misc: int

morethanabottleblonde  asked:

[left safely tucked away from melting snow on the Puckerman front door is an envelope containing $700 in cash. The only note left reads: "I hope this helps for bills or groceries, and that's enough. New years are about new beginnings." It's unsigned, the handwriting of someone trying to change their own.]

[Puck frowned, finding the envelope in the alcove of his doorway when he arrived home from work. Paper in his hands, he stepped inside of his home, already trying to rip the tab at the top open. Throwing down his leather jacket, Puck’s eyes widened when he finally got into the envelope.]

“What the fuck?”

[He couldn’t believe his eyes. 700 dollars? Who just had that kind of money lying around? The note’s handwriting was unrecognizable (he knew Kurt’s girly handwriting and Rachel’s man-writing anywhere), but he the scent the letter carried, even through the fresh smell of snow, reminded him of someone. His first reaction to the money was to get furious, embarrassed – but the twinge of gratefulness that pierced his heart was enough to make him shove it back into the envelope and into his pocket. He didn’t need help from anyone. He was paying the bills perfectly well on his own, and if someone had offered him the money in person, Puck would have pun–

New years are about new beginnings.

Puck gritted his teeth and bore it.]

Kai froze at the voice that seemed to be aimed at him, gaze immediately dropping to see if it was true…. And when he realized it was, he turned what was no doubt a very amusing shade of red. “Aaah- oh no, that’s super embarrassing, I’m sorry,” he fretted, dropping his bag to wiggle out of his shirt, fumbling with it for a minute to get it the right way before sliding it back on again. While he did so he spoke, voice muffled a bit by his activity, “I guess it’s been a bit, yeah. Like, nothing really bad has happened or anything, I’m just really nervous!! Being back here, it’s a big deal, you know??”


phxkai-ia

“There’s no need to be sorry,” he replied, watching as the man unashamedly took off his shirt in the open, wishing somewhat he could assist in some way but held back without question. It would be far worse to brush arms with him that watch him wriggle out and back in. A smile hesitated within his muscles and then never quite made an appearance. The sight was an amusing one in the least, and in any other time he would have smiled at the admittance that the other had returned. Some part of him was delighted by it, but the emotion didn’t quite stretch that far. “It is,” he conceded, and tried to be friendlier with his tone than his emotions admitted. “How does it feel to be back?” Rival asked kindly and before any voice of his could scream objection, he held out a gloved hand, far more unsteady than usual. It was his left, no less, and he prayed it would be squeezed hard. “My name is Rival by the way. What’s yours?”