Notes: I'm actually nervous about this chapter, given the philosophical rant at the bottom. I hope nobody feels too offended... Just bear in mind that it's meant to be a sliding perspective, and is sort of a finishing note before the very last piece to this story.

This is the prelude to the end, people. The next chapter of this story will be the last.

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"Do we know what this is about?" Tina asked, sitting at the lunch table between Mercedes and Artie. A box of shortbread cookies sat in the middle of the table, the contents reduced to little more than crumbs between the collective appetites of the 'gleek table'.

"I heard it was about tolerance," Rachel replied from across the table. "Which I fully support, given the severe lack of it around this school. In fact, I think it should have been done sooner."

"It's about the vandalism," Puck stated, stomping any further debate in much the same way that he crunched on the last shortbread cookie. "And some crap about 'acceptance'."

"Figgins thought Puck did it," Finn explained, which at least half the table already knew. "But he was with us the whole time, so he couldn't have."

"My name is clear." Puck smirked. "But obviously someone wanted to get me in trouble."

"And since we're now very publically dating," Kurt added casually, drawing the entire table's attention to his direction with his calm, precise assessment, "that clearly qualifies as an attempted hate crime. Two instances of anti-gay campaigning in as many weeks is unacceptable, and should word get out that Principal Figgins automatically and wrongfully identified the 'gay Jew' as the school's vandal it could be very bad for the school – even in a town like ours. Thus, an emergency assembly on the importance of tolerance and equal acceptance was the logical step to covering his ass."

"That doesn't make it unwarranted," Rachel pointed out, drawn up to her full height (or as close as she could manage while still seated). "Or unneeded. Learning to accept people of different religions, race, or sexual orientation is never a bad thing. It doesn't matter what Principal Figgins' motivation for the assembly is, that doesn't make it any less needed."

Rachel had a point and everyone knew it. Figgins' motivation could be nothing but selfish and it wouldn't matter. Even if nothing came from the assembly at least it counted as trying.

As a result of both Rachel's reminder that acceptance was never a bad thing and as a show of solidarity the glee club kept their rebellious mutterings about the mandatory assembly to a minimum when they filed into the school gym. The seats filled up quickly, which left the remaining students no choice but to sit on the floor. Most of the club found themselves on the floor, and consequently closer to where the microphone had been set up for the assembly speakers.

When everyone was seated, Puck reached out and very pointedly took Kurt's hand. When the pale boy arched an eyebrow at him Puck shrugged. "It's a tolerance assembly. We're like the main attraction."

Kurt rolled his eyes and turned back to face the right direction again. "Boys holding hands in public," he murmured, just loud enough for the few people around him to hear, "what is the world coming to?"

The assembly turned out to be something very different from what everyone had been expecting, which was a stern talking to and a demand that the person who vandalised the outside of the gym come forward. What they actually got was a hastily put-together series of speeches about bullying, which included painfully stiff roleplay of various bullying scenarios and a 'guest speaker' who turned out to be a police officer who talked about statistics of hate crime – motivated by both race issues or sexual orientation – in the state of Ohio. Though clearly pulled in at the last minute, the officer had obviously given speeches of the sort before and ended by stating that there was never an excuse to resort to violence or crime, and that bullying was sometimes a first step along a road that would take you somewhere very unpleasant: jail.

By the time the assembly ended and the students were allowed to leave it was time for the last class before the end of school. One leg partially numb and the other already suffering from pins and needles, Kurt reluctantly untangled his fingers from Puck's so he could stand without overbalancing. He would never admit aloud that the stroke of Puck's thumb across the back of his hand had been the most interesting thing about the assembly, and the most comfortable thing about sitting on the floor.

"Well that was a waste of time."

Kurt recognised the voice and turned his head just in time to see Santana walk past, her pinkie finger linked with Brittany's.

"I thought it was fun," Brittany replied seriously. "I liked the part about baseball."

Kurt was pretty sure she was referring to one of the roleplay scenarios, but he hadn't been paying a whole lot of attention at the time and so couldn't be certain. He spent his last class passing notes back and forth with Tina and wound up walking with her to her locker before going to pick up his bag from his own locker.

"I'm just glad they already painted over the graffiti," Tina admitted as they walked together, "I didn't want to see that every day."

"The artwork wasn't even particularly good," Kurt agreed, the airy tone of his voice making it hard to tell if he was joking or not. "The lack of artistic flair clearly rules out anyone who studies art or music. I choose to believe that those of us with a little culture would have thought of something much better to say."

"'More funding for the arts'?" Tina suggested.

"'Death to pastels'."

"'Fire babies cat whistle'." Tina grinned at him. "It's postmodern."

"I wonder if it would have counted as an extra credit assignment," Kurt mused, smirking a little to himself as he pictured artistic vandalism. The smirk wavered a little when he imagined who exactly would be behind said graffiti. He couldn't help but picture Puck spray painting the words 'fire babies cat whistle' onto the side of the school gym. Shirtless, for some unfathomable reason. Kurt groaned in self-disgust and squeezed his eyes shut to try and get rid of the image, a tactic that was less than successful. "Oh my God. I am a masochistic idiot."

"What's wrong?" Tina asked, at the same time that a voice called out from across the parking lot; "Hey, Hummel!"

Kurt sighed, looked at the approaching figure Mohawk and letter jacket, and added to himself; "And God hates me."

"I thought you'd still be at your locker," Puck told him when he was close enough not to shout across the lot. "Thought I'd missed you until I saw that monster truck you got."

"Yes," Kurt agreed, looking at his baby as an excuse not to look at the other boy. Thoughts of Puck without a shirt were still circulating somewhere through his brain, and he was pretty sure he ran the risk of blushing if he tried to look the other boy in the face. "Dad finally saw the wisdom in letting me drive myself to and from school in a large armoured vehicle. Armour piercing bullets couldn't get through my newly shatter-proof windows."

"Cool," Puck nodded. Though Kurt wasn't looking directly at him he could see it when Puck looked the car up and down appreciatively. Possibly contemplating the number of crimes that shatterproof glass could facilitate, Kurt thought to himself, purposefully uncharitable to remind himself of why it was a bad idea to develop a crush on Noah Puckerman. "So," Puck moved to lean against the car in a casual pose that was clearly engineered to be nothing less than mouth watering, "that means you can drive out to meet me on Saturday, right?"

"Saturday?" Kurt asked, blinking dumbly.

"Yeah. Saturday." Puck nodded. "I thought we could go out. See a movie or something."

Kurt wasn't entirely sure what was going on here, but he nodded. "Sure," he said, catching his footing, "Saturday sounds good. Shall we say around seven?"

"Great," Puck pushed himself away from the side of Kurt's Navigator and took the step and a half forward he needed to crowd in on the pale boy's personal space. "We can meet outside the cinema, seven on Saturday."

One of Puck's hands raised to slide around the back of his neck, fingers brushing his hair, and Kurt's face instinctively tilted up, eyes fluttering closed without his active consent. Soft, slightly chapped lips pressed against his and caught on his bottom lip. The world felt suddenly surreal, his lips tingling, his heart beating too fast in his chest. A small, cynical part of him wondered whether this wasn't some kind of hoax – a plot to cripple him with a hopeless crush before a humiliating public rejection.

Then he remembered two things. Puck was in the glee club, a realisation that encompassed his recent stint as one of Kurt's own bodyguards. And technically this was public. Puck was kissing him in public, a fact that made little sense if there was some kind of sinister plan involved.

Struck dumb by the thought, as well as the fact that this was (ignoring that other kiss) sort of the first time he'd ever been kissed, Kurt could only blink in shock when the other boy pulled away.

"So," Puck said, taking a step back, "uh, I'll see you tomorrow, Kurt."

"'Bye," Kurt managed, frankly amazed that he didn't sound as off-balance as he felt. He watched Puck jog away to his own car, having completely forgotten about Tina until she whacked his arm.

"That's a date," she told him, somewhere between awed and teasing, "you're going on a date with Puck!"

"It's not a date," Kurt protested, even as he began to wonder what he'd wear. He was going to have the same issue as last time, he realised, the trouble of finding something that was neither too formal or too casual. "It's keeping up appearances."

"On Saturday," Tina pointed out.

"I don't see what the day of the week has to do with my not dating Puck."

"Saturdays are making an effort," Tina explained. "Parties happen on Saturdays, bowling leagues and extracurricular stuff usually meet on Saturdays. Everyone expects a date on Friday, because it's the day before the weekend and you can stay up late, Saturday is different."

"I don't think a person should put too much stock in those theories."

"What about how he kissed you?"

Kurt didn't have a proper answer for that. He adjusted the set of his bag against his shoulder, then raised his hand to check his hair. "I expect Puck always kisses like that."

Tina looked sceptical. Kurt suspected she'd be calling Mercedes when she got home. But until he had solid proof that Puck's intentions towards him were anything other than what he'd said, Kurt's opinion was going to stand. They weren't dating, and the kiss didn't mean anything. No matter how much his subconscious may wish to see Puck without his shirt on.

He wouldn't find out until much later – in fact, not until their not-date on Saturday – that Puck's car still sported a three-letter word above the driver's side door handle.

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At the end of the day hate is all about interpretations. Opinions. I think this, you think that. What makes you feel uncomfortable? Where do you draw the line? At what point would you step up with your fists to set someone right?

You hate child pornography. You hate murder, and rape, and crimes of violence. You hate that people use their religion as an excuse and you hate that the Muslims get to demand you conform to their customs in their countries while we're forced to tolerate their culture in ours.

You hate the gays because they chose their path to hell when they first decided they wanted to turn away from women. You hate that some people just don't get that it's a choice.

You hate the fundamentalists who don't understand, and you hate it when they parrot back the bigoted, racist, sexist opinions their grandparents taught them.

You hate the government because of their censorship, because of the way they're running this country into the ground. You hate that every so many years you're forced to listen to a sudden surge in their propaganda, and you're forced to pick between two sides of the same coin. You hate that they're going to screw you either way.

Most of all you hate uncertainty and not knowing where you stand. That's why you think in monochrome. That's why sometimes you feel like you have to use your fists.