[fic] Rush of Blood to the Head by dominant-spoon for kkieslowski
Title: Rush of Blood to the Head
Author: dominant-spoon
Written For: kkieslowski
Pairing: Harmony/Rachel
Rating/Warnings: PG; futurefic!AU at an unnamed college in NYC; disregards Harmony’s canon age
Spoilers: Harmony’s existence; a few for Finn and Rachel’s relationship in recent episodes
Summary: Rachel’s always wanted a roommate. She didn’t exactly want that roommate to be Harmony, but maybe it’s not so bad.
**
When she reached high school, Rachel had made the decision to record every (important) thing about her day in a journal. The intention was to keep careful track of the later years in her life (that is to say, in the earliest stages of her professional, adult career) for biographical purposes. Though Rachel supposed that it could be argued (by others; people who weren’t familiar with Rachel, and the Berry household in general) that she was overly confident in almost all her abilities, she could admit to herself, even when she was a novel young freshman with a cheerful smile and big dreams (a stark contrast to the tired scowls and uninspired aspirations of her peers), Rachel was able to think pragmatically about her memory.
She knew, that eventually the day would come - much, much later on in her career, when she’d already won more Tonys than anyone else in the history of the award, and she’d be able to tell her grandchildren the stories behind her multiple EGOTs - when, after being asked the question of What was your first role?, she wouldn’t be able to remember the answer. Therefore, the only logical means of preserving similarly valuable information, was for Rachel to record it as it happened, and make sure that her legacy was well-documented for the awe of future generations.
Over the years, she grew lazier with her entries - less notable, were the solos she’d been granted in Glee Club (the last one recorded was Paramore’s “The Only Exception”; she laughs, now, looking back and seeing that glaring up at her, but she still remembers the days when she would see it and shudder, because it was nothing more than an overly sentimental alternative pop tune that at the time of such shudders, shamed her to have ever performed, even for no more than a dozen living souls), and instead she only kept track of the really significant ones. The ones performed on television; the ones performed in competitions; the ones performed with real purpose, instead of just as a means for her to express her feelings.
By the time that she was graduating from McKinley (with honors, naturally), the journals she had filled over the four years spanning her high school career had already begun to be viewed as proof that she’d been correct to anticipate failure in her memory. It took her more than a moment to recall when it was that she had performed an All-American Rejects song (“Gives You Hell”; she couldn’t quite place the occasion - remembered it had something to do with Finn, of course; remembered that it was in the New Directions’ first year, so she had been a sophomore; couldn’t recall how it was that Mr. Schue had let her, until Kurt mentioned Finn’s rendition of “Hello, I Love You” in an unrelated context and Rachel had recalled with a start that they once had a week of hello songs); she could never feel entirely certain that it was for the (unofficial, thus, unnoted) Duets Competition of her junior year that she and Finn had performed “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart”.
It pained Rachel, in a nostalgic way, to have such difficulty with memories that she had half-expected (even while taking precautions, even while preparing for the worst) to be lasting ones that would never fade. But in a differently nostalgic way, with every extra moment of thought wasted on forgotten details that might have never mattered in the first place, Rachel felt herself leave the days of high school - of bullying; of love that felt so certain and crushes that were so truly crushing and lies and scandals that a glee club so unpopular really shouldn’t have been saddled with - far behind her, only to be mentioned in passing during interviews focusing on the nature of her success
She took the journals with her to college, anyway. Packed them all, in varying neon colors and decorated with mixed sets of stickers (mostly of a puffy variety; many others sparkly), into a small shoebox and tucked them away at the bottom of a dufflebag.
If her fathers noticed the absence of the logs that had never been a secret from the Rachel Berry Museum in their basement, they didn’t mention it to her. Rachel rather thought that that may have been generous, and done for her sake.
(She mentioned it to Kurt; admitted the routine to him when the box fell out of the bag onto her bed and he asked about it, and explained the whole tragedy of her mixed feelings regarding the vagueness of her mind as he watched her with a familiar expression caught between affectionate amusement and unnerved bewilderment.
He’d laughed; pulled her under his arm and leaned his head against hers, amicably. “Is there a reason why they should think you wouldn’t want to talk about taking the barebone outline of your high school show choir career with you?” he asked, logically, and Rachel had pondered the question before remarking to him that he was a genius.
Of course, Kurt had answered that he knew that already.
Rachel suspected he was teasing, though she could never be quite sure what was a carefully-designed mask and what was legitimate confidence when it came to Kurt.)
**
For the first three days of being settled into her dorm, Rachel doesn’t have a roommate. Kurt’s shows up the day after he and Rachel arrive, and after only four hours, Kurt is in Rachel’s room, lamenting the matching system and complaining about how entirely insufferable he can already tell his roommate is going to be.
When Rachel asks for details about him - asks what makes him so horrendous; asks how Kurt can be so sure already that they won’t manage to get along eventually; asks what his name is - Kurt clams up, cheeks tinted pink and bitten lip telling.
High school has made Rachel more empathetic - not to mention, has left her with a great deal of experience with relationships, particularly regarding infidelity - and she doesn’t judge Kurt when he admits that the roommate is very attractive, and very gay.
“Oh,” she says, a little uncertainly, but not caught offguard. “Well that’s - nice. Did he mention a boyfriend?”
(It’s her subtle way of reminding Kurt that he has a boyfriend. A younger boyfriend, still in high school, but a boyfriend all the same. She takes pride in how it manages to come across as only a casual inquiry.)
“He -” Kurt hesitates, crosses his legs and folds his hands over his knee; doesn’t look at Rachel, and pretends to be assessing the hideousness of the color of her walls. (Rachel likes it; it’s a faint purple, like a lavender. She suspects Kurt thinks it’s too in-between - not definitive enough to be one color, or another.) “He did mention…having one, at one point.”
(It’s Kurt’s subtle way of answering he’s single.)
Kurt glances over at Rachel; colors when he notices her peering at him, and then clears his throat. “What color is this room? I can’t tell if it’s supposed to be grey, or lilac. It’s not particularly attractive either way,” he remarks.
Rachel smiles, and drops the subject of specifics about Kurt’s roommate by segueing, “At least you’ve met your roommate. How long do you think it will be until mine arrives?”
It is possible, that Rachel is a little on the overzealous side when it comes to her roommate. She doesn’t think it’s fair for anyone to blame her - she’s never had any siblings, and she’s not used to sharing, but it’s exciting and she wants to be. She wants to have a friend that she lives with, not a friend like Kurt who loves her at her worst and sees her when no one else does, but who doesn’t have to deal with her all the time. She wants to have a friend that she knows the inner and outer workings of, and who knows her methods and habits by rote, too.
At this point, though, Rachel thinks she would even settle for an enemy who she cohabitates with unpleasantly but has a reluctant and begrudging soft spot for. Really, any roommate would do.
Humming, Kurt unlaces his hands, uncrosses his legs, and leans back on Rachel’s bed. He stares at the ceiling, but not with that same contrived expression of distaste from earlier.
“I couldn’t tell you,” he replies. “But if I were you, I’d make the most of the solitude - and the silence; did I mention that he listens to an inordinate amount of jazz?”
He did; Rachel doesn’t point that out.
“While you can,” Kurt continues. A pause, and then he adds -
“What if she doesn’t listen to Barbra?”
The hitch in Rachel’s breath is loud to enough to produce echoes all around the globe, and Rachel must look as horrified by that prospect as she feels, because when Kurt turns his gaze on her, he laughs at her expression.
“That’s not funny, Kurt,” Rachel stresses shrilly, heart pounding rapidly within her chest. She understands that it wouldn’t be the end of the world, if she had a roommate that didn’t appreciate Barbra’s gift of song, but she can’t help but think that it very easily could be.
She may overdo certain things, now and then, but Rachel doesn’t consider her adoration of Miss Streisand to be anything other than reasonable. She idolizes her greatly, and her music holds sentimental value to Rachel that Rachel isn’t sure she could explain to anyone except in terms of their own idols (and even then, maybe not), and Rachel doesn’t know how she could categorize any roommate that disliked Barbra.
It wouldn’t make her an enemy, exactly, but she certainly couldn’t be a friend. That’s one of those things that Rachel simply cannot overlook in terms of companionship (maybe years ago, when she was lonely, without friends or a boyfriend or really anyone at all to confide in; but not now, not now that she has higher standards than anyone that wants her), and it could easily be a dealbreaker.
“Oh, god,” she says to herself, because the possibility - though not having occurred to her before now - is an abruptly terrifying one.
Unhelpfully, Kurt hums, and murmurs again, “Jazz.”
He’s not talking to her, either.
**
The roommate finally arrives on a Saturday afternoon.
As luck would have it, Rachel isn’t there to greet her with vegan cookies and a printed list of necessary agreements that the two of them will have to agree to for the sake of harmonious cohabitation. She’s out with Kurt, instead, exploring the city with the wide, dreamy eyes of two young people who have dreamed of the place all their lives; who have dreamed of getting away from small towns and ignorant people and musicless lives and going to the place where everything is shiny and new and magical.
When she arrives back to her dorm, her laugh echoing down the hallways as Kurt calls a few, lingering, teasing statements about boyfriends Rachel used to have and big (stupid) ideas she used to come up with (marriage while still in high school; the guilt and the sorrow and the shockingly debilitating fear have all passed, and it’s finally just ridiculous), she’s not sorry to have missed the arrival of her new friend/enemy/Temporary Roommate (until Rachel manages a different arrangement because there is absolutely no way she can possibly live with someone who doesn’t like Barbra Streisand). It’s hard to be sorry, when she’s never been happier in her life than she is in New York with her best friend.
Her presence wasn’t entirely necessary, anyway, as Rachel realizes when her roommate turns in response to Rachel’s pleasantly surprised, Oh! Hello there, are you - and appears to have a recognizable face.
In pale, slender hands, is Rachel’s list of suggested compromises. On a heart-shaped face is a smirk that Rachel doesn’t find welcoming at all.
“Hi there - you must be Rachel Berry?” Harmony says with a smile that Rachel thinks is akin to that of Carroll’s crocodile.
Rachel’s blood runs cold - and not just from the implication that Harmony doesn’t remember who Rachel is, which is an insult beyond all measure - and she can’t find the words to verbalize her thought processes quickly enough. Her fumbled I had no idea that you would be - is cut off and overshadowed by Harmony’s saccharinely friendly remark of, “Harmonious cohabitation - cute.”
It takes only that one moment for Kurt’s warnings of horrible roommates to suddenly gain validation in Rachel’s mind.
She doesn’t write Harmony off in that one moment - no matter how grating she may already seem; no matter how much Rachel gets the feeling like she will despise her; no matter how bad things seem in that one, groundshaking moment - because despite all else, she at least remembers Harmony and her glee club singing a song from Evita the last time that Rachel attended Sectionals.
At the very least, that implies good taste in music, and as long as Harmony has that, Rachel knows that she can survive.
Smiling broadly (as genuinely as she can manage), Rachel extends a hand and introduces (a little stiffly), “Yes, I’m Rachel. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
The subdued outrage that pans over Harmony’s features is gratifying, in a childish way.
Rachel allows herself that luxury, and pretends to be entirely surprised by the unfortunately coincidental word choice of her list.
**
The first night of living with Harmony is not quite unbearable, but it’s not too far from it, either.
On one hand, Harmony does like Barbra, and Rachel is innately obligated to like her just a touch more because of that alone. Although Harmony’s voice doesn’t fit Barbra’s catalogue particularly well (in Rachel’s opinion), and although the fact that she only sings under her breath when Rachel is clearly trying to listen to the song by its flaw-free self is extraordinarily irksome, Rachel takes deep breaths and ignores Harmony as best she can as she prepares her bed for slumber. It’s not something that is going to ruin her college experience for her. (Not yet.)
On the other hand, Harmony’s pre-sleep rituals are similar to many of Rachel’s own. The overlap that results is handled with feigned politeness and lots of Oh, I’m sorry, do yous, but everything is tainted with an undertone of scrutiny and judgment. Harmony has very pretty eyes, but they feel like the eyes of someone whose sole purpose in life in to make Rachel as uncomfortable as they possibly can when they stare at Rachel every step of the way.
It does help, that Harmony agrees with Rachel on the matter of going to bed at a reasonable hour. It doesn’t help, that Harmony treats Kurt as a nuisance when he pokes his head into Rachel’s dorm and invites her - Oh, he says with wary surprise and barely-veiled dislike, You could come, too, if you like? You must be Rachel’s roommate (Rachel loves the way that Harmony purses her lips in annoyance; loves the way that Kurt pretends he can’t tell he’s offended her) - to go to a “little get-together” his roommate told him about.
“Is he going to be around often?” Harmony asks, as she sets her hairbrush on top of her dresser and glances over at Rachel haughtily.
Defensively, Rachel responds, “Kurt is my best friend,” and glares back at Harmony until the other girl shrugs, and fixes the glaringly red ribbon tying her hair into a ponytail at the nape of her neck.
When Harmony shuffles herself under her covers, looking every bit the image of a princess, with her hands folded on her stomach and her profile an elegant silhouette in the darkness (she has the kind of classic beauty Rachel’s always envied; she’s pretty like Quinn, and Rachel doesn’t like the way her heart clenches at that thought), she murmurs, “You don’t need to get so testy with me,” into the darkness. She says it calmly, as though it’s just an offhanded thought that occurred to her only then and didn’t really require any emphasis at all - but Rachel knows how she means it.
It’s essentially some form of a verbal backhand.
Rachel curls under her own blankets more petulantly, less gracefully, and replies in a hardly-dignified grumble, “I wasn’t being testy; I was only saying that Kurt is my friend, so that you would ideally not talk about him like that.”
Harmony hums, and then notes in that same, musically easy tone of voice that sounds like it ought to be soothing, rather than aggravating, “I didn’t talk about him in any specific way; I just asked if he was going to be around often.”
The conversation falls to an uncomfortable silence, and doesn’t continue. (It’s not entirely because Rachel falls asleep before she’s consciously aware that slumber is approaching her.)
**
Kurt says I told you so when Rachel finds solace in his dorm and complains until she feels like her voice might be nearing a level of hoarseness. It’s not malicious - it doesn’t even sound rightfully triumphant; he’s very understanding about it (he listened to her complaining, after all) - but that doesn’t mean that Rachel appreciates it.
She’s irritable, because Harmony is very similar to Rachel in regards to her interests, hobbies, and talent level, and none of that is going to make living with her any more pleasant. (Rachel doesn’t need to spend any more time with her than she already has to know as much; it’s instinct, and Rachel’s instincts have rarely ever failed her before.) Kurt just happens to be there for Rachel to take it out on.
“Well, I told you, too,” she points out, voice rising high, and, no, it’s not hoarse at all. (Though she thinks it would be best for her to take it easy on it, just the same.) “I told you not to judge your roommate so quickly -” It occurs to her, only then, that she still doesn’t know even the name of Kurt’s roommate; she thinks she’ll have to try and remember to ask Kurt, later on. “And who was right?”
Frowning, faintly annoyed but not to the point where he’s going to take it personally, Kurt huffs and ignores the question, redirecting the topic back to Rachel’s woes.
“You could always try to avoid her as much as possible,” he offers as a suggestion. “You just have to live with her until the end of the semester when you can talk to the housing office about switching. It doesn’t have to be a big show of you two pretending that you want to be friends with one another, when you both know that that’s not going to happen.”
Rachel considers it for a moment, and then nods, determined. “You are absolutely right, Kurt - I do not have to be friends with her, and obviously she and I aren’t going to get along, but there’s no reason at all why she and I can’t show each other the bare minimum level of courtesy when we have to be around each other.”
“Exactly,” Kurt says, smiling. “Now, how do you feel about checking out the theatre department?”
It’s a trick question. Between the pair of them, there’s no possible way to just check out the theatre department. It’s a production all its own, with costumes and elaborate planning that required months of development. Rachel grins at Kurt, and he smiles back as he drags her to her feet and starts mentioning fliers that he saw up on the bulletin board.
**
Classes officially start on a bright and shiny Monday. It’s sunny in the morning, to fit Rachel’s mood, and she notices for the first time the way that the sun streams in through the window of her room.
She also notices, for the first time, that even against all of Harmony’s best efforts, when Harmony wakes up in the morning, her hair is tangled mess.
Rachel’s attempts at stifling laughter in sight of Harmony’s pretty, typically silky-looking dark hair mussed and looking decidedly unprettied fail, and Harmony spins around to turn a glare on Rachel that would rival even the harshest ones she received in high school.
“Your -” Rachel gestures weakly with her right hand, to a general Head area. “Your hair,” she says lamely in explanation, not quite certain herself what it is about the image that’s so very cute it warranted giggles.
Harmony huffs in impatient annoyance, her cheeks pink with embarrassment, and goes back to her regularly-schedule process of ignoring Rachel except when impossible.
Shaking her head, Rachel doesn't elaborate, and pretends to be engrossed in the trouble of choosing her perfect First Day at College outfit. (She's had it picked out for months; she's had input given on it from her fathers, and Kurt, and even all the girls from the Glee Club before they were all separated by graduation with promises of We'll keep in touch! even though they were all obvious lies.)
On the opposite side of the room, Harmony wastes no time in picking her own out, and striding into the bathroom with a deliberate, Hmph of annoyance. The door is pulled shut firmly, but not with a slam, and Rachel stares at it for a moment with a smile on her face.
Harmony is not the roommate that Rachel fantasized about someday having as a Number One Gal Pal when she was younger, but Rachel started realizing a long time ago that most of the people she fantasized about when she was young weren't realistic models of human beings at all.
She thinks she might not mind that, so much, because at least Harmony isn't the real embodiment of a princess. Rachel thinks she could actually be a fairly tolerable person.
(Probably not. But Rachel might be a little more willing to try, at least.)
**
Harmony turns up in many of Rachel's classes. After that first bright and shiny morning, the novelty of her being a real person wears off very quickly, and Rachel is left only with a continuous feeling of frustration and exasperation with the other girl, which stems from the competition that Harmony insists on forging between them at every available occasion.
Whether it's upstaging Rachel with her credentials, or singing just a touch louder than she has to over Rachel's voice (we're supposed to be harmonizing Rachel reminds her, with a gentle nudge to the ribs; she avoids the obvious pun, but Harmony grimaces like Rachel made it anyway), she manages to find a way to make Rachel want to hate her in every medium the world has to offer.
Rather than complaining about it less to Kurt, however - even when she sees the way that he sighs longer; replies more in the way of simply humoring her, rather than legitimately being interested in the content of what she says - Rachel starts doing it more. It's unintentional, but she almost feels like she can't stop herself, and when she tries to explain this to Kurt, as well, he only replies, "Word vomit," like it makes complete sense.
(She looks as bemused as she feels, apparently, because Kurt stares at her in amazement before declaring, "Mean Girls," in a shrill voice that Rachel identifies as his dear god tone.)
"But you have to see it too - you do, don't you, Kurt?" she stresses to him one afternoon, when they're having lunch in the courtyard and he's staring at a figure that Rachel thinks might be the roommate. (He looks short, and he has a haircut that looks very Bieberesque, albeit brunet. Rachel still doesn't know his name.)
Sighing, Kurt flicks his eyes over to Rachel and raises an eyebrow.
"But - she's always doing it! And she always smirks at me, too - I know it's intentional; it's like she's just trying to irritate me! Are you just pretending you don't see it too, to tease me? You have to see it, she -"
"Rachel," Kurt interrupts, hand raised to silence her, though it's his tone - authoritative, but gentle and sympathetic - that catches her. "Look, all I've seen is that Harmony's not happy unless she's got your attention. No matter what it takes for her to get it."
Blinking in surprise, Rachel mulls over the information wordlessly for a long moment, uncomprehending.
"Why would she want my attention?" Rachel asks, innocently enough, and an answer doesn't occur to her until the words are halfway out of her mouth. Her tone falters to reflect as much, and Kurt nods at her solemnly in reply.
**
Once she thinks it, the idea is like an infection that grows and festers inside Rachel's mind, until she can hardly think straight. She tells as much to Mercedes, over Skype one night (she's just holding the space while Kurt's off talking to the roommate about something that he probably has little interest in, beside the roommate's interest in it), and Mercedes snorts, like there's something funny about it.
Rachel doesn't get the pun until Mercedes stares at her, long and expectant.
"Do you see?" Rachel cries, dropping her head to her crossed forearms and feeling embarrassed and confused, all at once. "Even the simplest wordplay is going over my head - what's wrong with me?"
Mercedes laughs again, and when Rachel peers up at her, this time, her gaze is knowledgeable. "Rachel, honey," she says, almost patronizingly, but sweetly enough so that Rachel takes it as sincerity. "Did you ever think that maybe there's more than one reason for why Harmony's got your attention span locked up so easy?"
The answer is no, but Rachel doesn't admit that. She feels herself blushing pink, and offers thanks to God when Kurt reenters his room a convenient few moments later. (He's blushing too, but Rachel's too preoccupied to demand answers from him, again. She hears Mercedes bring it up, when she's closing the door behind her, however, and distantly thinks Good.)
And this idea - the new idea; the suggestion that Rachel might have a crush, too - is absurd, even more absurd, but it's just as infectious and spreads throughout all of Rachel's thoughts just as easily, if not more so. Rachel thinks of it like a new and improved version of a disease, immune to the cures that used to come so easily and spawned from the superpowers of the original that managed to survive the usual exterminations. (Like distracting herself with other matters; with making other friends and learning new songs. It worked, for a time, but it never worked completely, and now, Rachel can't even hum along to the tune of some nineties grunge piece that a fellow vocal enthusiast from the theatre department wants to rearrange.)
It's humiliating, that Rachel thinks about something so ridiculous like that when there's so much more, when there are so many better things, for her to be learning and exploring. More humiliating, is facing Harmony every day with the thoughts that she's too nervous to confirm and the suspicions that she's too convinced to disregard.
Harmony appears none the wiser, as to Rachel's incessant thoughts, and if she realizes at any point that Rachel is aware of her crush, she doesn't let it affect the way that she treats Rachel. She never once changes, and though it's admirable, it also does not make things any easier on Rachel. Just when she had been beginning to accustom herself to Harmony and her - ways; the easy way that she can become annoyed over the smallest things, and the easier way that she seems to lose herself in music, if she's given the opportunity to; the rare way that she'll sometimes act as though she's not entirely sure of herself and she doesn't completely look down on everyone else; the rarest way that she'll sometimes let Rachel join in and sing with her, if Rachel approaches the matter the right way and Harmony is in the right mood - everything has fallen apart, and Rachel finds herself more confused than ever.
She asks, finally, "Do you have a crush on me?" and in all honesty, she doesn't just ask - she blurts the question, with almost frantic intensity.
For a moment, Harmony doesn't react. She doesn't look away from the book opened on her lap, or take her fingers from the keys on the computer in front of her. She doesn't even move; hardly seems to breathe.
When she does react, she doesn't bother turning around to face Rachel; just keeps staring at her computer screen.
"Excuse me?" she says, in the same manner that she says almost everything - like she thinks Rachel is a joke, and is only waiting for the right moment to laugh. But she doesn't sound as convinced, this time, and Rachel can't tell if that's because she isn't convinced, or if it's because Rachel can tell the subtle differences between Harmony's moods by now, solely because they live together and that kind of unintentional intimacy is bound to occur in such situations.
Rachel sits at the foot of her bed, staring at Harmony as her own hands bundle in the hem of her skirt, and repeats, more sanely, "Do you have a crush on me?" After a brief pause of consideration, she adds reassuringly, "I don't mean for you to think that it's a - problem - if you do. It's just...something that I would like to know, so I can better..."
Harmony interrupts with a brittle laugh, and in a way, Rachel is grateful for it, because she's not entirely sure what she would accomplish through getting an answer.
"So what?" she asks, uncharacteristically sharp, and making Rachel less grateful. She unfurls, and refurls, her fingers in the cottony fabric of her skirt. “So you know how to treat me?”
“No -” Rachel tries to protest, quietly, but Harmony speaks over her, like always. It doesn’t feel like always, though.
*
Rachel comes home - home, she says before she can think of a different word to describe her dorm; Kurt kisses the crown of her head and smiles, and she smiles with him - with takeout on a Friday. Everyone else seems to have big plans for the night, but Rachel managed to politely decline the (startlingly numerous, at first; now, just typically plentiful) invitations that were offered to her by classmates, and hallmates, and clubmates, and the rest of her assorted 'mates.
(She suspects that Harmony doen't have plans, either. She's not sure that it was done entirely by design.)
"Hey," she says in greeting, softly, because Harmony is sitting on her bed with her back to the door. By now, Rachel recognizes it as a sign of unhappiness with Rachel, and knows to tread more lightly around her roommate.
Harmony turns, briefly, to glower at Rachel over her shoulder, and then she crosses her arms and turns back to the half-folded script Rachel can see in front of her.
Not taking the dismissal too personally (because it's just part of Harmony's moods; Rachel's actually glad that it fits into the mold of Angry Harmony so well - she's not entirely sure what she would do if she came across another of Harmony's attitudes that didn't fit into a binary system set up through experience), Rachel just nods and sets the bag of food down on her desk.
She watches Harmony's back out of the corner of her eye, and notices the way that Harmony stiffens as though she's trying not to give into the sweet smells of stir fry.
"You can join me, if you want," Rachel offers quietly, as she untangles her scarf from around her neck. She doesn't make the mistake of staring at Harmony too openly as she waits for an answer, but she's not entirely surreptitious about it, either.
Rachel hangs up her scarf, and her jacket, next to one of Harmony's in the closet. It's red, and Rachel realizes (perhaps belatedly) that red might be Harmony's favorite color. She wonders why she didn't realize as much before.
*
“I used to keep a journal of all my achievements,” Rachel says, boldly, over borderline-traditional mu shu pork.
Chopsticks still poised in hand, Harmony raises an eyebrow across the floor at Rachel, and then laughs when she can’t find traces of a joke. It’s not a malicious laugh, or even an amused one. It sounds more incredulous than anything else, and Rachel waits for an explanation.
It doesn’t come until three tracks have passed, and Rachel gets the feeling like that may have been because they were some of Harmony’s favorite songs.
“I used to do the same thing,” she admits, quietly, against the mouth of her water bottle. “Always writing down solos, and competitions, and small, supporting roles in local theatre productions. Not anymore -” she adds hastily, when she catches Rachel peering at her curiously. “Now I only write down the monuments in my career - starring roles, and competitions wherein I placed.”
“But you still have them?” Rachel clarifies, and the way that Harmony blushes is very human, in a way that Rachel isn’t used to seeing from her. It’s not indignant, like Angry Harmony, but it’s not quite pleased like Happy Harmony. It’s somewhere caught in between, and it’s somehow pleasant.
Sheepishly, Harmony nods, and swallows a mouthful of water before pointing an accusatory finger and noting, “Well, it’s not like you don’t still have yours, either - that’s what you keep in the box under your bed, isn’t it?”
*
It’s nothing that she plans. Instead, it's just something that she does, because.
(Because, she tells Kurt later, when he asks her Why in the world would you say that?. Because she wanted to, because it felt right in the moment, because she could. All of the becauses in the world aren't enough to explain it.)
"I like you," she says, smiling because she doesn't know why not to, and smiling because she likes being around Harmony for reasons she doesn't understand herself (beyond just the fact that they're kindred spirits, of course), and smiling because.
Harmony looks over at her as though she (Rachel) is desperately insane, and Rachel just keeps smiling.
"Excuse me," Harmony says, slowly, lilting into a tone more confused than Rachel is used to from her. It doesn't sound as much like a question as Rachel imagines Harmony intended it to be, and she sees the way that Harmony winces at the same realization.
The instinct is to shrug, but Rachel fights that one off, because shrugs are too common, too meaningless, and she doesn't mean to give that impression from her epiphany. Instead, she tilts her head a few degrees to the side, and thinks aloud, "Yes, I'm almost positive that I do - like you. And I don't mean as my roommate friend that I know all the habitual routines of."
A long pause follows, but it feels short to Rachel as she comes to the conclusion that she's absolutely right.
Guardedly, Harmony asks with a suspicious raise of the brow, "Is this your idea of a nefarious scheme to distract me so that you can take the lead in the upcoming production of The Phantom? Because let me just assure you now, Berry, that I am no one's Meg Giardi, and I refuse to fall into one of your -"
"It's not a nefarious scheme," Rachel interrupts, and Harmony's mouth drops open into a startled o as her cheeks tint rosy, like all the princess Rachel grew up imagining and assuming that she just admired and envied.
"I see," Harmony answers, voice barely audible and gaze trained on her shoes. (They're cute; strappy little things, silver and tasteful. Rachel thinks that Kurt would approve of them.)
Another hesitation, and this time, Rachel notices when it reaches a discomforting length.
Uncertainly, her smile falters, and she asks, "Is this going to make you uncomfortable?"
Harmony glances at her, and sighs with reluctantly fond weariness in a way that reminds Rachel of Kurt. "No, Rachel," she replies, more condescendingly, though Rachel is by now (mostly) immune to the way that it grates on her own nerves. "I'm just...trying to decide how it is that we're supposed to proceed from here, that's all."
"Don't I have a say in that?" Rachel asks, and Harmony laughs. Incredulously, again.
"Sure - if you want to," she answers, weakly, and Rachel nods (because she does) and smiles (because).
**
Harmony is pretty, in a majestic way. She has the romantic look of classic beauties from bygone eras, and plays her features in the intimidating manner of a film noir herione.
And Rachel likes her on that shallowest level.
Harmony is unbelievable, in the very bad way. She says things that are so far beyond the realm of politeness that it's usually necessary for her to repeat herself several times over until a person understands that they were really just insulted, and she seems to be very well aware of the fact that she has an unpleasant personality. She embraces it, even, and Rachel can respect that she likes herself and is proud of herself and doesn't feel the need to change to suit other people's preferences, but really, tact should come into play somewhere.
And Rachel likes her, despite all of that - or maybe, more because of it.
Harmony is like Rachel, or, what Rachel imagines she was like to other people, when she was a young ingenue. She is determined, and so eternally starstruck by the success she knows she'll one day have, that sometimes she doesn't know how to handle the real things that are in front of her in the present, and sometimes, it's frustrating to try and hold a conversation with her.
And Rachel likes her, without feelings of narcissim and validation.
All are legitimate points, and the other, more minor ones that fill up her PROS // CONS chart are just as worthy of note. But none of them really stick out above all the rest as an explanation for why Rachel thinks she belongs in the journal, amongst all other successes and victories and happy occasions, and Rachel stays awake until four in the morning, trying to decide by the light of an electric candle which one to use.
Harmony rolls over in her sleep, arm sprawled across the pillow as she lets out an ungodly snore, and Rachel starts at the noise before smiling, and fishing under her bed for her shoebox.
She withdraws it, the smooth cardboard unfamiliar under her fingertips, and pokes through the different logs she kept over different periods of her life. Her hand lingers on the puffy gold star sticker in the top right corner of a notebook she thinks she remembers being electric blue, traces faintly the dim outline of a purple sharpie's declared title of Senior Year!!, and she smiles a little sadly when she has to flip open the cover to remember what her first solo of the year was.
It goes back in the box, and instead, she pulls out her first-year college journal. It's red, a parting gift from Finn in the colors of Ohio State (Write a footnote or something about me in your memoirs, okay? he'd said, and she's kissed him and cried because she wanted to be so much more in love with him than she was; they would have been the perfect Romeo-and-Juliet, opposites-attract love story), and the first page is only halfway filled.
Rachel reads over the list of songs she's sung for auditions (complete with assorted smiley faces to denote how well it went over with certain members of the theatre department); skims the minor parts she remembers getting and pauses at the name Christine Dai (understudy); poses her fluffy-tipped pink pen at the first open line, and writes nothing beyond met Harmony.
She knows that she won't remember everything about college, a few years from now when she's starring in Broadway musicals alongside equally-talented ingenues and idolized veterans, just the same way that she doesn't remember everything about high school. But a part of her thinks that there really isn't anything more to be said about Harmony than Rachel knew her, because if she isn't at Rachel's side on the stage (and maybe they'll be together; maybe they'll have suffered an ugly breakup; maybe they'll be married and it won't just be a stupid mistake), then one sentence will be more than enough to suffice.
Harmony is going places, Rachel thinks. And it's not a stretch of her imagination to think that she's going to the same places that Rachel is.
Author: dominant-spoon
Written For: kkieslowski
Pairing: Harmony/Rachel
Rating/Warnings: PG; futurefic!AU at an unnamed college in NYC; disregards Harmony’s canon age
Spoilers: Harmony’s existence; a few for Finn and Rachel’s relationship in recent episodes
Summary: Rachel’s always wanted a roommate. She didn’t exactly want that roommate to be Harmony, but maybe it’s not so bad.
**
When she reached high school, Rachel had made the decision to record every (important) thing about her day in a journal. The intention was to keep careful track of the later years in her life (that is to say, in the earliest stages of her professional, adult career) for biographical purposes. Though Rachel supposed that it could be argued (by others; people who weren’t familiar with Rachel, and the Berry household in general) that she was overly confident in almost all her abilities, she could admit to herself, even when she was a novel young freshman with a cheerful smile and big dreams (a stark contrast to the tired scowls and uninspired aspirations of her peers), Rachel was able to think pragmatically about her memory.
She knew, that eventually the day would come - much, much later on in her career, when she’d already won more Tonys than anyone else in the history of the award, and she’d be able to tell her grandchildren the stories behind her multiple EGOTs - when, after being asked the question of What was your first role?, she wouldn’t be able to remember the answer. Therefore, the only logical means of preserving similarly valuable information, was for Rachel to record it as it happened, and make sure that her legacy was well-documented for the awe of future generations.
Over the years, she grew lazier with her entries - less notable, were the solos she’d been granted in Glee Club (the last one recorded was Paramore’s “The Only Exception”; she laughs, now, looking back and seeing that glaring up at her, but she still remembers the days when she would see it and shudder, because it was nothing more than an overly sentimental alternative pop tune that at the time of such shudders, shamed her to have ever performed, even for no more than a dozen living souls), and instead she only kept track of the really significant ones. The ones performed on television; the ones performed in competitions; the ones performed with real purpose, instead of just as a means for her to express her feelings.
By the time that she was graduating from McKinley (with honors, naturally), the journals she had filled over the four years spanning her high school career had already begun to be viewed as proof that she’d been correct to anticipate failure in her memory. It took her more than a moment to recall when it was that she had performed an All-American Rejects song (“Gives You Hell”; she couldn’t quite place the occasion - remembered it had something to do with Finn, of course; remembered that it was in the New Directions’ first year, so she had been a sophomore; couldn’t recall how it was that Mr. Schue had let her, until Kurt mentioned Finn’s rendition of “Hello, I Love You” in an unrelated context and Rachel had recalled with a start that they once had a week of hello songs); she could never feel entirely certain that it was for the (unofficial, thus, unnoted) Duets Competition of her junior year that she and Finn had performed “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart”.
It pained Rachel, in a nostalgic way, to have such difficulty with memories that she had half-expected (even while taking precautions, even while preparing for the worst) to be lasting ones that would never fade. But in a differently nostalgic way, with every extra moment of thought wasted on forgotten details that might have never mattered in the first place, Rachel felt herself leave the days of high school - of bullying; of love that felt so certain and crushes that were so truly crushing and lies and scandals that a glee club so unpopular really shouldn’t have been saddled with - far behind her, only to be mentioned in passing during interviews focusing on the nature of her success
She took the journals with her to college, anyway. Packed them all, in varying neon colors and decorated with mixed sets of stickers (mostly of a puffy variety; many others sparkly), into a small shoebox and tucked them away at the bottom of a dufflebag.
If her fathers noticed the absence of the logs that had never been a secret from the Rachel Berry Museum in their basement, they didn’t mention it to her. Rachel rather thought that that may have been generous, and done for her sake.
(She mentioned it to Kurt; admitted the routine to him when the box fell out of the bag onto her bed and he asked about it, and explained the whole tragedy of her mixed feelings regarding the vagueness of her mind as he watched her with a familiar expression caught between affectionate amusement and unnerved bewilderment.
He’d laughed; pulled her under his arm and leaned his head against hers, amicably. “Is there a reason why they should think you wouldn’t want to talk about taking the barebone outline of your high school show choir career with you?” he asked, logically, and Rachel had pondered the question before remarking to him that he was a genius.
Of course, Kurt had answered that he knew that already.
Rachel suspected he was teasing, though she could never be quite sure what was a carefully-designed mask and what was legitimate confidence when it came to Kurt.)
**
For the first three days of being settled into her dorm, Rachel doesn’t have a roommate. Kurt’s shows up the day after he and Rachel arrive, and after only four hours, Kurt is in Rachel’s room, lamenting the matching system and complaining about how entirely insufferable he can already tell his roommate is going to be.
When Rachel asks for details about him - asks what makes him so horrendous; asks how Kurt can be so sure already that they won’t manage to get along eventually; asks what his name is - Kurt clams up, cheeks tinted pink and bitten lip telling.
High school has made Rachel more empathetic - not to mention, has left her with a great deal of experience with relationships, particularly regarding infidelity - and she doesn’t judge Kurt when he admits that the roommate is very attractive, and very gay.
“Oh,” she says, a little uncertainly, but not caught offguard. “Well that’s - nice. Did he mention a boyfriend?”
(It’s her subtle way of reminding Kurt that he has a boyfriend. A younger boyfriend, still in high school, but a boyfriend all the same. She takes pride in how it manages to come across as only a casual inquiry.)
“He -” Kurt hesitates, crosses his legs and folds his hands over his knee; doesn’t look at Rachel, and pretends to be assessing the hideousness of the color of her walls. (Rachel likes it; it’s a faint purple, like a lavender. She suspects Kurt thinks it’s too in-between - not definitive enough to be one color, or another.) “He did mention…having one, at one point.”
(It’s Kurt’s subtle way of answering he’s single.)
Kurt glances over at Rachel; colors when he notices her peering at him, and then clears his throat. “What color is this room? I can’t tell if it’s supposed to be grey, or lilac. It’s not particularly attractive either way,” he remarks.
Rachel smiles, and drops the subject of specifics about Kurt’s roommate by segueing, “At least you’ve met your roommate. How long do you think it will be until mine arrives?”
It is possible, that Rachel is a little on the overzealous side when it comes to her roommate. She doesn’t think it’s fair for anyone to blame her - she’s never had any siblings, and she’s not used to sharing, but it’s exciting and she wants to be. She wants to have a friend that she lives with, not a friend like Kurt who loves her at her worst and sees her when no one else does, but who doesn’t have to deal with her all the time. She wants to have a friend that she knows the inner and outer workings of, and who knows her methods and habits by rote, too.
At this point, though, Rachel thinks she would even settle for an enemy who she cohabitates with unpleasantly but has a reluctant and begrudging soft spot for. Really, any roommate would do.
Humming, Kurt unlaces his hands, uncrosses his legs, and leans back on Rachel’s bed. He stares at the ceiling, but not with that same contrived expression of distaste from earlier.
“I couldn’t tell you,” he replies. “But if I were you, I’d make the most of the solitude - and the silence; did I mention that he listens to an inordinate amount of jazz?”
He did; Rachel doesn’t point that out.
“While you can,” Kurt continues. A pause, and then he adds -
“What if she doesn’t listen to Barbra?”
The hitch in Rachel’s breath is loud to enough to produce echoes all around the globe, and Rachel must look as horrified by that prospect as she feels, because when Kurt turns his gaze on her, he laughs at her expression.
“That’s not funny, Kurt,” Rachel stresses shrilly, heart pounding rapidly within her chest. She understands that it wouldn’t be the end of the world, if she had a roommate that didn’t appreciate Barbra’s gift of song, but she can’t help but think that it very easily could be.
She may overdo certain things, now and then, but Rachel doesn’t consider her adoration of Miss Streisand to be anything other than reasonable. She idolizes her greatly, and her music holds sentimental value to Rachel that Rachel isn’t sure she could explain to anyone except in terms of their own idols (and even then, maybe not), and Rachel doesn’t know how she could categorize any roommate that disliked Barbra.
It wouldn’t make her an enemy, exactly, but she certainly couldn’t be a friend. That’s one of those things that Rachel simply cannot overlook in terms of companionship (maybe years ago, when she was lonely, without friends or a boyfriend or really anyone at all to confide in; but not now, not now that she has higher standards than anyone that wants her), and it could easily be a dealbreaker.
“Oh, god,” she says to herself, because the possibility - though not having occurred to her before now - is an abruptly terrifying one.
Unhelpfully, Kurt hums, and murmurs again, “Jazz.”
He’s not talking to her, either.
**
The roommate finally arrives on a Saturday afternoon.
As luck would have it, Rachel isn’t there to greet her with vegan cookies and a printed list of necessary agreements that the two of them will have to agree to for the sake of harmonious cohabitation. She’s out with Kurt, instead, exploring the city with the wide, dreamy eyes of two young people who have dreamed of the place all their lives; who have dreamed of getting away from small towns and ignorant people and musicless lives and going to the place where everything is shiny and new and magical.
When she arrives back to her dorm, her laugh echoing down the hallways as Kurt calls a few, lingering, teasing statements about boyfriends Rachel used to have and big (stupid) ideas she used to come up with (marriage while still in high school; the guilt and the sorrow and the shockingly debilitating fear have all passed, and it’s finally just ridiculous), she’s not sorry to have missed the arrival of her new friend/enemy/Temporary Roommate (until Rachel manages a different arrangement because there is absolutely no way she can possibly live with someone who doesn’t like Barbra Streisand). It’s hard to be sorry, when she’s never been happier in her life than she is in New York with her best friend.
Her presence wasn’t entirely necessary, anyway, as Rachel realizes when her roommate turns in response to Rachel’s pleasantly surprised, Oh! Hello there, are you - and appears to have a recognizable face.
In pale, slender hands, is Rachel’s list of suggested compromises. On a heart-shaped face is a smirk that Rachel doesn’t find welcoming at all.
“Hi there - you must be Rachel Berry?” Harmony says with a smile that Rachel thinks is akin to that of Carroll’s crocodile.
Rachel’s blood runs cold - and not just from the implication that Harmony doesn’t remember who Rachel is, which is an insult beyond all measure - and she can’t find the words to verbalize her thought processes quickly enough. Her fumbled I had no idea that you would be - is cut off and overshadowed by Harmony’s saccharinely friendly remark of, “Harmonious cohabitation - cute.”
It takes only that one moment for Kurt’s warnings of horrible roommates to suddenly gain validation in Rachel’s mind.
She doesn’t write Harmony off in that one moment - no matter how grating she may already seem; no matter how much Rachel gets the feeling like she will despise her; no matter how bad things seem in that one, groundshaking moment - because despite all else, she at least remembers Harmony and her glee club singing a song from Evita the last time that Rachel attended Sectionals.
At the very least, that implies good taste in music, and as long as Harmony has that, Rachel knows that she can survive.
Smiling broadly (as genuinely as she can manage), Rachel extends a hand and introduces (a little stiffly), “Yes, I’m Rachel. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
The subdued outrage that pans over Harmony’s features is gratifying, in a childish way.
Rachel allows herself that luxury, and pretends to be entirely surprised by the unfortunately coincidental word choice of her list.
**
The first night of living with Harmony is not quite unbearable, but it’s not too far from it, either.
On one hand, Harmony does like Barbra, and Rachel is innately obligated to like her just a touch more because of that alone. Although Harmony’s voice doesn’t fit Barbra’s catalogue particularly well (in Rachel’s opinion), and although the fact that she only sings under her breath when Rachel is clearly trying to listen to the song by its flaw-free self is extraordinarily irksome, Rachel takes deep breaths and ignores Harmony as best she can as she prepares her bed for slumber. It’s not something that is going to ruin her college experience for her. (Not yet.)
On the other hand, Harmony’s pre-sleep rituals are similar to many of Rachel’s own. The overlap that results is handled with feigned politeness and lots of Oh, I’m sorry, do yous, but everything is tainted with an undertone of scrutiny and judgment. Harmony has very pretty eyes, but they feel like the eyes of someone whose sole purpose in life in to make Rachel as uncomfortable as they possibly can when they stare at Rachel every step of the way.
It does help, that Harmony agrees with Rachel on the matter of going to bed at a reasonable hour. It doesn’t help, that Harmony treats Kurt as a nuisance when he pokes his head into Rachel’s dorm and invites her - Oh, he says with wary surprise and barely-veiled dislike, You could come, too, if you like? You must be Rachel’s roommate (Rachel loves the way that Harmony purses her lips in annoyance; loves the way that Kurt pretends he can’t tell he’s offended her) - to go to a “little get-together” his roommate told him about.
“Is he going to be around often?” Harmony asks, as she sets her hairbrush on top of her dresser and glances over at Rachel haughtily.
Defensively, Rachel responds, “Kurt is my best friend,” and glares back at Harmony until the other girl shrugs, and fixes the glaringly red ribbon tying her hair into a ponytail at the nape of her neck.
When Harmony shuffles herself under her covers, looking every bit the image of a princess, with her hands folded on her stomach and her profile an elegant silhouette in the darkness (she has the kind of classic beauty Rachel’s always envied; she’s pretty like Quinn, and Rachel doesn’t like the way her heart clenches at that thought), she murmurs, “You don’t need to get so testy with me,” into the darkness. She says it calmly, as though it’s just an offhanded thought that occurred to her only then and didn’t really require any emphasis at all - but Rachel knows how she means it.
It’s essentially some form of a verbal backhand.
Rachel curls under her own blankets more petulantly, less gracefully, and replies in a hardly-dignified grumble, “I wasn’t being testy; I was only saying that Kurt is my friend, so that you would ideally not talk about him like that.”
Harmony hums, and then notes in that same, musically easy tone of voice that sounds like it ought to be soothing, rather than aggravating, “I didn’t talk about him in any specific way; I just asked if he was going to be around often.”
The conversation falls to an uncomfortable silence, and doesn’t continue. (It’s not entirely because Rachel falls asleep before she’s consciously aware that slumber is approaching her.)
**
Kurt says I told you so when Rachel finds solace in his dorm and complains until she feels like her voice might be nearing a level of hoarseness. It’s not malicious - it doesn’t even sound rightfully triumphant; he’s very understanding about it (he listened to her complaining, after all) - but that doesn’t mean that Rachel appreciates it.
She’s irritable, because Harmony is very similar to Rachel in regards to her interests, hobbies, and talent level, and none of that is going to make living with her any more pleasant. (Rachel doesn’t need to spend any more time with her than she already has to know as much; it’s instinct, and Rachel’s instincts have rarely ever failed her before.) Kurt just happens to be there for Rachel to take it out on.
“Well, I told you, too,” she points out, voice rising high, and, no, it’s not hoarse at all. (Though she thinks it would be best for her to take it easy on it, just the same.) “I told you not to judge your roommate so quickly -” It occurs to her, only then, that she still doesn’t know even the name of Kurt’s roommate; she thinks she’ll have to try and remember to ask Kurt, later on. “And who was right?”
Frowning, faintly annoyed but not to the point where he’s going to take it personally, Kurt huffs and ignores the question, redirecting the topic back to Rachel’s woes.
“You could always try to avoid her as much as possible,” he offers as a suggestion. “You just have to live with her until the end of the semester when you can talk to the housing office about switching. It doesn’t have to be a big show of you two pretending that you want to be friends with one another, when you both know that that’s not going to happen.”
Rachel considers it for a moment, and then nods, determined. “You are absolutely right, Kurt - I do not have to be friends with her, and obviously she and I aren’t going to get along, but there’s no reason at all why she and I can’t show each other the bare minimum level of courtesy when we have to be around each other.”
“Exactly,” Kurt says, smiling. “Now, how do you feel about checking out the theatre department?”
It’s a trick question. Between the pair of them, there’s no possible way to just check out the theatre department. It’s a production all its own, with costumes and elaborate planning that required months of development. Rachel grins at Kurt, and he smiles back as he drags her to her feet and starts mentioning fliers that he saw up on the bulletin board.
**
Classes officially start on a bright and shiny Monday. It’s sunny in the morning, to fit Rachel’s mood, and she notices for the first time the way that the sun streams in through the window of her room.
She also notices, for the first time, that even against all of Harmony’s best efforts, when Harmony wakes up in the morning, her hair is tangled mess.
Rachel’s attempts at stifling laughter in sight of Harmony’s pretty, typically silky-looking dark hair mussed and looking decidedly unprettied fail, and Harmony spins around to turn a glare on Rachel that would rival even the harshest ones she received in high school.
“Your -” Rachel gestures weakly with her right hand, to a general Head area. “Your hair,” she says lamely in explanation, not quite certain herself what it is about the image that’s so very cute it warranted giggles.
Harmony huffs in impatient annoyance, her cheeks pink with embarrassment, and goes back to her regularly-schedule process of ignoring Rachel except when impossible.
Shaking her head, Rachel doesn't elaborate, and pretends to be engrossed in the trouble of choosing her perfect First Day at College outfit. (She's had it picked out for months; she's had input given on it from her fathers, and Kurt, and even all the girls from the Glee Club before they were all separated by graduation with promises of We'll keep in touch! even though they were all obvious lies.)
On the opposite side of the room, Harmony wastes no time in picking her own out, and striding into the bathroom with a deliberate, Hmph of annoyance. The door is pulled shut firmly, but not with a slam, and Rachel stares at it for a moment with a smile on her face.
Harmony is not the roommate that Rachel fantasized about someday having as a Number One Gal Pal when she was younger, but Rachel started realizing a long time ago that most of the people she fantasized about when she was young weren't realistic models of human beings at all.
She thinks she might not mind that, so much, because at least Harmony isn't the real embodiment of a princess. Rachel thinks she could actually be a fairly tolerable person.
(Probably not. But Rachel might be a little more willing to try, at least.)
**
Harmony turns up in many of Rachel's classes. After that first bright and shiny morning, the novelty of her being a real person wears off very quickly, and Rachel is left only with a continuous feeling of frustration and exasperation with the other girl, which stems from the competition that Harmony insists on forging between them at every available occasion.
Whether it's upstaging Rachel with her credentials, or singing just a touch louder than she has to over Rachel's voice (we're supposed to be harmonizing Rachel reminds her, with a gentle nudge to the ribs; she avoids the obvious pun, but Harmony grimaces like Rachel made it anyway), she manages to find a way to make Rachel want to hate her in every medium the world has to offer.
Rather than complaining about it less to Kurt, however - even when she sees the way that he sighs longer; replies more in the way of simply humoring her, rather than legitimately being interested in the content of what she says - Rachel starts doing it more. It's unintentional, but she almost feels like she can't stop herself, and when she tries to explain this to Kurt, as well, he only replies, "Word vomit," like it makes complete sense.
(She looks as bemused as she feels, apparently, because Kurt stares at her in amazement before declaring, "Mean Girls," in a shrill voice that Rachel identifies as his dear god tone.)
"But you have to see it too - you do, don't you, Kurt?" she stresses to him one afternoon, when they're having lunch in the courtyard and he's staring at a figure that Rachel thinks might be the roommate. (He looks short, and he has a haircut that looks very Bieberesque, albeit brunet. Rachel still doesn't know his name.)
Sighing, Kurt flicks his eyes over to Rachel and raises an eyebrow.
"But - she's always doing it! And she always smirks at me, too - I know it's intentional; it's like she's just trying to irritate me! Are you just pretending you don't see it too, to tease me? You have to see it, she -"
"Rachel," Kurt interrupts, hand raised to silence her, though it's his tone - authoritative, but gentle and sympathetic - that catches her. "Look, all I've seen is that Harmony's not happy unless she's got your attention. No matter what it takes for her to get it."
Blinking in surprise, Rachel mulls over the information wordlessly for a long moment, uncomprehending.
"Why would she want my attention?" Rachel asks, innocently enough, and an answer doesn't occur to her until the words are halfway out of her mouth. Her tone falters to reflect as much, and Kurt nods at her solemnly in reply.
**
Once she thinks it, the idea is like an infection that grows and festers inside Rachel's mind, until she can hardly think straight. She tells as much to Mercedes, over Skype one night (she's just holding the space while Kurt's off talking to the roommate about something that he probably has little interest in, beside the roommate's interest in it), and Mercedes snorts, like there's something funny about it.
Rachel doesn't get the pun until Mercedes stares at her, long and expectant.
"Do you see?" Rachel cries, dropping her head to her crossed forearms and feeling embarrassed and confused, all at once. "Even the simplest wordplay is going over my head - what's wrong with me?"
Mercedes laughs again, and when Rachel peers up at her, this time, her gaze is knowledgeable. "Rachel, honey," she says, almost patronizingly, but sweetly enough so that Rachel takes it as sincerity. "Did you ever think that maybe there's more than one reason for why Harmony's got your attention span locked up so easy?"
The answer is no, but Rachel doesn't admit that. She feels herself blushing pink, and offers thanks to God when Kurt reenters his room a convenient few moments later. (He's blushing too, but Rachel's too preoccupied to demand answers from him, again. She hears Mercedes bring it up, when she's closing the door behind her, however, and distantly thinks Good.)
And this idea - the new idea; the suggestion that Rachel might have a crush, too - is absurd, even more absurd, but it's just as infectious and spreads throughout all of Rachel's thoughts just as easily, if not more so. Rachel thinks of it like a new and improved version of a disease, immune to the cures that used to come so easily and spawned from the superpowers of the original that managed to survive the usual exterminations. (Like distracting herself with other matters; with making other friends and learning new songs. It worked, for a time, but it never worked completely, and now, Rachel can't even hum along to the tune of some nineties grunge piece that a fellow vocal enthusiast from the theatre department wants to rearrange.)
It's humiliating, that Rachel thinks about something so ridiculous like that when there's so much more, when there are so many better things, for her to be learning and exploring. More humiliating, is facing Harmony every day with the thoughts that she's too nervous to confirm and the suspicions that she's too convinced to disregard.
Harmony appears none the wiser, as to Rachel's incessant thoughts, and if she realizes at any point that Rachel is aware of her crush, she doesn't let it affect the way that she treats Rachel. She never once changes, and though it's admirable, it also does not make things any easier on Rachel. Just when she had been beginning to accustom herself to Harmony and her - ways; the easy way that she can become annoyed over the smallest things, and the easier way that she seems to lose herself in music, if she's given the opportunity to; the rare way that she'll sometimes act as though she's not entirely sure of herself and she doesn't completely look down on everyone else; the rarest way that she'll sometimes let Rachel join in and sing with her, if Rachel approaches the matter the right way and Harmony is in the right mood - everything has fallen apart, and Rachel finds herself more confused than ever.
She asks, finally, "Do you have a crush on me?" and in all honesty, she doesn't just ask - she blurts the question, with almost frantic intensity.
For a moment, Harmony doesn't react. She doesn't look away from the book opened on her lap, or take her fingers from the keys on the computer in front of her. She doesn't even move; hardly seems to breathe.
When she does react, she doesn't bother turning around to face Rachel; just keeps staring at her computer screen.
"Excuse me?" she says, in the same manner that she says almost everything - like she thinks Rachel is a joke, and is only waiting for the right moment to laugh. But she doesn't sound as convinced, this time, and Rachel can't tell if that's because she isn't convinced, or if it's because Rachel can tell the subtle differences between Harmony's moods by now, solely because they live together and that kind of unintentional intimacy is bound to occur in such situations.
Rachel sits at the foot of her bed, staring at Harmony as her own hands bundle in the hem of her skirt, and repeats, more sanely, "Do you have a crush on me?" After a brief pause of consideration, she adds reassuringly, "I don't mean for you to think that it's a - problem - if you do. It's just...something that I would like to know, so I can better..."
Harmony interrupts with a brittle laugh, and in a way, Rachel is grateful for it, because she's not entirely sure what she would accomplish through getting an answer.
"So what?" she asks, uncharacteristically sharp, and making Rachel less grateful. She unfurls, and refurls, her fingers in the cottony fabric of her skirt. “So you know how to treat me?”
“No -” Rachel tries to protest, quietly, but Harmony speaks over her, like always. It doesn’t feel like always, though.
*
Rachel comes home - home, she says before she can think of a different word to describe her dorm; Kurt kisses the crown of her head and smiles, and she smiles with him - with takeout on a Friday. Everyone else seems to have big plans for the night, but Rachel managed to politely decline the (startlingly numerous, at first; now, just typically plentiful) invitations that were offered to her by classmates, and hallmates, and clubmates, and the rest of her assorted 'mates.
(She suspects that Harmony doen't have plans, either. She's not sure that it was done entirely by design.)
"Hey," she says in greeting, softly, because Harmony is sitting on her bed with her back to the door. By now, Rachel recognizes it as a sign of unhappiness with Rachel, and knows to tread more lightly around her roommate.
Harmony turns, briefly, to glower at Rachel over her shoulder, and then she crosses her arms and turns back to the half-folded script Rachel can see in front of her.
Not taking the dismissal too personally (because it's just part of Harmony's moods; Rachel's actually glad that it fits into the mold of Angry Harmony so well - she's not entirely sure what she would do if she came across another of Harmony's attitudes that didn't fit into a binary system set up through experience), Rachel just nods and sets the bag of food down on her desk.
She watches Harmony's back out of the corner of her eye, and notices the way that Harmony stiffens as though she's trying not to give into the sweet smells of stir fry.
"You can join me, if you want," Rachel offers quietly, as she untangles her scarf from around her neck. She doesn't make the mistake of staring at Harmony too openly as she waits for an answer, but she's not entirely surreptitious about it, either.
Rachel hangs up her scarf, and her jacket, next to one of Harmony's in the closet. It's red, and Rachel realizes (perhaps belatedly) that red might be Harmony's favorite color. She wonders why she didn't realize as much before.
*
“I used to keep a journal of all my achievements,” Rachel says, boldly, over borderline-traditional mu shu pork.
Chopsticks still poised in hand, Harmony raises an eyebrow across the floor at Rachel, and then laughs when she can’t find traces of a joke. It’s not a malicious laugh, or even an amused one. It sounds more incredulous than anything else, and Rachel waits for an explanation.
It doesn’t come until three tracks have passed, and Rachel gets the feeling like that may have been because they were some of Harmony’s favorite songs.
“I used to do the same thing,” she admits, quietly, against the mouth of her water bottle. “Always writing down solos, and competitions, and small, supporting roles in local theatre productions. Not anymore -” she adds hastily, when she catches Rachel peering at her curiously. “Now I only write down the monuments in my career - starring roles, and competitions wherein I placed.”
“But you still have them?” Rachel clarifies, and the way that Harmony blushes is very human, in a way that Rachel isn’t used to seeing from her. It’s not indignant, like Angry Harmony, but it’s not quite pleased like Happy Harmony. It’s somewhere caught in between, and it’s somehow pleasant.
Sheepishly, Harmony nods, and swallows a mouthful of water before pointing an accusatory finger and noting, “Well, it’s not like you don’t still have yours, either - that’s what you keep in the box under your bed, isn’t it?”
*
It’s nothing that she plans. Instead, it's just something that she does, because.
(Because, she tells Kurt later, when he asks her Why in the world would you say that?. Because she wanted to, because it felt right in the moment, because she could. All of the becauses in the world aren't enough to explain it.)
"I like you," she says, smiling because she doesn't know why not to, and smiling because she likes being around Harmony for reasons she doesn't understand herself (beyond just the fact that they're kindred spirits, of course), and smiling because.
Harmony looks over at her as though she (Rachel) is desperately insane, and Rachel just keeps smiling.
"Excuse me," Harmony says, slowly, lilting into a tone more confused than Rachel is used to from her. It doesn't sound as much like a question as Rachel imagines Harmony intended it to be, and she sees the way that Harmony winces at the same realization.
The instinct is to shrug, but Rachel fights that one off, because shrugs are too common, too meaningless, and she doesn't mean to give that impression from her epiphany. Instead, she tilts her head a few degrees to the side, and thinks aloud, "Yes, I'm almost positive that I do - like you. And I don't mean as my roommate friend that I know all the habitual routines of."
A long pause follows, but it feels short to Rachel as she comes to the conclusion that she's absolutely right.
Guardedly, Harmony asks with a suspicious raise of the brow, "Is this your idea of a nefarious scheme to distract me so that you can take the lead in the upcoming production of The Phantom? Because let me just assure you now, Berry, that I am no one's Meg Giardi, and I refuse to fall into one of your -"
"It's not a nefarious scheme," Rachel interrupts, and Harmony's mouth drops open into a startled o as her cheeks tint rosy, like all the princess Rachel grew up imagining and assuming that she just admired and envied.
"I see," Harmony answers, voice barely audible and gaze trained on her shoes. (They're cute; strappy little things, silver and tasteful. Rachel thinks that Kurt would approve of them.)
Another hesitation, and this time, Rachel notices when it reaches a discomforting length.
Uncertainly, her smile falters, and she asks, "Is this going to make you uncomfortable?"
Harmony glances at her, and sighs with reluctantly fond weariness in a way that reminds Rachel of Kurt. "No, Rachel," she replies, more condescendingly, though Rachel is by now (mostly) immune to the way that it grates on her own nerves. "I'm just...trying to decide how it is that we're supposed to proceed from here, that's all."
"Don't I have a say in that?" Rachel asks, and Harmony laughs. Incredulously, again.
"Sure - if you want to," she answers, weakly, and Rachel nods (because she does) and smiles (because).
**
Harmony is pretty, in a majestic way. She has the romantic look of classic beauties from bygone eras, and plays her features in the intimidating manner of a film noir herione.
And Rachel likes her on that shallowest level.
Harmony is unbelievable, in the very bad way. She says things that are so far beyond the realm of politeness that it's usually necessary for her to repeat herself several times over until a person understands that they were really just insulted, and she seems to be very well aware of the fact that she has an unpleasant personality. She embraces it, even, and Rachel can respect that she likes herself and is proud of herself and doesn't feel the need to change to suit other people's preferences, but really, tact should come into play somewhere.
And Rachel likes her, despite all of that - or maybe, more because of it.
Harmony is like Rachel, or, what Rachel imagines she was like to other people, when she was a young ingenue. She is determined, and so eternally starstruck by the success she knows she'll one day have, that sometimes she doesn't know how to handle the real things that are in front of her in the present, and sometimes, it's frustrating to try and hold a conversation with her.
And Rachel likes her, without feelings of narcissim and validation.
All are legitimate points, and the other, more minor ones that fill up her PROS // CONS chart are just as worthy of note. But none of them really stick out above all the rest as an explanation for why Rachel thinks she belongs in the journal, amongst all other successes and victories and happy occasions, and Rachel stays awake until four in the morning, trying to decide by the light of an electric candle which one to use.
Harmony rolls over in her sleep, arm sprawled across the pillow as she lets out an ungodly snore, and Rachel starts at the noise before smiling, and fishing under her bed for her shoebox.
She withdraws it, the smooth cardboard unfamiliar under her fingertips, and pokes through the different logs she kept over different periods of her life. Her hand lingers on the puffy gold star sticker in the top right corner of a notebook she thinks she remembers being electric blue, traces faintly the dim outline of a purple sharpie's declared title of Senior Year!!, and she smiles a little sadly when she has to flip open the cover to remember what her first solo of the year was.
It goes back in the box, and instead, she pulls out her first-year college journal. It's red, a parting gift from Finn in the colors of Ohio State (Write a footnote or something about me in your memoirs, okay? he'd said, and she's kissed him and cried because she wanted to be so much more in love with him than she was; they would have been the perfect Romeo-and-Juliet, opposites-attract love story), and the first page is only halfway filled.
Rachel reads over the list of songs she's sung for auditions (complete with assorted smiley faces to denote how well it went over with certain members of the theatre department); skims the minor parts she remembers getting and pauses at the name Christine Dai (understudy); poses her fluffy-tipped pink pen at the first open line, and writes nothing beyond met Harmony.
She knows that she won't remember everything about college, a few years from now when she's starring in Broadway musicals alongside equally-talented ingenues and idolized veterans, just the same way that she doesn't remember everything about high school. But a part of her thinks that there really isn't anything more to be said about Harmony than Rachel knew her, because if she isn't at Rachel's side on the stage (and maybe they'll be together; maybe they'll have suffered an ugly breakup; maybe they'll be married and it won't just be a stupid mistake), then one sentence will be more than enough to suffice.
Harmony is going places, Rachel thinks. And it's not a stretch of her imagination to think that she's going to the same places that Rachel is.