+ mouth full of words.

• Tagging: Noah Puckerman & Kurt Hummel
• Time: Evening, 3/2
• Location: Out near the tracks
• Notes: There’s a lot left unsaid.

PUCK:

He should have waited outside for Kurt. The foyer felt incredibly small, though that may have been because Puck had been pacing it for the past ten minutes, waiting for the tell-tale knock. Come over, he’d essentially written. I’ll be there soon, Kurt had responded, and wasn’t that something, because Kurt had a boyfriend and it wasn’t Puck, but there he went, maybe sacrificing his evening to see him. They had the rest of the weekend, he rationalized. They being Kurt and Evans, even if Kurt coming over made a part of Puck— a part he’d been trying to get rid of— feel triumphant. Except Puck wasn’t that guy anymore. He didn’t want to be that guy. He refused to be, because that guy never got what he wanted full-time. 

This guy, his brain provided. Doesn’t get anything he wants full-time either. Still, he didn’t want to be everyone’s self-fulfilling prophecy. Again.

Puck lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose before thinking better of it. The swelling had gone, but he still had two impressive raccoon rings around his eyes, the clear imprint of knuckles kissing his skin. He made a fist instead, jammed it into the pocket of his letterman. 

He started forward when the doorbell sounded, loud and sharp, and his mother’s voice— just as loud and sharp— came belting through the house.

“Who is it?”

“A friend!” Puck shouted, shoving his feet into his boots. He forwent tying his laces for shoving them into the boot when he heard his mother come into the foyer.

“You’re grounded, Noah,” she said, thin eyebrows scrunched. Puck frowned down at his boots.

“Ma,” he started. Stopped. His lips pressed into a line, the cut at one edge pulling slightly. “I need to see him.”

Ruth Puckerman frowned at her son, took in the guilty, weighted look on his face and sucked at her teeth.

“Fine,” she murmured. She crossed the carpeted hardwood to the door. A fond smile blossomed on her face. “Is it Finn?”

When the door opened, letting in chill air, Puck’s ma froze. She stared at Kurt a moment, chapped lips parted on an unspoken ‘oh’. 

“Noah, your friend is here—”

“Yeah, Ma, I know.” Puck squeezed his way through her and the door, stood at the frame and felt his heart make a slow descent into the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure what she was thinking, but he could make a guess, especially with the way suspicion and wariness stuttered over her face like she wasn’t quite sure which to choose. The corners of her mouth pinched into a tiny smile. She glanced back at her son. 

“Don’t go too far,” she said. Puck lingered, and when he realized she wasn’t going to introduce herself like she normally did, the bottom fell out of his stomach. Puck’s gaze flicked to Kurt and he shook his head.

“Come on, dude,” he muttered. His hand caught Kurt’s elbow for a second, maybe even a second too long, as he walked right on past him and down the drive.