if I could tell you 2/?
Title: If I could tell you
Chapter: 2/?
Rating: PG-13 this chapter, M eventually
Characters: Puck, Rachel, OC
Word Count: 2900
Summary: Puck and Rachel get another chance when unexpected events bring her to his doorstep years after graduation.
Rachel wakes up slowly, blinking against the morning light coming in through the wood slats of the blinds and her surroundings are so unfamiliar, it takes her a minute to remember where she is and how she got here.
It's not the yellow childhood bedroom that she and Connor spent the last week in, still half-packed up from her first, and as it turned out, only, full year at OSU, with its unwanted photographs and ribbons and mementos fluttering like unhappy ghosts. It's not the tiny blue bedroom in the house on Grove Street that she shared with Finn for almost four years, or the striped wallpaper in the apartment over Burt's garage that they lived in for the two years before that. It's not the anonymous motel rooms of the last few days, with battered furniture and ugly pictures screwed into the wall with metal brackets.
Cream colored walls. A large window with remote city sounds filtering in through the hum of the air conditioner. A soft, dark blue sheet pulled over her and Connor curled along her side. San Francisco. Noah's apartment. Technically speaking, Noah's bed, although probably only the gossips in Lima would bother to make that particular correlation. After all, she's been one of the town's major topics of conversation for years now.
Connor is still sleeping, breathing deeply and steadily, his lashes a dark smudge against his cheek. She slips out of bed, careful not to disturb him (she's hopeful that he'll sleep for at least another hour) and suddenly catches sight of herself in the mirror over the bureau. Wrinkling her nose at yesterday's crumpled clothes, she's unpleasantly aware that she didn't brush her teeth last night, or clearly, she thinks as she hunts for a brush in her bag, her hair either.
It doesn't really matter of course. Noah's seen her in worse. The dress she wore to that party she threw junior year springs to mind, and of course none of the outfits she wore freshman or sophomore year were exactly improved when doused with colored ice. He isn't going to care if she's wearing a ratty old tee shirt with spit-up stains on it or a cocktail dress or if she turns up in a catsuit. (Actually, he might care about that one, she doubts he's changed that much.)
Still, a shower couldn't hurt.
With a last check on a peacefully sleeping Connor, she grabs a towel from the pile he'd left last night and heads out into the living room. Last night she'd been too stressed and tired to notice anything beyond a hazy impression of light wood and dark colors, but she looks around in approval this morning. It's uncluttered, but comfortable, with a desk in the corner, a black leather sofa and chair and a series framed concert posters on the wall next to the entertainment center. An absolutely beautiful acoustic guitar rests on a stand in the corner and she wonders what happened to the battered old Gibson he used to play in high school.
She wanders into the kitchen, and there's no sign of Noah, but somewhat surprisingly, there are signs that someone prepares food here on a regular basis: a good set of knives and a cutting board, mixing bowls on an open shelf and several different sizes of saucepans hanging beneath. She looks at the photographs on the refrigerator and her eyes are immediately drawn to one of Noah standing shoulder to shoulder with an attractive blonde. They're on some kind of large boat, at a party possibly, and the intimate way the woman has her head resting against him and the way his lips are brushing her hair leave no doubt as to the nature of their relationship.
The woman looks cool and put-together in a silk blouse and pencil skirt, over-sized sunglasses pushed back on her head and Rachel suspects that Kurt would probably recognize the shoes and the expensive-looking handbag slung over one arm. With Noah standing next to her in a suit (tie-less, she notices, he always was the first of the boys to yank his off after a performance) the two of them are absolutely breathtaking together.
That's probably why she can't catch her breath properly.
She's happy for him. Really.
Forcing herself to look away, she recognizes several of Becca and Aviva, a picture of Noah with his arms around Mike and Kurt on graduation day, and one of all of them at Nationals, senior year. It's the same photo she has, the one where they're all beaming over their trophy and she's wedged in between Finn and Noah, staring fearlessly into the camera with a million-watt smile. It was probably the happiest day of her high-school career.
(She knows exactly where her copy of that photo is; pressed between the pages of a novel she didn't particularly like and will probably never read again. She hasn't looked at it in years.)
There's a familiar weight in her chest and as she turns her head, she see a note on the table, her name written on top in a familiar sprawling handwriting.
Rach,
Didn't want to wake you, but I'm headed in to the studio for a couple of hours to wrap up a few things. I should be back sometime around ten. Cereal's in the cupboard above the sink. If you don't let C-man eat the good stuff with sugar, I think there's some Rice Krispies in the back. I picked up soy milk at the corner store on my way back from my run (loads of vegan shit there if you need something, gotta love San Francisco, right?) so that's in the fridge.
See you soon,
Noah
She smiles at the 'C-man' and ruthlessly clamps down on any lingering trace of regret. She's moving forward from now on, in fact, she's moving straight into the shower before Connor wakes up.
*****
Puck drops another set of files on Josh's desk, and grins at his startled assistant. "You'll be fine. Just watch the compression settings when the slide guitar comes in. I already told you about the reverb, right?"
"Like five times," the kid says.
Smartass. It's why he hired him. (Well, that and the three years of experience and the glowing letter of recommendation.)
"And you confirmed New Rules for the pre-production meeting?"
"They're on for Monday at 3:00. I think Jared might be upset, though. I got 'background arrangements' out of what he was saying, but not much else."
Nothing new there. Jared Lofts may be a brilliant songwriter and the visionary behind on the the most promising young bands on the studio's label, but he's a crazy perfectionist, and more than capable of throwing a total bitch-fit if everything doesn't play out exactly right.
(Familiar? You could say that.)
"I'll keep that in mind when they get here," he shrugs. "All right, you're in charge. Enjoy it while it lasts."
Josh looks at him curiously. "Dude, you realize this is going to suck up my entire weekend, right?"
Sure, he gets it. This isn't exactly the best timing, but when an old friend turns up on your door-step unexpectedly, this is what you do. (He'll ignore the fact that when Mike came to visit last year, he shoved a map and his BART card at him and set him loose on the town.)
"Sorry about that. I'll make it up to you," he promises. With that, he's out the door and he's kind of excited because he while loves his job (and deep down, he also loves that it's a slap in the face to everyone who thought he wasn't going to amount to shit), it's still cool to have an unexpected couple of days off.
Like he said, helping out an old high-school friend.
Which is exactly what he tells his mother when he finally gets hold of her, and honestly he should know better by now. Somehow that woman always manages to turn it around on him.
This time, it goes something like this:
"Yes Ma, Finn and Rachel. Shit, who the hell do you think I'm talking about!"
"Language, Noah!"
He rolls his eyes, (and is sort of glad she can't see him do it) counts to ten and tries again. "Right. Okay. Finn Hudson who spent sixth through ninth grade hanging out in our basement. Rachel Berry who you included in your shabbat prayers all through high school. That Finn and Rachel. Can you explain to me what the f...what's been going on in Lima that you haven't been telling me about?"
There's a lengthy silence, then: "Since you ask, Noah, there has been some talk about problems with their marriage."
Well yeah, he's kind of got that. "Like what?" he asks impatiently.
She sighs. "People love to talk, honey, you know that. It seems that Miriam Greenblatt's daughter lives next to door to the two of them, and it's ridiculous, the time she has on her hands. The woman must be keeping a log of every raised voice or slammed door. And someone may have said something about Finn spending a lot of time out of town this summer. Honestly, I don't listen any more. But you, Noah," and here her voice sharpens slightly, "Why this sudden interest? You haven't asked me about the two of them for years..."
Absolutely true.
"...and I certainly didn't realize that you would be so concerned."
Huge lie. Aviva Puckerman knows him through and through, and while she might not have said anything (what was there to say?) she's gotta have a pretty good idea of what sent him running off to the fucking edge of the continent a few weeks after high school graduation.
"What do you mean?" he asks defensively. "They're...they're friends. This is the kind of shi...stuff you should know about your friends. Just because I'm not in Lima anymore..." (and thankful for it every goddamn day of his life) "doesn't mean I don't want to know."
"Bull," she says crisply. "What's changed?"
Well hell. Probably nothing. (She may be here, but that's a long way from being his.)
"Ma, I gotta get to work early, so I'll have to call you back."
"Noah."
He's only just now realizing that this is going to play a little too well in his mother's world. She's adored Rachel for years and now she's bound to make something out of nothing. For his sanity's sake he should shut up immediately. Instead, he blurts it all out: the knock on his door, the problems with Rachel's apartment, her job, everything. He's pretty sure Connor's bunny even gets a mention.
Her response kind of knocks him back on his ass.
"Be careful, Noah," she says soberly and then makes some kind of excuse that he's too surprised to call her on and gets off the phone.
The woman is completely nuts. (Even so, he's wondering what the hell she meant by that the entire way home.)
He totally forgets about his mother and her craziness the second he opens the door to his place and the first thing he hears is Rachel singing something about ladybugs and Connor's happy little chirp in response. The two of them are in the kitchen, Rachel flitting back and forth between the table and the sink and Connor perched on a chair stirring a bowl of cereal.
"Hey," he says breathlessly. (Stairs.)
"Good morning," she replies, smiling. "We're having some breakfast. Thank you so much for the soy milk, it was very thoughtful of you."
"Like I said, San Francisco, we've got it all," he grins and then turning to Connor says, "Hi, buddy. What's up?" The little boy ducks his head shyly and then peeps up and holds out his spoon towards Puck. "Rice Krispies, huh? I like those, too."
"They make noise," Connor says, his eyes going wide.
"What do they say?" he asks, playing along.
Connor giggles and looks to his mother who supplies, "Snap, crackle, pop, right sweetie?"
He shakes his head. "Nope. You gotta listen a little closer." Connor tilts his head and listens intently. "Close your eyes, dude." When Connor screws his eyes shut, Puck squeaks, "We're done swimming! Eat us all up!"
Connor's eyes fly open and he lets out a huge belly laugh before saying, "I like him!"
"I do too," Rachel replies. "Do you remember Aviva from temple? Noah is her little boy."
"He's not little!" Connor says, clearly puzzled.
"I got big," he assures the boy solemnly. "Now eat your cereal, so you can too."
While Connor digs in, he slides past Rachel on his way to the refrigerator. (Shut up. It's a small kitchen.) Pulling out the real milk, he eyes her.
"You can drink out of the carton if you want to," she teases him. "This is your place, after all."
Right here, this, this is the Rachel Berry he remembers, the one with the smile that reaches all the way to her eyes.
And now he's been staring too long, she's shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, and he shakes his head and tries to pull himself together.
"No, it's just that the glasses are behind you," he explains.
"Oh, of course!" She moves left and he goes right and they block each other again. "Here, let me."
Their fingers brush when she hands him a glass and they both take a step back.
"So, did you find everything you need," he asks casually, focusing on filling his glass.
She touches her hair. It's down now and just brushing the tops of her shoulders, the ends curling gently, longer than the sensible bob she had the last time he saw her in that supermarket in Lima.
"I borrowed some of the shampoo and conditioner in the shower, and used the hairdryer under the sink. I hope your friend won't mind," she says, eyes flicking down.
Oh right. Jen.
"Nah, she won't mind," he reassures her.
Probably not, anyway. He's not really sure about the etiquette on this kind of thing.
And look, it's not like he forgot about her or anything. (Shit, he didn't did he?) They've been dating for almost a year and a half; sliding into something serious enough so that she's got a few things hanging in his bedroom closet and obviously a crap-load of toiletries in his bathroom, which, you know, is fine, because it's easier for her to get for her office from his place in the morning. In fact, she probably would have been here this morning if she wasn't in L.A. on business.
He takes a deep breath and tells Rachel a few things about Jen. How she's a junior associate at Glick & Eisely working contracts in entertainment law. How they met at an industry party and hit it off. (He doesn't mention that they hit it off several times that night; he's learned a little discretion since high school.) How she met his mom and sister when they came out during Becca's spring break. (He also doesn't mention that his mom's lips were so pinched together that she looked like she was sucking lemons the whole visit and how Becca straight out called Jen a bitch.)
"She sounds wonderful," Rachel says, and then gesturing to a picture of the two of them at one of Jen's events, continues, "And she's certainly very lovely."
"Yeah, hot, smart, and crazy about me, who would have thought, huh?" he jokes uncomfortably. Whatever. High school was a long time ago, but constantly being a distant second stings, all right?
Rachel glares at him. (She never let him get away with that shit back then either.) "I think she's a very lucky girl, Noah!"
Maybe Jen is the lucky one, he thinks as he heads to his bedroom to change. For whatever reason he doesn't feel all that lucky right at this second.
In fact, he feels kind of fucked.
Chapter 3
Chapter: 2/?
Rating: PG-13 this chapter, M eventually
Characters: Puck, Rachel, OC
Word Count: 2900
Summary: Puck and Rachel get another chance when unexpected events bring her to his doorstep years after graduation.
Rachel wakes up slowly, blinking against the morning light coming in through the wood slats of the blinds and her surroundings are so unfamiliar, it takes her a minute to remember where she is and how she got here.
It's not the yellow childhood bedroom that she and Connor spent the last week in, still half-packed up from her first, and as it turned out, only, full year at OSU, with its unwanted photographs and ribbons and mementos fluttering like unhappy ghosts. It's not the tiny blue bedroom in the house on Grove Street that she shared with Finn for almost four years, or the striped wallpaper in the apartment over Burt's garage that they lived in for the two years before that. It's not the anonymous motel rooms of the last few days, with battered furniture and ugly pictures screwed into the wall with metal brackets.
Cream colored walls. A large window with remote city sounds filtering in through the hum of the air conditioner. A soft, dark blue sheet pulled over her and Connor curled along her side. San Francisco. Noah's apartment. Technically speaking, Noah's bed, although probably only the gossips in Lima would bother to make that particular correlation. After all, she's been one of the town's major topics of conversation for years now.
Connor is still sleeping, breathing deeply and steadily, his lashes a dark smudge against his cheek. She slips out of bed, careful not to disturb him (she's hopeful that he'll sleep for at least another hour) and suddenly catches sight of herself in the mirror over the bureau. Wrinkling her nose at yesterday's crumpled clothes, she's unpleasantly aware that she didn't brush her teeth last night, or clearly, she thinks as she hunts for a brush in her bag, her hair either.
It doesn't really matter of course. Noah's seen her in worse. The dress she wore to that party she threw junior year springs to mind, and of course none of the outfits she wore freshman or sophomore year were exactly improved when doused with colored ice. He isn't going to care if she's wearing a ratty old tee shirt with spit-up stains on it or a cocktail dress or if she turns up in a catsuit. (Actually, he might care about that one, she doubts he's changed that much.)
Still, a shower couldn't hurt.
With a last check on a peacefully sleeping Connor, she grabs a towel from the pile he'd left last night and heads out into the living room. Last night she'd been too stressed and tired to notice anything beyond a hazy impression of light wood and dark colors, but she looks around in approval this morning. It's uncluttered, but comfortable, with a desk in the corner, a black leather sofa and chair and a series framed concert posters on the wall next to the entertainment center. An absolutely beautiful acoustic guitar rests on a stand in the corner and she wonders what happened to the battered old Gibson he used to play in high school.
She wanders into the kitchen, and there's no sign of Noah, but somewhat surprisingly, there are signs that someone prepares food here on a regular basis: a good set of knives and a cutting board, mixing bowls on an open shelf and several different sizes of saucepans hanging beneath. She looks at the photographs on the refrigerator and her eyes are immediately drawn to one of Noah standing shoulder to shoulder with an attractive blonde. They're on some kind of large boat, at a party possibly, and the intimate way the woman has her head resting against him and the way his lips are brushing her hair leave no doubt as to the nature of their relationship.
The woman looks cool and put-together in a silk blouse and pencil skirt, over-sized sunglasses pushed back on her head and Rachel suspects that Kurt would probably recognize the shoes and the expensive-looking handbag slung over one arm. With Noah standing next to her in a suit (tie-less, she notices, he always was the first of the boys to yank his off after a performance) the two of them are absolutely breathtaking together.
That's probably why she can't catch her breath properly.
She's happy for him. Really.
Forcing herself to look away, she recognizes several of Becca and Aviva, a picture of Noah with his arms around Mike and Kurt on graduation day, and one of all of them at Nationals, senior year. It's the same photo she has, the one where they're all beaming over their trophy and she's wedged in between Finn and Noah, staring fearlessly into the camera with a million-watt smile. It was probably the happiest day of her high-school career.
(She knows exactly where her copy of that photo is; pressed between the pages of a novel she didn't particularly like and will probably never read again. She hasn't looked at it in years.)
There's a familiar weight in her chest and as she turns her head, she see a note on the table, her name written on top in a familiar sprawling handwriting.
Rach,
Didn't want to wake you, but I'm headed in to the studio for a couple of hours to wrap up a few things. I should be back sometime around ten. Cereal's in the cupboard above the sink. If you don't let C-man eat the good stuff with sugar, I think there's some Rice Krispies in the back. I picked up soy milk at the corner store on my way back from my run (loads of vegan shit there if you need something, gotta love San Francisco, right?) so that's in the fridge.
See you soon,
Noah
She smiles at the 'C-man' and ruthlessly clamps down on any lingering trace of regret. She's moving forward from now on, in fact, she's moving straight into the shower before Connor wakes up.
*****
Puck drops another set of files on Josh's desk, and grins at his startled assistant. "You'll be fine. Just watch the compression settings when the slide guitar comes in. I already told you about the reverb, right?"
"Like five times," the kid says.
Smartass. It's why he hired him. (Well, that and the three years of experience and the glowing letter of recommendation.)
"And you confirmed New Rules for the pre-production meeting?"
"They're on for Monday at 3:00. I think Jared might be upset, though. I got 'background arrangements' out of what he was saying, but not much else."
Nothing new there. Jared Lofts may be a brilliant songwriter and the visionary behind on the the most promising young bands on the studio's label, but he's a crazy perfectionist, and more than capable of throwing a total bitch-fit if everything doesn't play out exactly right.
(Familiar? You could say that.)
"I'll keep that in mind when they get here," he shrugs. "All right, you're in charge. Enjoy it while it lasts."
Josh looks at him curiously. "Dude, you realize this is going to suck up my entire weekend, right?"
Sure, he gets it. This isn't exactly the best timing, but when an old friend turns up on your door-step unexpectedly, this is what you do. (He'll ignore the fact that when Mike came to visit last year, he shoved a map and his BART card at him and set him loose on the town.)
"Sorry about that. I'll make it up to you," he promises. With that, he's out the door and he's kind of excited because he while loves his job (and deep down, he also loves that it's a slap in the face to everyone who thought he wasn't going to amount to shit), it's still cool to have an unexpected couple of days off.
Like he said, helping out an old high-school friend.
Which is exactly what he tells his mother when he finally gets hold of her, and honestly he should know better by now. Somehow that woman always manages to turn it around on him.
This time, it goes something like this:
"Yes Ma, Finn and Rachel. Shit, who the hell do you think I'm talking about!"
"Language, Noah!"
He rolls his eyes, (and is sort of glad she can't see him do it) counts to ten and tries again. "Right. Okay. Finn Hudson who spent sixth through ninth grade hanging out in our basement. Rachel Berry who you included in your shabbat prayers all through high school. That Finn and Rachel. Can you explain to me what the f...what's been going on in Lima that you haven't been telling me about?"
There's a lengthy silence, then: "Since you ask, Noah, there has been some talk about problems with their marriage."
Well yeah, he's kind of got that. "Like what?" he asks impatiently.
She sighs. "People love to talk, honey, you know that. It seems that Miriam Greenblatt's daughter lives next to door to the two of them, and it's ridiculous, the time she has on her hands. The woman must be keeping a log of every raised voice or slammed door. And someone may have said something about Finn spending a lot of time out of town this summer. Honestly, I don't listen any more. But you, Noah," and here her voice sharpens slightly, "Why this sudden interest? You haven't asked me about the two of them for years..."
Absolutely true.
"...and I certainly didn't realize that you would be so concerned."
Huge lie. Aviva Puckerman knows him through and through, and while she might not have said anything (what was there to say?) she's gotta have a pretty good idea of what sent him running off to the fucking edge of the continent a few weeks after high school graduation.
"What do you mean?" he asks defensively. "They're...they're friends. This is the kind of shi...stuff you should know about your friends. Just because I'm not in Lima anymore..." (and thankful for it every goddamn day of his life) "doesn't mean I don't want to know."
"Bull," she says crisply. "What's changed?"
Well hell. Probably nothing. (She may be here, but that's a long way from being his.)
"Ma, I gotta get to work early, so I'll have to call you back."
"Noah."
He's only just now realizing that this is going to play a little too well in his mother's world. She's adored Rachel for years and now she's bound to make something out of nothing. For his sanity's sake he should shut up immediately. Instead, he blurts it all out: the knock on his door, the problems with Rachel's apartment, her job, everything. He's pretty sure Connor's bunny even gets a mention.
Her response kind of knocks him back on his ass.
"Be careful, Noah," she says soberly and then makes some kind of excuse that he's too surprised to call her on and gets off the phone.
The woman is completely nuts. (Even so, he's wondering what the hell she meant by that the entire way home.)
He totally forgets about his mother and her craziness the second he opens the door to his place and the first thing he hears is Rachel singing something about ladybugs and Connor's happy little chirp in response. The two of them are in the kitchen, Rachel flitting back and forth between the table and the sink and Connor perched on a chair stirring a bowl of cereal.
"Hey," he says breathlessly. (Stairs.)
"Good morning," she replies, smiling. "We're having some breakfast. Thank you so much for the soy milk, it was very thoughtful of you."
"Like I said, San Francisco, we've got it all," he grins and then turning to Connor says, "Hi, buddy. What's up?" The little boy ducks his head shyly and then peeps up and holds out his spoon towards Puck. "Rice Krispies, huh? I like those, too."
"They make noise," Connor says, his eyes going wide.
"What do they say?" he asks, playing along.
Connor giggles and looks to his mother who supplies, "Snap, crackle, pop, right sweetie?"
He shakes his head. "Nope. You gotta listen a little closer." Connor tilts his head and listens intently. "Close your eyes, dude." When Connor screws his eyes shut, Puck squeaks, "We're done swimming! Eat us all up!"
Connor's eyes fly open and he lets out a huge belly laugh before saying, "I like him!"
"I do too," Rachel replies. "Do you remember Aviva from temple? Noah is her little boy."
"He's not little!" Connor says, clearly puzzled.
"I got big," he assures the boy solemnly. "Now eat your cereal, so you can too."
While Connor digs in, he slides past Rachel on his way to the refrigerator. (Shut up. It's a small kitchen.) Pulling out the real milk, he eyes her.
"You can drink out of the carton if you want to," she teases him. "This is your place, after all."
Right here, this, this is the Rachel Berry he remembers, the one with the smile that reaches all the way to her eyes.
And now he's been staring too long, she's shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, and he shakes his head and tries to pull himself together.
"No, it's just that the glasses are behind you," he explains.
"Oh, of course!" She moves left and he goes right and they block each other again. "Here, let me."
Their fingers brush when she hands him a glass and they both take a step back.
"So, did you find everything you need," he asks casually, focusing on filling his glass.
She touches her hair. It's down now and just brushing the tops of her shoulders, the ends curling gently, longer than the sensible bob she had the last time he saw her in that supermarket in Lima.
"I borrowed some of the shampoo and conditioner in the shower, and used the hairdryer under the sink. I hope your friend won't mind," she says, eyes flicking down.
Oh right. Jen.
"Nah, she won't mind," he reassures her.
Probably not, anyway. He's not really sure about the etiquette on this kind of thing.
And look, it's not like he forgot about her or anything. (Shit, he didn't did he?) They've been dating for almost a year and a half; sliding into something serious enough so that she's got a few things hanging in his bedroom closet and obviously a crap-load of toiletries in his bathroom, which, you know, is fine, because it's easier for her to get for her office from his place in the morning. In fact, she probably would have been here this morning if she wasn't in L.A. on business.
He takes a deep breath and tells Rachel a few things about Jen. How she's a junior associate at Glick & Eisely working contracts in entertainment law. How they met at an industry party and hit it off. (He doesn't mention that they hit it off several times that night; he's learned a little discretion since high school.) How she met his mom and sister when they came out during Becca's spring break. (He also doesn't mention that his mom's lips were so pinched together that she looked like she was sucking lemons the whole visit and how Becca straight out called Jen a bitch.)
"She sounds wonderful," Rachel says, and then gesturing to a picture of the two of them at one of Jen's events, continues, "And she's certainly very lovely."
"Yeah, hot, smart, and crazy about me, who would have thought, huh?" he jokes uncomfortably. Whatever. High school was a long time ago, but constantly being a distant second stings, all right?
Rachel glares at him. (She never let him get away with that shit back then either.) "I think she's a very lucky girl, Noah!"
Maybe Jen is the lucky one, he thinks as he heads to his bedroom to change. For whatever reason he doesn't feel all that lucky right at this second.
In fact, he feels kind of fucked.
Chapter 3