I hate myself a little for doing this, but I really, really can't stop thinking about these two in the future. All I'm doing at this point is writing down what I'm thinking about all the time!
This will probably be a tiny series of moments after they get together (as in my fic habit, so this is set after that). I've already got a few written, which is why I'm even posting this.
Disclaimer: If I owned the characters that you recognise in this, they'd be having a spin-off series set in the future. On Broadway. Yes.
1: comfort (hers)
"Hi, Rachel."
"Jesse?" Surprised, she stops fidgeting (to the relief of the make-up assistant, who's been touching her up repeatedly for the last ten minutes as she waits to enter the stage). "I'm on stage soon, I shouldn't talk."
"I know," he says simply. "How're you feeling?"
" - terrible," she says, like she can't hold it back. "I've never had to perform with someone who hates me before. I'm perspiring so much that I know Heather here loathes me right now." (Heather glances up and smiles at her lightly.) "I think the director's given up on us." A blister between the biggest toes on her left foot and the way her co-star kept glaring at her during the last rehearsals make it to a list of grievances that she offers to him, anxious. At some point Heather squeezes her shoulder affectionately and slips away.
When she stops, he doesn't reply right away, so Rachel listens to him breathing on the other end of the line. She lets her eyes drift closed.
"How're you feeling?" he asks again.
She breathes in deeply. "Ready." She pauses. "I would've been OK on my own, you know."
"I know," he says, and she can practically hear his smile. "But why would you want to do that on your own?"
She grins in understanding. "Boyfriend perks."
"Exactly."
She glances at the clock by the stage exit. "I should - "
"OK. Break a leg, crazy. I'll be there with you next week."
comfort (his)
He wakes up when he hears his name being called softly. His body is aching from sitting uncomfortably on the stiff hospital chairs, so he sits up and stretches, yawning. His fist barely slips past a warm body and he hears a soft squeal.
His eyes snap open and meet wide, brown ones, staring right back at him.
He tugs her down to his lap and wraps his arms around her tightly.
"Hi," she whispers, putting her arms around his shoulders. "What's the news?"
"Still critical," he says. He studies her intently. "Aren't you supposed to be - "
"I let the understudy have it," she says dismissively. He wants to be annoyed with her for dropping the show for him, but he's also too relieved to see someone familiar here, someone safe.
And he's touched. They haven't made any dramatic declarations of love yet (and of course it's going to be dramatic - look at them), but at this point he's almost assured of the fact that they're both in it for the long run.
Instead of saying any of that, he kisses her forehead and pulls her into him. She kisses his neck then buries her face against it, saying nothing else.
(She's bad at being quiet, but she'll be just that for as long as he needs her to be.)