I really need to work on my pacing. This chapter's short (again) because if it doesn't end here, it's twice this size (again). I'm working on it, stick with me! So much thanks to everyone who reviews, especially JasonDragon64! Things start moving faster after this , I promise. I don't own, review, obligatory-ness. Love- Maya

Kurt blinked up at Puck, quite dumbstruck. The words and the smile were so earnest, he didn't quite know what to make of any of it. Eventually, he settled for, "Was that all it took?"

"Was what all what took?"

"For an apology. I just had to ask?"

Puck gave him a vaguely sheepish smile, jamming his hands into his pockets. "I always meant to anyway. 'Sides, ask and ye shall receive."

Kurt shook his head indulgently. "How do you live, being so ridiculous?"

"Like a badass, Porcelain."

Rolling his eyes, Kurt stepped around him to scoop his iPod off of the piano and return it to his bag. "What really started this?" he asked over his shoulder, crouching over his bag. "You weren't like this before yesterday, but you haven't given me a straight answer yet."

"… I think it's Karofsky." Kurt's hands stilled in his bag, his shoulders going rigid. Apparently not noticing, Puck went on, "He's been acting really weird, like all the time, not just around you. Really distracted and angry. And seeing how he was with you…" Kurt could feel those eyes on his back. "It was worse than how he is with anyone else."

Forcing himself to resume his rummaging, Kurt answered, "I'm sure. I'm extra-special, after all."

"Uh-huh." He didn't need to see Puck's expression to know he didn't believe him. In one smooth motion, he rose from the floor and turned to face Puck, swinging his bag over his shoulder, with the most neutral expression he could manage. "There's something else." It wasn't a question.

In answer (or not really), Kurt shrugged. "I'm going to the cafeteria," he announced. He spun on his heel and walked, know Puck would follow. Gripping the strap of his bag in one hand, he descended as confidently as he could into the dark of the audience.

Puck scampered after, coming abreast of him. "There is something else," he repeated.

Kurt took a page from Sue Sylvester's book. "You can't prove that."

"Does it have something to do with that secret of his?" He held the door for Kurt, who rewarded him with a scowl.

"None of your business." He attempted to flounce away.

Puck was having none of that. He made no visible effort to keep up, yet managed to easily. Damn jock. "If I'm going to protect you, it's my business."

"Well, I'm not telling." He stuck his nose firmly into the air and looked away.

Puck had the gall to chuckle. Chuckle. "You're such a kid."

"Shut up, Puckerman, and respect your elders."

"And when have I been known to do that?"

He had him there. Kurt folded his arms petulantly over his chest. "Well, maybe you should start," he grumbled lamely.

Puck made a huge show of considering that option before grinning and answering, "Nah." He slung an arm around Kurt's shoulders, and Kurt sniffed indignantly at him. They strode into the cafeteria, Puck's swagger no different than usual, and Kurt could feel some of that confidence seeping through the lack of space between them and into his skin, powering and relaxing him.

The look on Mercedes' face was priceless, needless to say. Her eyes appeared to be trying to escape her face, her eyebrows had run away to be with her hairline, and it would probably take her conscious effort to pick her jaw up off the floor. Kurt gave her a sheepish smile, and her expression changed. Now just one perfectly-groomed brow (courtesy of Kurt) was in orbit.

As if it happened ever day, Puck sailed past the jock table, not sparing his teammates a glance as he led Kurt to the gleek table. Kurt sat uncertainly in his usual place across form Mercedes, expecting Puck to leave once he was safely deposited, but Puck settled coolly into the seat beside his, draping his leather-clad arm across the back of Kurt's chair and nodding to Mercedes. "Aretha," he greeted.

She looked back and forth between the two boys, jaw still slack in disbelief, before she muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "freakin' white people" and fixed Kurt with her sternest glare. "Baby Boy," she said, "you know you're about to explain this nonsense to me."

Kurt flapped his hand helplessly at Puck. "Ask him, I still don't know what's going on."

Her glare transferred to Puck, who rolled his eyes. "I've been a dick to Hummel," he began. Mercedes nodded slowly, as this was news to exactly no one. "I decided to make up for it, and in the process thereof I learned that my boy here is way and much cooler than anyone over at that table." He jerked his head in his teammates' direction. "Lemme tell you, that makes me feel even worse about the hell I put him through. So, here I am, protecting him from bullies and generally reveling in our mutual badassness."

Dumbstruck, Mercedes blinked at him before turning to Kurt, who just shrugged, the blush on his cheeks doing absolutely nothing to calm her nerves. "And what started all this?"

Puck's eyes slid to Kurt, who shook his head minutely. Looking at Mercedes again, Puck replied, "I saw him getting hassled in the hallway yesterday, and I just couldn't stand for it anymore." Puck's hand left the back of Kurt's chair to slide comfortingly between Kurt's shoulder blades; Kurt was startled at how effective such a gesture was on him, especially from Puck. "It's kind of hard to believe I used to be that guy," Puck went on, and he sounded so sad, so disappointed in himself.

Kurt leaned back ever-so-slightly into Puck's touch, a gesture of trust. "You were never quite that guy," Kurt assured him. "Trust me."