don't stop believin' in quick

The Whisper

She’s sure people think he’s whispering obscene things in her ear - and sometimes he does - but today, he’s whispering that he loves her.

She stopped him from saying it the night before. If he said it this time, without her having to ask, it meant that this was real. It wasn’t for fun, it wasn’t another mistake. It would be real.

She didn’t need one more complication in her life, and in her mind, it could only complicate things.

But as “I love you, Quinn” rolled off his tongue, she changed her mind. She pulled back, and instead of running like last time, she looked into his eyes and said it back. 

So she grins like a girl in love as he whispers in her ear while the rest of the glee club has no idea what he’s saying.

Her hazel eyes widened, and her stomach whooshed out from underneath her, the way it did at the top of the giant hill on the Iron Dragon roller coaster at Cedar Point. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her bag slid off her arm and landed in the soft grass. “What I’ve been thinking about doing all through practice. This.” Puck pinned her against a metal support beam and pressed his lips to hers before she could say or think anything. His mouth was warm and surprisingly soft, his lips salty, and the warmth seeped into Quinn’s body, starting at her own lips and spreading down to her fingertips and her toes. She was definitely going over the roller coaster hill.
—  Glee: The Beginning: An Original Novel (Sophia Lowell)

The Fight

She was finally his. His. And everyone in McKinley knew it. So when he saw some dude he’d never seen before with his arm propped against a locker next to Quinn, and her grinning, he flipped.

After scaring off the little creep, he turned his attention to the Cheerio.

“What was that?”

“You. Being a jackass,” she spat matter-of-factly.

He shook off the fact that she called him a “jackass” and pressed on.

“You were…..smiling at that douche!”

“Oh! I was smiling at him, how could I?” She couldn’t help but mock him. She wanted to punch him and kiss him at the same time.

“Yeah, smiling at him.” He was already proud of himself, he didn’t beat the kid to a bloody pulp, though going back to juvie would have been worth it.

“Let me get this straight….” she began. “You can flirt with whatever girl you want, and I can’t even have a conversation with another guy?” She furrowed her brow, waiting for his sure-to-be-classic response.

He thought about it for a second, “Yeah. Well, only the hot chicks, remember?”

She pushed him out of the way, rolling her eyes.

He shouted after her as she parted the spectators in the hallway, “I’m still coming over for dinner tonight, right?”

She threw up her right hand, with the middle finger pointing to the ceiling. She couldn’t deny that their relationship was never boring.

Guess I’ll be sneaking in the window, then. He smirked at how clever he was.

(Thanks to Marcela for the idea of Jealous!Puck)

The Library

Quinn had taken up hiding out in the library occasionally to avoid being around Puck’s mom too much. She already felt like a burden, and the woman wasn’t happy with the whole situation. They didn’t necessarily get along, but tolerated the other. She’d never want to sound ungrateful. He did find her sleeping in her car and convinced his mother to take her in, and she did agree.

It made it more awkward that Puck’s mother was pretty clear about the fact that she wanted them to keep her granddaughter. She had even begun suggesting Jewish names. At least Puck never pressured her. He never did.

She was in the middle of studying for her US History test, reading about the attack on Pearl Harbor when a shadow blocked the light on her page.

“You didn’t come home.”

“You noticed,” she snorted, returning to writing her notes.

Puck sat down and looked to see if anyone else was in the room. No one who knew him needed to hear any wimpy sounding thing he may say to Quinn in a moment of weakness, and jeopardize his image.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re always playing those damn games, your mom is always fussing about something, and your sister is always wanting me to braid her hair.”

“Hanna likes your hair,” he shrugged.

“I just need time to myself,” she explained.

“You have my room to yourself.”

He looked at the shelf of audiobooks next to them. He thought it was cool they could put books on to tape, taking all the effort out of reading. She cleared her throat, and his attention snapped back to her. He smirked, “I could always give you company, if you want…you just have to ask.”

She put her head into the palm of her hand. He’d never get how hard this was for her. His mom didn’t disown him, he had a home. A family. 

“I just need me time.”

Oh, oh….she needed that. “Like I said, babe…just ask,” this time he winked.

If she could have found his shin easily, she would have kicked him. She pursed her lips and raised the brow.

“I actually notice when you’re not there,” he said quietly. Her expression relaxed, so he continued. “No one is telling me how dumb or wrong I am, and no one is cuddling up next to me watching Adult Swim.”

Family Guy is the stupidest show ever,” she added.

“But you watch it with me every night.”

“You hog the remote.”

He knows that she knows that if she wanted the remote she would take it.

“She likes it, too,” he motioned to her ever-growing stomach.

“She likes being near you, why else would I cuddle up next to you?” Maybe she stretched that a bit, but the little girl did get more active when she heard or sensed Puck.

“Just….” he paused, looking for the least wussy way to get his point across, “text me or something next time you come here to study. I don’t like worrying about you.”

She smiled and agreed.

The Piano

He had been listening to her mindlessly and erratically stroke the keys for what seemed like forever. He watched her loose golden hair catch the tiny bit of sun permeating through the blinds as he leaned his own head against the metal door frame, arms crossing over his chest.

“Are you stalking me now?” She was still facing the piano. The room was silent except for his thumping heart.

He still wasn’t sure she actually said anything, but he stood up straight.

“I said,” she said a little louder and more forcefully, “are you stalking me now?”

“I didn’t know you play,” he mumbled, walking over to the piano bench. He didn’t ask if he could sit down.

“I used to.”

She has her back slightly turned to him, an unwelcome invitation to anyone else. But he knows better. He knows this girl.

He can smell her expensive shampoo with how close he is to her. It reminds him of the months when she lived with him, and the hallway always smelled like her shampoo for a while after she got out.

“What are you doing?” He finally asks.

“What do you care?”

They could go in circles like this forever, but he breaks it up.

“Play me something,” he whispers.

He hears a gulp, right before she pecks out Twinke, Twinkle, Little Star.

He recoils and stands up, staring at her.

“Do you ever think about how,” he pauses, looking at the scuff on his boot, “she’s probably listening to some toy playing that same song right now?”

“I try not to think about it,” she breathes.

It.

It is a she,” he reminds her.

Reaching into his back pocket, he grabs his wallet, opens it up and finds what he’s looking for.

He tosses the candid picture of Quinn, Beth, and himself across the piano and walks out of the room.