If you asked Rachel what she was doing at Dalton, she'd simply tell you she was looking for Kurt. Which, she was. But Dalton's a huge place, with a lot of very cute distractions walking around. If you asked her if she was lost, she would have told you she wasn't. She would have said she knew exactly where she was going.
She'd be lying.
She was pretty sure she had taken about three wrong turns, and then missed the one turn that would get her back on the right track, all because those stupid (yet adorable) boys kept smiling at her when she'd walk by. She very much liked the attention, and she wanted to bask in it. Of course, you can't bask and find your way around Dalton at the same time.
Eventually, her feet had walked her towards the sound of angels. One angel in particular, in the middle of it all, was dancing with such fluidity she wondered if he owned any bones. His voice was no less memorizing, and just as her body was preparing to make the mistake of stepping further into the room, Kurt's voice hit her ears.
Her mouth moves and an explanation as to why she was on the west wing instead of the east were stuttered through. Kurt raised his eyebrow in suspicion before simply shrugging it off and telling her about the fashion shows he's been putting on for Jeff's baby sister whenever she comes to visit on Fridays.
Her mind's still with the nameless, singing lead that moves and sways as easily as flowing water.
Her first thought is somewhere along the lines of, "I'm so glad I forgot to take my bag before leaving."
Her second thought is, "What the hell is he doing here?"
Her third thought is, "Why is he wearing a hat?"
The last thought slips out of her mouth as he takes a seat beside her.
"I thought I'd dress casually for your interrogation," he tells her with a cheeky smile. "Make myself a little less intimidating."
"Interrogating me for what reasons?"
"You spying on our rehearsal last week. And failing terribly at it, too."
"I wasn't-"
"I'm Mike."
The 'friendly-get to know each other-get together' at Breadstix afterwards was anything but an interrogation. He called it a date but she advised they keep away from such words seeing as they could from different sides of the battlefield.
And over the course of the next few months, she'd taken a liking to calling him Michael and he'd make it a habit to wear the little cross between a deer and a horse badge she had given him. On Saturdays, they'd get together and sing in his dorm room. On Thursday afternoons, she'd drag him along to her ballet classes. On weekends when he'd be visiting the family, he'd make sure to swing by her place for a game of Super Mario Brothers Wii before packing it up again and heading for the Chang household.
There was also a heck of a lot of kissing involved, but they avoided thinking of that. It was still very dangerous territory.
Regionals was when it call came crushing down.
She'd been telling him for ages that their romance was forbid (he had learned to nod his head and just stop trying to tone down the dramatic ways in which she described their relationship) and that it would end badly for both camps involved.
He wasn't really expecting anything.
Maybe a few disapproving glances from Wes, and a pat on the back from Blaine when he asked if Mike had sung for her yet, and Pavarotti going on with his regal bird-like business while Jeff planned Nick huddled together in a corner, thinking of ways to embarrass him in front of Rachel.
Kurt would have rolled his eyes and said he knew all along - which he probably did - while the rest of her glee club shrugged their shoulders in indifference and still said they were going to while the Warbler's asses when the time came for it.
After the competition, they'd have a silly banter about who was better than the other and one would congratulate the winner with an abundance of kisses, chocolate and coffee covered in whipped cream.
The giant (Finn, he thinks his name is) kissing Rachel after New Directions' performance was unexpected, to put it lightly.
Rachel kissing him back?
The rotting cherry on top of the venomous cake.
He didn't bother talk to her when he came running to him after handing over the first place trophy to Mr. Schuester. He just walked, and didn't look back.
He still went and watched her in New York.
She smiled sadly when she saw him cheering with the rest of the crowd.
He stills wears the badge every now and then.
All her new ballet partners aren't good enough for her standards any longer.
He can't play Mario during the weekends.
She locks herself in her room most Saturday mornings, listening to the Mario theme on her iPod as she runs on her treadmill.
In the summer, they bump into each other at Breadstix. They don't say a word. They stand in like with black expressions carved in stone. He smiles faintly when he hears her calling out his order. He does the same for her. And they both sit down at their little booth to the left side of the eating establishment.
She still calls him Michael, he takes a liking to simply calling her Rae.
It's all so familiar and different at the same time.
They leave separately, him promising to call and her jokingly informing him that it isn't as dangerous as it was before and he could come and visit later if he wishes.
He realizes he doesn't mind whether it's safe or dangerous or tricky or as easy as pie, as long as he has at the end of it.
Romeo and Juliet suddenly makes a heck of a lot more sense to him too.