Glee Fic: an additional act
So. Yes. You're seeing this right. I'm just going to go and buy a bottle of wine and we'll leave it be. If my roommates can have American Idol, I can have Glee. And my Lifetime movies, but that's for another time and another place. But I blame the tiny hipster scarf.
an additional act
glee ; jesse/rachel ; 2,781 words, PG
you’ll have to speak up. there’s no mirror to practice in front of in this one. post-prom queen.
-
The parking lot is starting to quiet. Puck passes them, calling Jesse a prick with a grin but Rachel just ignores it. The lamp over the car is flutters and cracks. She presses closer to Jesse without thinking.
The tissue in her hand is starting to dry and she presses it lightly against his mouth, cleaning the rest of the blood away. Somewhere, on the opposite end, she imagines Finn and Quinn sitting in the car, half-arguing and doing the same sort of thing. She tries not to give Jesse any kind of reaction.
“You know,” he says slowly. “I imagined our reunion with a little more flare, a sort of appropriate gravitas where we sing a little more and maybe, of course, I get you to laugh a little more, and then at the end of the night, it rains and I kiss you and we promise to start slowly.”
Rachel shakes her head. “Of course, you did.”
“He hit me first.”
“We should go.” Her fingers press lightly against his jaw. “We need to take care of your -” her mouth twists and she giggles a little “ - your face.”
“I hit him back,” Jesse tells her, and she’s almost hysterical, she thinks, too tired to really give anyone any kind of reaction. Her head is starting to throb and Jesse pulls the tissue from her fingers, tossing it to the side. She almost says something about littering.
Her fingers move back over his jaw. There’s a bruise starting to form and she sighs, “Congratulations.”
“You’re not impressed,” he says, and his fingers curl around her wrist, just before she pulls away again. He brings her hand to his mouth, grazing her knuckles with his lips. Her lips part but she narrows her eyes. This is such a stupid, stupid idea, she thinks.
“I don’t trust you,” she corrects him. “Rightfully so,” she adds. “As we discussed prior you suggesting that you take me to prom and upon and in accordance with my agreement.”
“You’ve been rehearsing that.”
He grins. Rachel flushes and turns her gaze away, shaking her head. She has to get back into his car, she reminds herself. Mercedes and Sam have opted to walk back to her house, not without Mercedes eyeing Jesse with disdain.
But it’s not important, and she’s not going to think about Finn, about Quinn and the bathroom, about this whole year and the one before that, how all of this is some kind of extraordinary mess that she isn’t really ready to start dealing with - especially with him here.
She can still hear the music though, the way it rings in her ears, and she reaches for her neck, her fingers brushing over her skin. She bites back a smile because it was fun, the dancing and the singing, and the fact that for a while, for a little while, it was just prom. It was what she needed it to be.
“I had a good time,” she says softly.
“I’m still fun.”
He shrugs. Rachel snorts.
“And I figured prom was a better metaphor and a better apology.” When she turns back to look at him, his hand cups her face. “You were always different,” he says simply.
Good or bad, she thinks, she doesn’t want to know what that means. Her throat clenches and she can feel her heart start to throb in her ears. Her fingers press into his jacket, curling over the lapels. She tugs.
“I’m still mad.”
His lips curl and he nods. “You should be.”
“What’s a little drama,” she agrees.
They stand in her kitchen. She wants to make tea. Jesse just invites himself in. Her dads are off and away for the night, a conference elsewhere and in Chicago, reassured that Mercedes’ mom took enough pictures for all the parents to have.
Rachel stands over the stove, studying the kettle and trying not to turn and watch him wander around the room. It’s not upstairs though, and it’s not her bedroom, and her mind is already starting to pick up speed, wondering if he’s curious enough to ask if she is still very much the same.
But he stops right next to her, leaning closer to the counter. His hands slide into his pockets and he sets his shoulders back.
“I saw you staring.”
She freezes. Her hand rests over the kettle’s handle. She licks her lips but doesn’t trust herself to breathe.
“At Finn,” he clarifies. “Sorry.”
Her mouth twists. Of course, her mind goes backwards and to that day, and to that stupid egging that she received from him and his team. She’s not angry, at least, she’s not angry at the moment but at him, rather, there is too much she hasn’t dealt with. She never once thought he’d be back.
She shrugs finally. “I -” her mouth turns and she sighs, “I’m good at heartbreak. I suppose, no, I know it’ll contribute to a wise future.”
“For song writing?”
“Don’t worry,” she says dryly. “You have a song too.”
“I’m not jealous,” he says.
She looks up and laughs. He’s serious though, leaning closer to her and dipping his mouth down to press against her bare shoulder. She jolts and he chuckles, his lips opening against her skin again.
Her hand curls around his arm. She blurts: “You’re jealous.”
“Do you want me to be?” he asks, and since it’s them, just the two of them, she finds that she gives in a little bit. She can be honest. She can be a little wiser. Neither reassurance strays too far from her.
“I used to,” she admits. “I used to wonder what it would be like if you were to come back, if -” Shelby’s name goes unspoken, her throat tightening again. “What I would say,” she says, “to you if you did.”
“Do you love him?”
“I did.” She shakes her head. “I do.”
“You don’t know.”
The kettle starts to screech. It startles her. She forces herself to reach for it, pull it off the corner and reaching for her cup to pour the water inside. She forgets about the tea, half-heartedly wrapping her hands around the cup and turning to face him again.
Her mouth opens. Then it closes. When it opens again, she shakes her head. Finn, she decides, doesn’t belong here. Her fingers stretch over the cup and it presses back into her palms, flushed.
“It doesn’t matter,” she murmurs.
He shakes his head too. “It does to you,” he says and takes her water from her. “I saw you watching him. And, well, he hit me.”
“Sorry about that.”
“I hope his face hurts too,” Jesse mutters.
In the back of her mind, she remembers Finn and then Quinn, and she remembers the taste of all her apologies and then some, then a little more. He doesn’t belong here, she reminds herself again, and then again. Her stomach slowly opens to knots again, taunt and heavy as she reaches for the mug in his hands, if only to take it back.
Her lips press into the rim. “I do miss him,” she admits.
“I know.”
“I missed you too.” It surprises her, the sudden admission; her gaze lowers and Jesse takes the water from her. He brings it to his mouth. “He’s harder to forget,” she says, “because he’s right here and he broke my heart in a different way - and I have to see it every day. But you - you’re still unexpected and while I enjoy a good twist, I just loved you differently.”
“Which means?”
She looks up at him, wide-eyed. She can’t read his gaze. Part of her wonders if she really wants to. But it is about tone of voice, and the way that tone of voice is carried; Jesse is careful, calm, and she feels her guard start to tense. She takes the water back from him.
“It means nothing,” she murmurs. “You just make me tired.”
He says nothing. He nods, maybe. Or it’s his fingers, really, that come to rest over her hands and the teacup. They stand there, next to the stove, and it really feels likes a moment, one of those moments, the kind that still live in the back of her mind when she thinks and needs a kind closure.
This is far from that.
It’s a little after four in the morning when he decides he wants to watch a movie and starts to dig through the cabinet that houses a collection of musicals, crime dramas, and documentaries, a kick that her dads have been sorting through ever since someone lent them a film about the cocaine trade. They go through these phases, really.
Of course he hasn’t let yet, and of course she hasn’t made him, and maybe it’s because she’s letting herself have the moment, whatever kind of moment this is going to end up being. She is still in her dress too, curled against the corner of the couch, her heels skewed over the end of a blanket that she keeps straightening out of nerves. Her mouth opens and closes. She rubs her eyes.
“Are you never going to go?” she asks finally, and he laughs, selecting, finally, a couple of DVDs and bringing them back to the couch. She forgets that the television is on and it’s really the sounds of an infomercial that is blearily reminding her that she needs to sleep.
“Nope,” he says cheerfully. “Still in the after-prom portion of the night.”
“I’m tired, Jesse.”
Her eyes close. She listens to him get up again and puts a film in. It’s the loud, misplaced opening of trumpets that walks into the opening credits for the film. She doesn’t ask what he’s picked and squeaks when his hands curl around her legs and he pushes himself underneath them.
They’re quiet and she’s half-asleep as his fingers start to press into her dress. She makes a soft sound, dropping her arm over her eyes as his hand catches her foot. Biting her lip, she lets her eyes open just a little bit.
“What?” she murmurs.
“College scared me,” he says. His fingers circle around her ankle, rolling lightly into her skin. She feels herself flush. “It’s a sea of people and I don’t like having to work to be noticed.”
She snorts. “You’re a liar.”
“I don’t.”
“You were the hardest working person I knew.” It slips and she is too tired to be shy, or maybe, maybe since nobody’s around and there’s no need to make an effort to protect herself, she doesn’t hide. “I mean, I think at least I knew that,” she murmurs.
He sighs. “You’re going to be fine, you know.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“It’s easier to talk about you.”
Her cheeks are warm. “Stop it,” she murmurs.
Her gaze wanders to the television. He’s picked Flashdance, she realizes. She laughs a little. His hand starts to move away from her ankle. His fingers brush circles against her calf and she bites her lip.
Jesse shrugs. “It was always easier to talk about you.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she tells him, and she realizes that he’s playing some kind of song over her calf, his fingers fluttering over her skin like piano keys. She tries to think of more appropriate metaphors, of a way to really react to what’s going on, but she can barely focus.
“Say nothing,” he says and she manages to sit up. He lets his hand stop and rest against her leg. It feels nice. It feels scary. There are too many things about Jesse that are like this, scary and unsure and wavering around a line that she set to be smart about things like this. He doesn’t look away from her. “It’s easier, right? Saying nothing.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
He gives her a smile but says nothing.
She snorts. Her head drops, pressing against his shoulder. She should change, she thinks vaguely. The skirt of her dress is starting to catch against her legs and really, really, she doesn’t want to have to be that aware, too aware of his hand on her leg and the fact that she is more than okay with it there.
It is the second time that night that she thinks about kissing him, if only to see - whatever that means. But Jesse is much more complicated than that.
“He’s not a bad guy.”
“He hit me.” There is amusement in his voice and she laughs a little, shaking her head. Her fingers curl around his arm and she tugs at the sleeve of his shirt, biting her lip. “You did, however, half-heartedly defend my honor.”
“You were being stupid.”
“I was being romantic,” he says, and he looks at her, almost offended. Her mouth twitches. “Stepping in as the hero.”
“Or the idiot,” she says.
He says nothing. She practiced, before, long before: I’m angry but there is something about him being here, being here and listening all over again that catches her into pausing. She doesn’t know what to make of any of this.
“Has she talked to you?”
Rachel looks away. “You would know better than I,” she manages. His fingers slip against her ankle again. Neither of them is paying attention to the movie. It’s half-hearted, at least, and this conversation, she thinks, has been a long time coming. She isn’t sure if it’s the place or the time to have it now. “And I don’t want to know,” she tells him seriously. “The two of you - I just don’t want to know. But if you want to talk to me, tell me why you’re really here and what’s going on - I didn’t ask in front of the others or before because, well, you’re exceptionally good at catching me off-guard.”
“You’ve been practicing.”
She hits his arm. Jesse laughs. She bites her lip, watching his fingers roll over her ankle, then catch the back of her heel. He rubs lightly.
The movie is already in full swing and she doesn’t want to move. Her eyes close and she sighs against his arm. She feels him relax next to her.
“I hope his face hurts,” he says again. It feels kind of nice as she laughs.
Rachel lets him kiss her in the morning. His hands frame her face and his mouth catches her forehead as she smoothes her hands against his chest. She doesn’t tell him that her fathers won’t be back until Monday, or that a part of her has already thought about asking to him, but she does let herself have this moment and leans a little closer as he seems to relax.
“Does it feel like closure?” he asks and he would, of course. His voice catches and she lets her hand brush against his throat, rubbing lightly along his jaw. She doesn’t smile but she shakes her head.
“I don’t trust you,” she says. Her voice isn’t small. A part of her waits to feel like she’s in that parking lot again, or back when he crashed her rehearsal on the stage. It’s the surprise, it’s the shock, it’s everything; that doesn’t come though, and she shakes her head. “If you’re serious -”
You shouldn’t, he doesn’t say. “I’m always serious,” he interrupts.
There are no outward declarations, no necessary ironies, and she grabs his hands, still against her face, leaning forward and kissing him herself. Her mouth opens over his and she breathes into him, her lips warm from the tea, sore from biting them earlier. He makes a sound and she swallows it, her fingers starting to curl against his face. His hand slides into her hair and they turn, Rachel stumbling back against the door. Her dress flutters against her legs and she almost, almost hates him for this bit, this kind of romance.
When he pulls away, she’s breathless.
Finn and Quinn sit behind her in Glee. Rachel keeps her hands in her lap and listens to Mercedes and Sam recount their night with a half-smile. Everyone is still talking about prom like it means something more; she doesn’t get it, she thinks, but every once in awhile she presses her fingers to her mouth and tries not to smile too much.
Mr. Schuester brings him in, moments later, gaze darting warily around to the group as everyone explodes in some kind of reaction with Jesse standing in the front of the room, like the year before, his amusement open and written all over his face.
She isn’t surprised. He’ll tell her later, grinning: you started this.
an additional act
glee ; jesse/rachel ; 2,781 words, PG
you’ll have to speak up. there’s no mirror to practice in front of in this one. post-prom queen.
-
The parking lot is starting to quiet. Puck passes them, calling Jesse a prick with a grin but Rachel just ignores it. The lamp over the car is flutters and cracks. She presses closer to Jesse without thinking.
The tissue in her hand is starting to dry and she presses it lightly against his mouth, cleaning the rest of the blood away. Somewhere, on the opposite end, she imagines Finn and Quinn sitting in the car, half-arguing and doing the same sort of thing. She tries not to give Jesse any kind of reaction.
“You know,” he says slowly. “I imagined our reunion with a little more flare, a sort of appropriate gravitas where we sing a little more and maybe, of course, I get you to laugh a little more, and then at the end of the night, it rains and I kiss you and we promise to start slowly.”
Rachel shakes her head. “Of course, you did.”
“He hit me first.”
“We should go.” Her fingers press lightly against his jaw. “We need to take care of your -” her mouth twists and she giggles a little “ - your face.”
“I hit him back,” Jesse tells her, and she’s almost hysterical, she thinks, too tired to really give anyone any kind of reaction. Her head is starting to throb and Jesse pulls the tissue from her fingers, tossing it to the side. She almost says something about littering.
Her fingers move back over his jaw. There’s a bruise starting to form and she sighs, “Congratulations.”
“You’re not impressed,” he says, and his fingers curl around her wrist, just before she pulls away again. He brings her hand to his mouth, grazing her knuckles with his lips. Her lips part but she narrows her eyes. This is such a stupid, stupid idea, she thinks.
“I don’t trust you,” she corrects him. “Rightfully so,” she adds. “As we discussed prior you suggesting that you take me to prom and upon and in accordance with my agreement.”
“You’ve been rehearsing that.”
He grins. Rachel flushes and turns her gaze away, shaking her head. She has to get back into his car, she reminds herself. Mercedes and Sam have opted to walk back to her house, not without Mercedes eyeing Jesse with disdain.
But it’s not important, and she’s not going to think about Finn, about Quinn and the bathroom, about this whole year and the one before that, how all of this is some kind of extraordinary mess that she isn’t really ready to start dealing with - especially with him here.
She can still hear the music though, the way it rings in her ears, and she reaches for her neck, her fingers brushing over her skin. She bites back a smile because it was fun, the dancing and the singing, and the fact that for a while, for a little while, it was just prom. It was what she needed it to be.
“I had a good time,” she says softly.
“I’m still fun.”
He shrugs. Rachel snorts.
“And I figured prom was a better metaphor and a better apology.” When she turns back to look at him, his hand cups her face. “You were always different,” he says simply.
Good or bad, she thinks, she doesn’t want to know what that means. Her throat clenches and she can feel her heart start to throb in her ears. Her fingers press into his jacket, curling over the lapels. She tugs.
“I’m still mad.”
His lips curl and he nods. “You should be.”
“What’s a little drama,” she agrees.
They stand in her kitchen. She wants to make tea. Jesse just invites himself in. Her dads are off and away for the night, a conference elsewhere and in Chicago, reassured that Mercedes’ mom took enough pictures for all the parents to have.
Rachel stands over the stove, studying the kettle and trying not to turn and watch him wander around the room. It’s not upstairs though, and it’s not her bedroom, and her mind is already starting to pick up speed, wondering if he’s curious enough to ask if she is still very much the same.
But he stops right next to her, leaning closer to the counter. His hands slide into his pockets and he sets his shoulders back.
“I saw you staring.”
She freezes. Her hand rests over the kettle’s handle. She licks her lips but doesn’t trust herself to breathe.
“At Finn,” he clarifies. “Sorry.”
Her mouth twists. Of course, her mind goes backwards and to that day, and to that stupid egging that she received from him and his team. She’s not angry, at least, she’s not angry at the moment but at him, rather, there is too much she hasn’t dealt with. She never once thought he’d be back.
She shrugs finally. “I -” her mouth turns and she sighs, “I’m good at heartbreak. I suppose, no, I know it’ll contribute to a wise future.”
“For song writing?”
“Don’t worry,” she says dryly. “You have a song too.”
“I’m not jealous,” he says.
She looks up and laughs. He’s serious though, leaning closer to her and dipping his mouth down to press against her bare shoulder. She jolts and he chuckles, his lips opening against her skin again.
Her hand curls around his arm. She blurts: “You’re jealous.”
“Do you want me to be?” he asks, and since it’s them, just the two of them, she finds that she gives in a little bit. She can be honest. She can be a little wiser. Neither reassurance strays too far from her.
“I used to,” she admits. “I used to wonder what it would be like if you were to come back, if -” Shelby’s name goes unspoken, her throat tightening again. “What I would say,” she says, “to you if you did.”
“Do you love him?”
“I did.” She shakes her head. “I do.”
“You don’t know.”
The kettle starts to screech. It startles her. She forces herself to reach for it, pull it off the corner and reaching for her cup to pour the water inside. She forgets about the tea, half-heartedly wrapping her hands around the cup and turning to face him again.
Her mouth opens. Then it closes. When it opens again, she shakes her head. Finn, she decides, doesn’t belong here. Her fingers stretch over the cup and it presses back into her palms, flushed.
“It doesn’t matter,” she murmurs.
He shakes his head too. “It does to you,” he says and takes her water from her. “I saw you watching him. And, well, he hit me.”
“Sorry about that.”
“I hope his face hurts too,” Jesse mutters.
In the back of her mind, she remembers Finn and then Quinn, and she remembers the taste of all her apologies and then some, then a little more. He doesn’t belong here, she reminds herself again, and then again. Her stomach slowly opens to knots again, taunt and heavy as she reaches for the mug in his hands, if only to take it back.
Her lips press into the rim. “I do miss him,” she admits.
“I know.”
“I missed you too.” It surprises her, the sudden admission; her gaze lowers and Jesse takes the water from her. He brings it to his mouth. “He’s harder to forget,” she says, “because he’s right here and he broke my heart in a different way - and I have to see it every day. But you - you’re still unexpected and while I enjoy a good twist, I just loved you differently.”
“Which means?”
She looks up at him, wide-eyed. She can’t read his gaze. Part of her wonders if she really wants to. But it is about tone of voice, and the way that tone of voice is carried; Jesse is careful, calm, and she feels her guard start to tense. She takes the water back from him.
“It means nothing,” she murmurs. “You just make me tired.”
He says nothing. He nods, maybe. Or it’s his fingers, really, that come to rest over her hands and the teacup. They stand there, next to the stove, and it really feels likes a moment, one of those moments, the kind that still live in the back of her mind when she thinks and needs a kind closure.
This is far from that.
It’s a little after four in the morning when he decides he wants to watch a movie and starts to dig through the cabinet that houses a collection of musicals, crime dramas, and documentaries, a kick that her dads have been sorting through ever since someone lent them a film about the cocaine trade. They go through these phases, really.
Of course he hasn’t let yet, and of course she hasn’t made him, and maybe it’s because she’s letting herself have the moment, whatever kind of moment this is going to end up being. She is still in her dress too, curled against the corner of the couch, her heels skewed over the end of a blanket that she keeps straightening out of nerves. Her mouth opens and closes. She rubs her eyes.
“Are you never going to go?” she asks finally, and he laughs, selecting, finally, a couple of DVDs and bringing them back to the couch. She forgets that the television is on and it’s really the sounds of an infomercial that is blearily reminding her that she needs to sleep.
“Nope,” he says cheerfully. “Still in the after-prom portion of the night.”
“I’m tired, Jesse.”
Her eyes close. She listens to him get up again and puts a film in. It’s the loud, misplaced opening of trumpets that walks into the opening credits for the film. She doesn’t ask what he’s picked and squeaks when his hands curl around her legs and he pushes himself underneath them.
They’re quiet and she’s half-asleep as his fingers start to press into her dress. She makes a soft sound, dropping her arm over her eyes as his hand catches her foot. Biting her lip, she lets her eyes open just a little bit.
“What?” she murmurs.
“College scared me,” he says. His fingers circle around her ankle, rolling lightly into her skin. She feels herself flush. “It’s a sea of people and I don’t like having to work to be noticed.”
She snorts. “You’re a liar.”
“I don’t.”
“You were the hardest working person I knew.” It slips and she is too tired to be shy, or maybe, maybe since nobody’s around and there’s no need to make an effort to protect herself, she doesn’t hide. “I mean, I think at least I knew that,” she murmurs.
He sighs. “You’re going to be fine, you know.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“It’s easier to talk about you.”
Her cheeks are warm. “Stop it,” she murmurs.
Her gaze wanders to the television. He’s picked Flashdance, she realizes. She laughs a little. His hand starts to move away from her ankle. His fingers brush circles against her calf and she bites her lip.
Jesse shrugs. “It was always easier to talk about you.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she tells him, and she realizes that he’s playing some kind of song over her calf, his fingers fluttering over her skin like piano keys. She tries to think of more appropriate metaphors, of a way to really react to what’s going on, but she can barely focus.
“Say nothing,” he says and she manages to sit up. He lets his hand stop and rest against her leg. It feels nice. It feels scary. There are too many things about Jesse that are like this, scary and unsure and wavering around a line that she set to be smart about things like this. He doesn’t look away from her. “It’s easier, right? Saying nothing.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
He gives her a smile but says nothing.
She snorts. Her head drops, pressing against his shoulder. She should change, she thinks vaguely. The skirt of her dress is starting to catch against her legs and really, really, she doesn’t want to have to be that aware, too aware of his hand on her leg and the fact that she is more than okay with it there.
It is the second time that night that she thinks about kissing him, if only to see - whatever that means. But Jesse is much more complicated than that.
“He’s not a bad guy.”
“He hit me.” There is amusement in his voice and she laughs a little, shaking her head. Her fingers curl around his arm and she tugs at the sleeve of his shirt, biting her lip. “You did, however, half-heartedly defend my honor.”
“You were being stupid.”
“I was being romantic,” he says, and he looks at her, almost offended. Her mouth twitches. “Stepping in as the hero.”
“Or the idiot,” she says.
He says nothing. She practiced, before, long before: I’m angry but there is something about him being here, being here and listening all over again that catches her into pausing. She doesn’t know what to make of any of this.
“Has she talked to you?”
Rachel looks away. “You would know better than I,” she manages. His fingers slip against her ankle again. Neither of them is paying attention to the movie. It’s half-hearted, at least, and this conversation, she thinks, has been a long time coming. She isn’t sure if it’s the place or the time to have it now. “And I don’t want to know,” she tells him seriously. “The two of you - I just don’t want to know. But if you want to talk to me, tell me why you’re really here and what’s going on - I didn’t ask in front of the others or before because, well, you’re exceptionally good at catching me off-guard.”
“You’ve been practicing.”
She hits his arm. Jesse laughs. She bites her lip, watching his fingers roll over her ankle, then catch the back of her heel. He rubs lightly.
The movie is already in full swing and she doesn’t want to move. Her eyes close and she sighs against his arm. She feels him relax next to her.
“I hope his face hurts,” he says again. It feels kind of nice as she laughs.
Rachel lets him kiss her in the morning. His hands frame her face and his mouth catches her forehead as she smoothes her hands against his chest. She doesn’t tell him that her fathers won’t be back until Monday, or that a part of her has already thought about asking to him, but she does let herself have this moment and leans a little closer as he seems to relax.
“Does it feel like closure?” he asks and he would, of course. His voice catches and she lets her hand brush against his throat, rubbing lightly along his jaw. She doesn’t smile but she shakes her head.
“I don’t trust you,” she says. Her voice isn’t small. A part of her waits to feel like she’s in that parking lot again, or back when he crashed her rehearsal on the stage. It’s the surprise, it’s the shock, it’s everything; that doesn’t come though, and she shakes her head. “If you’re serious -”
You shouldn’t, he doesn’t say. “I’m always serious,” he interrupts.
There are no outward declarations, no necessary ironies, and she grabs his hands, still against her face, leaning forward and kissing him herself. Her mouth opens over his and she breathes into him, her lips warm from the tea, sore from biting them earlier. He makes a sound and she swallows it, her fingers starting to curl against his face. His hand slides into her hair and they turn, Rachel stumbling back against the door. Her dress flutters against her legs and she almost, almost hates him for this bit, this kind of romance.
When he pulls away, she’s breathless.
Finn and Quinn sit behind her in Glee. Rachel keeps her hands in her lap and listens to Mercedes and Sam recount their night with a half-smile. Everyone is still talking about prom like it means something more; she doesn’t get it, she thinks, but every once in awhile she presses her fingers to her mouth and tries not to smile too much.
Mr. Schuester brings him in, moments later, gaze darting warily around to the group as everyone explodes in some kind of reaction with Jesse standing in the front of the room, like the year before, his amusement open and written all over his face.
She isn’t surprised. He’ll tell her later, grinning: you started this.