Catch Me.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, not Glee or Demi Lovato's music.

…

Kurt Hummel trekked from one end of the first hallway of William McKinley High School, his navy blue and black Marc Jacobs tote bag slung lazily over his left shoulder. The fashionable bag stood frighteningly out of place with the rest of his outfit.

His well-shaped legs were clad only in a pair of well-fitted light blue jeans, the American Eagle logo branded on the back right pocket.

The cool marble floor lacked the smack that usually accompanied each of his steps due to the lack of his Prada loafers; in their place he supplied a pair of simple white and black Pumas.

He topped the outfit off with a brown American Eagle belt and a white polo from the same brander—the little blue eagle emblazoned on the left side of his chest.

With each step he took towards his locker a different head turned and another jaw dropped. He thought silently to himself about how ridiculous it was that he could generate so much attention. Weren't these the same people who had hassled him for a year and a half to dress more conservatively and like a "normal boy"?

Kurt was grateful when they disappeared behind a corner when he made his way to the next hallway, but his relief was short-lived as he came face to chest with Dave Karofsky.

Kurt sighed. Great.

"Whoa…" The jock gave him a once over. "Tryin' to impersonate a straight guy, Hummel—I mean, Homo?" The hockey player laughed menacingly.

Kurt brushed past the imbecile without so much as a second glance.

"Hey," the bigger male grasped Kurt by the bicep, "I asked you a question." The jock practically growled at the boy.

Kurt silently admitted to himself that the other's grip was tight and more than a little painful—he prayed he wouldn't bruise. It took too much time to coordinate and outfit around an injury; and he definitely did not need to explain it away to his father. "Get your paws off of me you overgrown baboon." Kurt's tone was cool and demanding.

The brute smiled, his grip tightening. "What? You think you slap on some new clothes and you're a tough guy?" Karofsky laughed tauntingly. "You're still a fag."

This time Kurt flinched, the word slicing through his self-confidence like a sharp knife through warm butter. It had hurt far more than any vice grip on his arm ever could. At least after last night and the argument he had suffered through with Finn.

Kurt yanked his arm away, he caught the jock off guard, and so the maneuver was affected.

It also affectively pissed Karofsky off.

"Why you little dick-worshiping shit." The jock raised his right and hand and balled his hand into a fist.

Kurt sucked in a breath, closed his eyes, and braced himself for the inevitable blow. But it never came. Instead he heard a quick succession of movements and powerful sounds: a gasp, a disbelieving "what the fuck", the sound of man against metal, and then a blow finally came, followed by a groan and a collective gasp from surrounding students.

Kurt opened his eyes to see Karofsky laid out on the floor, with his back pressed against the lower row of lockers. His lip was split and he was bleeding—and he was drooling. His head was slouched against his shoulder…he was out cold. The soprano looked around and took in the sight of more than a dozen students: half were pointing and snickering at the fallen hockey player and the other half were eagerly directing their eyes down the hallway, gluing them to the retreating form of one Noah Puckerman.

Noah had come to his rescue? It wasn't possible; not at all plausible—not in the least. Noah detested him. And Kurt was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

He watched as the other jock's form grew smaller and just before Puck disappeared around a corner he caught a glimpse of the boy shaking his hand and flexing his fingers.

Maybe it was a little plausible.

…

Kurt was surprised at how disappointed he was when he had not been able to locate Puck after the altercation. Once he had recovered from his dazed and disbelieving state of mind he had taken off down the hall and around the same corner the halfback had recently gone down. It had only taken a few moments, and the hallway led into a small courtyard, so Kurt would have thought there was not many places the boy could have gone to.

Yet at the sound of the first bell Kurt surrendered his quest and schlepped (but in a still divaliciously fantastic way) to his AP Bio class.

Somehow he had managed to survive the ninety-minute lecture and had taken some relatively decent notes on cell symbiosis; however, the moment the next belled tolled over the intercom he was packed, out of his seat, and out of the classroom before anyone else.

He had passed a curious Mercedes in the hallway on the way to his next course, but had politely dismissed his friend, with a promise to talk at lunch, but his niceties were to no avail, as she still seemed more than a little dejected when he wandered away.

It was second period, time for Algebra II. A class he shared with Puck, but he knew better than to assume the boy would be there. There was only one place the mohawked jock would be at this very moment.

…

The journey to the nurse's office was a short one—he remembered the path well from when Quinn had told him Mercedes had passed out and had been taken to the nurse's office. He had raced to the small room, only to watch has Mrs. Jones escorted her daughter out of the room and out of the school. He had been too ashamed to catch up to them; he had been acting like such a jerk to his best friend, telling her she needed to take Sue's advice and lose weight—all so he could hang on to his newfound popularity.

That was a laugh.

What popularity? It was not as if much had changed in his day to day, sure, the girls were all just as supportive as they had ever been; even Santana had taken to not patronizing him for his sexuality; however, the none of the jocks viewed him any differently. If anything getting up and strutting around, singing, and shaking his ass at pep rallies had probably ignited an even deep hatred in their three –sizes—too—small hearts.

Not to mention the one jock that had tolerated him and his "antics", Finn, had now been pushed too far. Their blow had been epic—Finn had been kicked out, and Kurt had been left to dissolve in to an unkempt, mascara stained puddle.

All those weeks ago when he had imagined the places a relationship between Burt and Carole would take his relationship with Finn he had never imagined it would wedge them even further apart.

Kurt sighed and shook himself of his ever-encroaching pity party and decided to focus on the task at hand. He had to thank Noah Puckerman.

Kurt could have sworn a purple, flying swine had zoomed past him.

With a roll of his eyes and a deep breath he took a hold of the handle and pushed the door open—stepping inside with a gentle elegance. He did not want to wake Puck if the boy was already asleep.

"Is something wrong, dear?" An older black woman peered up at him from beneath her glasses while she shuffled several papers around on her desk.

Kurt smiled politely, "Oh, no, nothing like that. I was just here to remind Noah that we have a mandatory quiz in Mr. Thurmond's class tomorrow, and to give him a review sheet."

The woman smiled brightly at him, "How nice. It's good to see you kids looking out for one another." The rounder woman stood and knocked on the bathroom door, which resided just a few feet from her desk, "Mr. Puckerman, you have a friend here." She turned back to Kurt, "Goodness, sometimes I feel more like his personal assistant than I do a caregiver." Kurt laughed lightly at the small joke. "Now, if you will excuse me I am going to run to the faculty lounge."

Kurt nodded and side stepped, removing himself from between her and the door. "Of course, thank you."

No sooner than she left did the bathroom door swing open and Kurt took in the sight of a confused, and seemingly…flustered (?) Puck.

"What do you want?" The boy asked gruffly, cracking his knuckles, Kurt noticed the slight frown when he cracked the ones on his right hand.

With an unabashed interest Kurt eyed the boy's slightly swelled hand; he frowned. "I'm sorry about your hand." The jock just grunted in response and took his place on the small cot. "You did not have to do that. I think I could have handled Karofsky."

Puck laughed heartily, "Yeah, more like his fist would have handled your face." Puck wiggled on the bead lightly, trying to get comfortable, before folding his arms up and placing his hands beneath his head.

Kurt tried not to stare at the bulging biceps and he shifted uncomfortably as he redirected, with some difficulty, his gaze back to Puck's face, his eyes were closed. He almost looked adorable. With a quick wipe of his bangs, Kurt opened his mouth to speak, but Puck beat him there.

"If you have come to molest me in my sleep, you're out of luck." He opened one eye to look at Kurt, "There's a waiting list."

Kurt feigned laughter, "As if. My standards are a bit more…" Kurt gaze Puck a once over, but upon noticing the larger teen was stilling eyeing him like a Cyclops he slapped on a disdainful expression. "They're just more."

"Sure, sure." The jock closed his eye again, "So, what do you want."

"To thank you." Kurt said simply.

That small declaration got Puck's attention and the jock opened his eyes, studying Kurt for a moment; he seemed less than comfortable, which was to be expected. It was not as if the two had much practice communicating; yet, other than the awkwardness of the situation there was nothing in Kurt's expression that lacked sincerity—he wasn't even jutting out a hip, accompanying it with a well manicured hand.

Puck frowned. Since when did he give a damn about Hummel's hands, or his hips for that matter?

"Well?" Kurt shifted, feeling weird under Puck's un-altering and unreadable gaze, "Are you going to allow me to express my gratitude or not?" Kurt arched a brow in disgust when Puck smirked and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Kurt rolled his eyes and allowed his bag to slip from his shoulder, setting it on the chair that rested in front on the nurse's desk. He took a step toward Puck. He may have been indebted to Puck, but that was no reason to take the conversation and turn it into some putrid display of testosterone and lasciviousness. "Allow me to reiterate," Kurt took another step, "I said, as i-" With a terrible squeak Kurt's sneaker slipped on the marble floor and he began to plummet toward the ground.

But for the second time that day the impact never came—and Puck groaned.

Puck was sitting up, his legs hanging over the side of the small bed, with a distressed Hummel in his arms.

"That's two for two today, Hummel."

"Why?" Kurt stared up at the other through his bangs.

Puck's brow furrowed in confusion, but he made no moves to release the other glee member, "Why, what?"

"Do you keep saving me?" The question was clichéd, but there was nothing not serious about the inquiry.

"You want me to stop?" Kurt shook his head to the negative. "Then stop being so nosy. And just thank me already." Puck mused half-playfully and half-serious while brushing the stands of hair out of Kurt's face.

Kurt was thrown by what was happening. This could not have been reality. It had to have been, well, he did not know what it was, but it was not real. "Thank you?"

"You don't sound too serious or grateful."

"I am." Kurt pressed, still in Puck's arms.

"Prove it." Puck pressed just as hard.

Kurt did nothing for a long time, but then he decided that if it was not real, if he had landed in some alternate reality, or had really finished his fall and now resided in the subconscious world of the impossible, then there was nothing wrong with expressing how appreciative he really was.

With an unfamiliar confidence, and the support of Puck's guns, he leaned up, one hand gently pressed to Puck's cheek, which was surprisingly soft, and connected his lips to Puck's. The other boy didn't fight him. Instead he smiled into the kiss, his lips curling slightly against Kurt's.

Puck couldn't help but to be mesmerized (in a completely hardcore and badass) way at how soft and perfect Kurt's lips were.

The kiss was soft, but more than chaste, their tongues dancing along the edges of their lips, and all too quickly Kurt pulled away. He stared up at Puck.

"Something wrong?" Puck was sure that had to have been the most badass kiss the other boy had been given.

"I don't want to wake up."

Puck arched a thick eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

Kurt's eyes seemed to grow sad, "This," he looked down at Puck's chest, "it's not real. I fell and you're just doing this because it's only in my head. The real Puck would never do this. Especially not with me."

"Hey," Puck called softly to get the other to raise his gaze, "there is only one Puckzilla." He smiled. "And you didn't fall."

"I didn't?"

Puck shook his head, "Nah, I caught you."

Kurt didn't get the chance to respond before Puck recapture his mouth with his own.

…

Author's Note: Just a quick one shot. I hope you guys enjoyed it. Please, leave a review. It'll make me write more of these! If you want. Till next time. I love you all so much!