All Over Again

5. A Scrapbook of Stories

Suddenly it became a routine for Puck after that night. Every day borought about a new scrap of Quinn's life reintroduced to her, be it a picture, a video, or a story told by Puck. It made Puck smile when Quinn was giggling uncontrollably when told that she made the life miserable of one of their now friends. There were time when their eyes meet and... something would pass between them. A muttual understanding of pain, maybe, or short glances that conveyed the love in Puck's heart and the love Quinn was searching for that was somewhere on his own. 

Although Puck didn't believe it, he was hopeful that maybe, just maybe, Quinn felt the same electricity ripple through her, from head to toe, when their eyes met. Puck could remember when he first felt that feeling; he'd never felt it with Santana, or Rachel. 

They were dalliances, short crushes that meant nothing. But when his eyes met Quinn's... it was indescribable. Nothing could really define that pleasurable shiver (Like fireworks) that rippled down his spine, almost in the same way that you can't define love. 

And now, Quinn was slowly trusting Puck more. She no longer seemed tense when Puck touched her, be it a hand rested delicately over her own, or an arm wrapped gently around her waist while Puck familiarized Quinn with her favorties movies. She even took the initiative a few times, grasping Puck's hands while he was eagerly telling her stories of her past. 

But that's all they were to Quinn; stories. It's just like when you're told a tale from a book; you can see the scenes playing themselves in your mind, but have no real connection to them. 

One morning, Puck just couldn't take it no more. He wasn't able to watch the girl he loved in pain anymore. No matter how many times she laughed at his life stories, Puck could see the pain in those beautiful hazel eyes. He could see how Quinn strived to remember, stressed over trying to make everyone else sobbing over her tragic story feel better, not her. Same old Quinn, he thought. 

That thought comforted Puck, though. It proved that Quinn was still there; memories or not, she was Quinn, his Quinn. 

However, the tought was not comforting enough to stop his sadness. He sat in the living room, knees drawn to his chest and his eyes  trained on the scrapbook he made Quinn for their first month of boyfriend/girlfriend, a document that Quinn couldn't remember. 

He wasn't crying for himself, although the pain in his chest was agonizing; he was crying for Quinn, the love of his life who couldn't remember a single thing. 

"Puck?" 

Puck gasped, trying to hastily wipe away his tears at the sound of Quinn's voice. It was too late, however; Quinn had already seen them. 

"What's wrong?" Quinn asked, seating herself next to him and angling her body towards him. "Why were you looking at the scrapbook?"

Puck sniffed, managing a watery smile before letting it fade. 

"Trying to figure out what to tell you about next" Puck said with his thick voice with contained tears. "But there's so many amazing ones... I don't know which one to pick."

"Ok" Quinn said, seeminly having an idea. "How about... this one?" Quinn rested her finger on a picture of the ocean, herself and Puck running down a pristine beach and into the water. Puck made a strange noise between a laugh and a sob. 

"Summer of 2011" Puck explained. "You told me you wanted me to have the best summer ever with you before we enter school. The first place you bought me was Myrtle Beach, SC. We went for a walk and ate Queenie's famous fried chicken, somehow you convinced me to ride the Ferris Wheel. When I got sick because of it, you cuddled with and said you would kiss it all better... when I got better we went to the beach and acted like goofballs all day, splashing around and making sandcastles... I want you to remember Quinn, but not for me, for you. You're my heart, Quinn. When you're hurt, I'm hurt. When you're broken, I'm broken"

And then he let anything go with Quinn's next simple gesture, outstretching her arms invitingly. Puck fell into them, sobbing into Quinn's chest, letting go all the emotion he'd been holding back for Quinn's sake. She was shushing him comfortingly, whispering words of comfort. 

Puck couldn't help but wonder how the rest of his life was going to play out, is this how it always would be? Puck telling Quinn stories that she couldn't remember she was a main character in? Crying when he couldn't handle that cluelessness in Quinn's eyes anymore?

No, he couldn't think like that. He had to stay positive. If not for him, then for Quinn. She was already convinced her memory might not return at all, and if Puck said he believed it, Quinn wouldn't have much hope already. 

So he pulled away from Quinn's embrace and whispered that he would make them some breakfast, wiping away tears and promising himself not to let Quinn catch him crying next time. 

And yes, that means there would be a next time.