I liiiive! It's been awhile, but I've been all upset with this story, convinced I had writers' block, and then I look down and realize I have four chapters written, and they aren't even short. I am weird, guys. So, I hope you all remember that there will be a surprise celebrity guest, because I do! He remains a surprise, but you're all welcome to guess in those lovely review things. I own nothing and whatnot. Love- Maya

Puck settled into the passenger seat of Hummel's Navigator for the seventh time that week as Hummel himself put the key into the ignition, no longer needing direction to the Puckerman residence. Puck watched him from the corner of his eye, both of them silent. It wasn't an awkward, tense kind of silence, though; they just didn't really need words. They were perfectly capable of and comfortable with relaxing in each other's presence, since they liked each other fine and, as far as either of them was concerned, that was that.

Following Hummel around for the past few days, Puck could now see past the fancy clothes and bitchy one-liners (both of which, Puck now realized, had been strangely muted since the Hudmel wedding), and he had determined that Hummel was a genuinely cool guy. He was really smart, with a biting, snarky sense of humor and a quick wit to match, plus this weird tendency toward being polite and/or nice to people until they proved they didn't deserve it. He was even attractive, in a feminine-yet-masculine-or-whatever kind of way. Were this a big city somewhere, he'd run his school, with scores of boy-toys and everyone scrambling to lick his boots. What was more, he knew he'd only scratched the surface of Kurt Hummel, and he was anxious and excited to know more.

The downside was, knowing what a great guy Hummel was made Puck feel awful. Every time Hummel said something funny or helped Brittany find the bathroom, he recalled dumpster dives, swirlies and slushies. Hummel hadn't deserved any of that. Of course, he had always known that, deep down, but knowing Hummel personally and actually liking him emphasized it. All he wanted to do was go back in time and punch beginning-of-sophomore-year Puck in the face. However, all those feelings (shut up, badasses have feelings) lit a fire under him to protect Hummel from dickwads like his former self. That heavy stone of shame in his gut made it that much sweeter to locker-check Azimio, Karofsky, and their ilk whenever they looked askance at Hummel, not to mention it was fun to fuck with their heads.

He'd even managed to hug Hummel in the middle of the cafeteria yesterday. Puck took his eyes off his boy for, like, ten seconds (fine ass atop finer legs, sue him), and when he looked again, Hummel was about ten feet from him, his eyes falling to the ground as his arms began to wrap themselves around his middle. Puck immediately scanned Hummel's line of sight to see Karofsky watching from the other end of the cafeteria, the faintest of satisfied smirks on his face.

Puck chuckled to himself now; he hadn't even thought about it. He just strode over and grabbed Hummel's wrist, dragging him into his chest. He landed against Puck (and his totally epic pecs and abs) with a tiny squeak, and Puck may or may not have laughed at that as he wrapped his arms around Hummel, one around his waist and one around his shoulders. He froze in shock against him, and Puck looked over Hummel's shoulder at Karofsky. The bully's jaw had set, his eyes hard with inexplicable fire, and Puck injected warning into his gaze. Karofsky stood a little straighter in defiance, his lip curling, and turned abruptly away. Puck grinned at his back, and then Hummel started to fight him and he had to let go. He got the bitching-out of a lifetime in the Navigator on the way home (Hummel was too nice to leave him stranded, no matter how pissed he was), but it was so worth it.

"Noah."

Hummel's voice jerked him from his fond memories. "Hm?"

"At which shop, exactly, is your truck? They're taking forever."

"Oh, uh…" His eyes drifted out the window. "It's, uh, not."

Hummel turned briefly to give him a Look. "'It's not,'" he repeated flatly.

"Yeah, when I said 'in the shop,' I meant 'broken and I don't know how to fix it, so it's sitting in my driveway.'"

Hummel made a noise of disapproval, pursing his lips and casting Puck a reproachful, sidelong look. "'Broken,' huh? Broken how?"

"I don't… actually know." He flapped his hand helplessly. "It makes, like, this weird noise, and then it doesn't seem to start right, but I couldn't tell you what's wrong with it for the life of me. It seems fine, except the damn thing doesn't work."

"Mm." They pulled up to the Puckerman house, and Hummel surprised him by putting his baby into park and pocketing the keys. "Show me," he ordered coolly before opening his door.

Puck obeyed instantly with no more than a briefly lifted eyebrow. This was his favorite Kurt Hummel, the confident one who could see no reason why his demands wouldn't be met. He led Hummel to his truck, answering questions he didn't understand the point of as they went. Hummel made him pop the hood, then leaned into the machinery. His hands worked nimbly and surely, and he kept making these little "hm" noises, ranging from pleased to disapproving to downright pissed. Puck watched, answering the odd question as best he could, with no input or help to give and nothing to do but stare.

After about five minutes of this, Hummel straightened. "Mm-mm, no, this will not do. Who is your mechanic? I'll have them executed immediately."

Puck kind of believed him. "Uhm… me?"

"You're joking." After a moment of silence, sheepish on Puck's side and judging on Hummel's, Hummel said, "Oh my GaGa, you're serious. This will not do; I won't have it. I mean, no offense, Noah, but can you even change a car battery?"

"Since when did cars have batteries? Mine's not electric, it's a man car."

Hummel's eyes fell closed. "Oh, hell no. That is it." He strode back to the navigator and produced towing cables, raising Puck's brows. "We're taking that poor thing back to my dad's shop this instant."

"You had towing cables? In your baby?"

Hummel gave him that disdainful up-and-down look he'd perfected over the years. "She's my baby, so she's just like me: pretty and functional." He did the look again, barely slower this time. "Now, prove you're the same as us and help me."

Puck smirked. "You think I'm pretty?"

Hummel rolled his eyes. "You know I do, everyone does, now prove those muscles aren't just for show."

"Well." He knew he would do it; he was finding that he never could stand up to that tone. But he could still talk. "How pretty?"

"Oh, shut up. Just for that, I'm not helping you do it. I'm supervising now." With that, he shoved the cables into Puck's chest before climbing into his baby and expertly backing into the driveway and into position in front of the truck. When he climbed out again, he paused, his lips pursed as he assessed Puck. "Why aren't you freaking out, anyway?"

Puck glanced up, cables in hand, and he crouched between their vehicles. "Why would I?"

Hummel made a show of sliding his eyes over Puck's form as he leaned against the back of his car. "Because I, a homosexual man, think you're attractive, plus I told you to your face."

"And?" Puck at least knew how to hook up two cars. Wow, the Navigator had a hitch on it and everything.

"'And'? What if I want into your pants?" He sounded vaguely disgusted and most certainly joking.

So Puck does the obvious. He smolders up at him. "Everyone wants into my pants, Hummel."

The smolder had no visible effect, which was literally the weirdest thing ever. Hummel just rolled his eyes and snorted, "Not everyone, sweetheart." He pushed away from the Navigator and leaned down beside Puck, looking over his shoulder. "Alright, good job. Hop in."

Puck scurried to obey, wondering why his patented smolder hadn't worked and why it mattered. As they started off down the street, he gave up pondering and turned to Hummel, demanding, "What do you mean, 'not everyone'? Who doesn't?"

"Oh, please. Are we really doing this?"

"Yes! Who doesn't find me hot enough to sleep with? I'm hot enough for, literally, anyone!"

"Wow, this is not a talk I want to have. Is this seriously my life?"

"I'm the sexiest thing with a dick in this hellhole!" Puck insisted.

Hummel flapped a hand in his direction. "Mm."

Puck pointed an accusing finger at him. "See? That was a goddamn noncommittal noise! You could be disagreeing, damn you." Not that he thought he was, because who could? He just wanted to hear it. Not that he was about to examine why.

"Ugh, for the love of—alright, fine, you're sexy. I find you very attractive, damn near irresistible, now will you shut up?"

Puck grinned. There it was. "Irresistible, huh?"

"I believe I said 'shut up.'" His cheeks were turning red, and he was not looking at Puck.

Puck leaned back in his seat, laughing. "Yeah, I don't blame you, Hummel. I mean, I'd do me."

Hummel snorted, some of the flush dissipating. "Please, I wouldn't 'do' you." He kept his hands at ten and two, as always, but the air quotes were positively audible.

"No, you're right," Puck said blithely. "I mean, obviously I'd top, so I'd be doing you."

Hummel gave a delicate little shudder. "Ugh. I mean, there'd be no doing of anything between you and me. This—" he waved his hand to indicate Puck's general being, "—has entirely too much jerk factor for me. Don't get me wrong, you're plenty attractive, what with your eyes and your cheekbones and lips and, oh, your body, but I could never be into you enough for anything."

Puck blinked, quite stunned. He had no idea what to make of any of that, especially since it sounded so honest. "Okay, so there's a bunch of things I think I like in there… but then I got confused." And he most certainly wasn't about to examine that all by himself; Hummel had to tell him.

"Oh, drop it, you've got your answer and your ego is safe." As they pulled into Hummel Tires and Lube, Puck wondered if that was true.

"They say we'll rot in hell.

"Well, I don't think we will…"

He looked up. "Who's singing that?"

"Oh, it's one of the 'It Gets Better's. This one's really sad."

He came around and leaned over her shoulder to see the laptop screen, bracing his hand on the table. "Most of them are."

"Here, I'll restart it." She rewound the video, and a slight, pale boy on-screen spoke hesitantly, softly:

"Hi, I'm Kurt Hummel. And, um, if you're watching this and you know me, you're wondering, 'When the hell did it get better for you?'"

"Aw," the man cooed. "He's adorable."

"I know, right? Keep watching."

Kurt went on, some hesitation fading as he spoke. "Now, boys and girls, I'm not going to tell you about how my come-out in my cow-town inspired equality and hand-holding, or put an end to bigotry and bullying."He looked down a little, far away. "Quite the opposite. The harassment got worse, not that I was expecting anything different as the only out kid in Lima, Ohio."He looked into the camera again, his determination apparently renewed. "One of my regular bullies—who I hope is seeing this—is in the closet, and I'm doing this video for him. It's not like he confided in me about his sexuality or anything. It just sort of happened; he didn't want to tell me, or anyone else for that matter. I think part of why he's so awful to me is because he envies my openness, my comfort in my own skin and identity."

He took a breath. The pair watching him on the laptop tensed, the man's bright eyes riveted. "Well, before I came out, even to myself, I had none of that. My personality and behavior weren't any different than they are now, but I felt like I was living a lie, a lie by omission. When someone made a comment on how I acted—'swishy' is the best word I've heard for it to date—I insisted I was straight, and I would feel dirty for days. The weight of my identity, which I refused to acknowledge, got heavier and heavier, and I got angrier. Why was I like this? Why was I different?"He snorted daintily. "I see now that 'different' in this hellhole can only be a good thing. I hated myself and everyone around me for it at the time though."

Kurt looked far away again, and the man wanted to hug him. Clearing his throat, he went on, looking seriously into the camera, "I will tell you though, the way I feel about myself now is worth every ounce of shit I take every day. I see you fighting yourself every day, and I've been there. It's hard, I know, and you know firsthand everything I go through for being true to myself, being behind much of it. But I love myself. I'm at home as myself, in my own skin and soul. That's when it got better for me: when I accepted myself. You haven't yet, but despite all the things you and your cohorts do to me constantly, I want that security for you." His gaze became broader as he addressed the general populace. "I want that for everyone, LGBT or not. So, uh, singing's kind of my thing, and this goes out to that one person." He began to sing acapella:

"Oh, nowhere left to go.

"Are we getting closer, closer?

"No, all we know is no.

"Nights are getting colder, colder.

"Hey, tears all fall the same.

"We all feel the rain.

"We can't change…"

As they listened to the boy on-screen, she looked up at the man next to her. His face was set in a sad, serious smile of understanding, his eyes even brighter than usual with sympathy. When he'd finished the song, the video was over with a flush and throat-clearing from Kurt. The man straightened. "His voice is pretty. What'm I doing for the next few days?" he asked her.

"Hm? I dunno, some recording stuff."

He grinned. "I should go say 'hi.' Where's Lima, Ohio?"

Song used: Outlaws of Love by Adam Lambert. I own neither him nor his music. I don't think it's fair either.