So! Here I am, leaping into another fandom like the dumbass I am. I actually like this story, and have most of it written, as I'm on a Glee kick right now. This addresses the main issue I have with Glee: everyone is always super-obvious about who they're singing to, no matter how private the relationship/secret/etc. is. Who does that? So, yeah, this is Mr. Schue trying (as usual) to reign his students in. Warning: POV-switching and ignoring of canon, plus a surprise celebrity guest! I own nothing, stop rubbing it in. Love and hugs- Maya.
"Discretion." That was the word Will Schuester wrote and underlined on the whiteboard, complete with the most decisive period ever, before turning to face the New Directions with his hands on his hips and his foot tapping irritably, like they'd left the toilet seat up one too many times. "Anyone in here know what that means?" he asked through annoyance-thinned lips.
His students looked at each other. "No," Brittany answered in that soft, honest way of hers, prompting Santana to pat her knee comfortingly. Rachel snorted, launching her hand primly into the air.
"It means," Schue went on, Rachel's hand falling with a pout, "not airing your every piece of dirty laundry for all the world to see." All he received was blank looks. "You all seem to have a habit of sing-speaking to each other in your performances." He stared at Rachel, and she scowled self-righteously back. "You're all very explicit about your feelings for each other, and that's fine for a private setting, but not a public place in and in front of a group as explosively volatile as this."
"But, Mr. Schue," Mercedes cut in, "we're just expressing through music what we can't bring ourselves to in words."
The teacher smiled indulgently at her. "I know, and I'm thrilled that you all feel safe and open enough here and with each other to do that, but it keeps causing problems. A relationship will be damaged, or a secret spilled, and you'll refuse to work together for a time. And that is time we don't have."
"Pot, kettle, Mr. Schue," Santana said, not looking up from her nails.
"Yes, I know," he agreed tiredly, "and look where it got me." The room got quiet, and he went on. "Look, the point is you all lack discretion, and it rips you apart on a weekly basis. Your assignment is to choose a song—nothing explicit, mind you, keep it PG-13—and dedicate it to someone, anyone, in your head. Don't tell anyone, and please don't stare at anyone during your performance."
"Sing to anyone?" Kurt asked softly. "No one has to know who?"
From the back of the room, Puck snorted. "Come off it, Princess; we all know you're singing to Finn." Finn had the grace to look embarrassed, if slightly gassy.
"No, actually," Kurt said. "Finn doesn't need the song I'm singing." Everyone looked at him, but he was too busy staring pensively at his expensive shoes to notice.
As we all know, Puck was a badass. He had the 'hawk, the leather jacket, and the guns to prove it. It was rarely unsatisfying when the crowds parted for him, their fear and admiration seeping into his skin, fueling him, but apparently today was one of those days. As the after-school herd made way for him, his head was too full of Hummel's sad face to notice the fairy had seemed off for a few days, and even Aretha didn't seem to know why.
A loud clang jerked him from his thoughts, lifting his head so he could see that the crowds had mostly dispersed and escaped homeward. Ahead of him, in the empty space, Karofsky had Hummel against the lockers by the front of his no-doubt-designer shirt. Contrary to his usual "I'm-clearly-better-than-you" attitude that he amped up in the face of adversity, Hummel just looked sad and resigned, pitying even. Puck drew nearer, not even sure what he was going to do when he reached them. Rescue Hummel, he supposed, but he'd never done that before. He wasn't really the hero type; that was Finn's job.
"You need to stop rubbing your fagginess in everyone's face, homo," Karofsky was snarling.
Hummel's eyes fell tiredly closed. "You're such a coward, David." Puck only just caught the murmur.
Karofsky's eyes widened. Was that fear in there? It was, Puck knew fear anywhere, but why? "And when the hell did I say you could call me that?" Karofsky demanded furiously.
Hummel met his eyes, something unreadable in his own and in the set of his jaw. "When do you think?" Karofsky's eyes went even wider with definite and obvious fear. His fist left Hummel's shirt to draw back for a punch and Hummel just kept staring into his eyes, into his soul.
With no choice but to step in, Puck took the remaining half-step forward and wrapped his hand harshly around Karofsky's fist. When the bully looked at him, the fear was still there, but it was different, diminished, as if he were less afraid of a badass like Puck than a shrimp of a fairy like Hummel. Well, that made no sense. "There a problem?" Puck clearly indicated with his tone that the answer would be "no," or else.
Karofsky wrenched away from both of them, his motions as violent as ever. "Whatever! Just 'cause you're both faggy for each other, you think you're fucking safe?" Hummel just closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, as if deeply disappointed. "Fuck you!" Karofsky cried. With that, he kicked a dent into an innocent locker and all but ran away.
Hummel sagged against the lockers, a massive sigh passing his lips. Puck stuck his hands deep into his pockets and watched him, waiting. At length, Hummel said quietly, like he was out of breath, "I suppose you'd like an explanation."
"Yeah."
Hummel sighed again. "Well, I'm sorry, but you can't have one." He pushed himself off the unforgiving metal and straightened his clothes and hair.
"Why didn't you fight?" Puck demanded gently. "You always fight, at least with words."
Gazing down at the dirty hallway floor, Hummel adjusted the strap of his messenger bag across his chest. "I have my reasons."
"Yeah? What're they?"
Hummel met his eyes for the first time then. They were the strangest color: dark, and couldn't seem to decide whether they were blue or green. "Thanks for your help just now," he said, the barest touch of ice in his voice, "and for your concern, but I'd like to know the motivation for both."
Puck raised an eyebrow. "Nice thank-you."
"You know what I mean."
Digging his hands deeper into his pockets, Puck leaned closer to the other boy. "Can't I show concern for a fellow gleek?"
Hummel scowled faintly at him. "You haven't before. Even since you joined Glee, we've never been close; we're civil at best. And before that you were the opposite of civil. So you'll have to forgive my suspicion."
With an exasperated eye-roll, Puck said, "Look, you've been acting weird, all quiet and shifty, and everyone's worried. And after seeing you and Karofsky, I'm pretty damn curious myself."
A guarded, disgusted look crossed Hummel's face. "Curiosity, huh."
Puck elected to ignore that strange reaction. "And now I see it has something to do with that dick Karofsky."
Hummel sighed. "Why do you care, Puckerman?" he asked tiredly.
Why, indeed. Puck thought as carefully and quickly as he could manage. "I got slushied. I get called 'homo,' too." At Hummel's startled look, he exhaled and tried again. "What I'm trying to say is, you're not alone in getting harassed. And I kinda know how it feels now. So, since we're teammates, I don't want you feeling that."
Hummel gripped the strap of his bag a little tighter, his eyes not leaving Puck's, before he spun on his heel and headed for the exit. The motion had a strange lack of finality or dismissal, and Puck found himself following the shorter boy, easily catching up on his longer legs to walk alongside him.
Hummel stared straight ahead as they walked, only acknowledging Puck's presence by keeping pace with him. Puck allowed the silence to follow them through the empty hallways to the door. The overhang dripped steadily in the heavy rain, and Hummel stopped and considered the bleakness, Puck beside him with his hands still buried in his pockets. Still not looking at him, Hummel asked quietly, "Do you need a ride?"