back hurts. The blanket he uses is scratchy; he misses his old blue comforter that he’s had since he was nine.

Sam gets up before everyone else. He needs to or else he’ll be pressed against four other people trying to get ready in the morning. He needs time alone to breathe before he starts another day.

( He hates this bathroom. )