A/N: Hm. New York!Finchel is pretty much bound to happen, so I figured, 'why not?', y'know? Warning: there may or may not be more fics in the making in this same exact 'verse. I just love it too much, I think.
It becomes routine for the two of them: go to classes, go to work, catch up at Starbucks after work, walk back to the apartment together, study their butts off together, let out the stress of the day in a nice, soothing shower, browse through all of the recorded shows on the TiVo (Finn dominates that thing) and then sleep it all off and do it over again the next day.
Sure, New York City was bound to be Rachel Berry's kingdom — the whole world knows that — but no one would've thought it'd be Finn's. Yeah, sure, he does pretty well in his senior year (kudos to Rachel and her kick ass 'study-now-or-never' sort of method), but he's still shocked he's where he is at NYU, right behind his girlfriend like... twenty-four-seven and stuff.
Nothing's perfect (is it ever?), but they make it work. They 'manage', as Rachel likes to remind him one those nights where he doubts it all the most. Yeah, sure, he's not supposed to 'doubt' anything anymore, because they're already twenty-one-year-old juniors in college with a shared apartment, and yeah, they work their asses off to make their relationship work. It's not that hard, managing a relationship like theirs, but having Rachel Berry as a girlfriend isn't always like, the easiest task. She's always got this paranoia that he'd just pack up and leave, even if he reminds her just about all the time that he would never; that he could never. They made it this far, why back out now?
Anyway, they make it work. They always do. He likes the 'routine' they've got going because it just... works. He's used to it, and frankly, he wouldn't have it any other way.
(Like... ninety-eight percent of the time).
It's a Monday night, and a typical Monday night at the apartment includes lounging around on the couch, Rachel with her legs folded pretzel style, a textbook in her lap, and Finn with the remote in one hand, an unsteady pencil in the other, and a bag of Hershey's Kisses directly in front of him on the coffee table.
"Finn?" Rachel reaches over him, one hand on his thigh and one digging into the bag of Hershey's Kisses, taking one between her fingers and unwrapping it the moment she sits back beside him. "We should go to bed, honey," she suggests, yawning almost a little too over-dramatically, rubbing the side of her body into his gently.
'Honey' is what she started to call him way back in freshman year of college. He doesn't know exactly why, but he doesn't mind it either, so it kind of just... sticks.
"Nah, no way." He shakes his head like, twenty times, because he doesn't want to go to bed. Hell, he doesn't want to get up off the couch, not when the warmth of the blanket he's covered in, the textbooks, and Rachel are like, a million and one times better than the bed in their bedroom. Sure, the vents on each corner of the room cause goosebumps to rise up and down his arms, but it's cool spending time with Rachel out in the living room. More lively, maybe. "I just... I like spending time with you." She lifts a brow at that, and yeah, sue him because he's not too good with words, but he likes to let her know how much he appreciates her just as much as the average person (maybe more).
She places a hand to his thigh, moves her textbook off of her legs, then scoots over as if she's finally about to sit on his lap. She stops there, saying, "I... I was just thinking," and God, he hates when she starts sentences like that, because they lead to conversations (sometimes lectures) containing more words than the actual dictionary, confusion all around, and sometimes even a headache. Like, sure, he loves listening to Rachel talk (really, he could listen to it hours on end), but some nights, especially nights like tonight, he just likes just sitting with her a little bit more.
"Hm?" he asks, eyebrows raised.
"It's just... you know that girl that waved to you over at your moms' the other day?"
"Quinn?" he chuckles. "You mean Quinn, don't you?"
"Yeah," she nods, lips pursed. "She... she was flirting with you."
He runs a hand through his hair, shuts his eyes tight, and tries not to smile, because yeah, he likes seeing Rachel a little jealous, even though it's totally unnecessary and stuff. It makes him feel wanted, especially when she has to force herself to hold back a pout.
"I mean, as successful as she's become throughout the years, y'know, with real estate management and such, I don't feel as if she'd be suiting for you," she starts.
"And...?"
"And, well..." She clutches at the collar of her turtleneck with her right hand, gulps a bit, and then places a hand to his cheek. "This may sound rude, but I'm just really glad it wasn't you and her, you know?"
"I... I don't... I don't get it," he says weakly. "You mean... you're glad it's you and me, right?"
She blushes. "Mmm... always."
"Oh," he says, head shooting up a bit, one hand on her knee. "Yeah, me too, Rach."
"And Santana," she continues, "don't get me started on Santana. The way she walked into your mother's place the other night, my goodness. You think she would've obtained some manners after college, but..."
"Santana is... Santana, baby," he says. "And wait, I understand your hate for Quinn and stuff, but... but why Santana?"
She just shrugs. "You and Santana had a fling back in high school, did you not? I mean, sure, it was awful sex and it lasted about..."
"Rachel!" He laughs, taking her textbook out from the middle of the two of them and tossing it aside, patting down the empty spot on the couch, letting her know to move closer.
"What?" she chuckles. "She's awful and you know it."
"Well, you've sure got a fine way of insulting my taste, sweetheart," he laughs, poking her nose with the tip of his finger.
"I'm your girlfriend, Finn," she says. "That grants me automatic permission to dislike every single one of your exes. Or... or flings. They count, too."
"So..." he pauses, lifting the blanket over her uncovered body and wrapping one arm around her shoulder. "So you're still on that? I mean, even after you like... know you've won?"
"I won?" she asks as if she doesn't know she's his girl or something, popping another Hershey's Kiss between her lips, letting the chocolate drip on the exterior of her mouth, practically melting, even in the freezing cold apartment.
"Well, if being a student at NYU, being with a boyfriend who like... adores you and spending your evenings in the apartment you share with that said boyfriend is winning, then... yeah, you won."
She reaches over him again, grabbing a Hershey's Kiss, unwrapping it quickly, and lifting it up to his mouth.
He takes it with no hesitation, thanking her by nuzzling his nose onto her shoulder a bit, still chewing the chocolate.
"So, where do you think they'll end up?" she asks, obviously still on the topic he really tried to stray away from.
"Who, baby?"
"Quinn and Santana," she says. "Either or, really. I mean... where do you think they'll be in five years? Married? Mothers? Or... or without any of that stuff? I mean, anything's possible, really, but..."
"'But'," he starts, "you shouldn't worry about any of that, 'cuz you've got me. We've got each other, really, but still."
"But still," she says, practically hissing in a whisper, fiddling with the wrapper of a Hershey's Kiss. "You left me for the both of them more than once before. There's nothing that says it won't happen again."
"Rachel..."
"What?" She looks like, offended, but why should she be? She totally doesn't believe he doesn't want anyone else aside from her, and yeah, sure, he may not be good with words and stuff, but he does. He wants her and only her. What's it gonna take until she starts to believe him?
"Nothin'." He shrugs it off, and she looks almost offended at that, too. Yeah, he loves the girl to death, but honestly? What else does she expect of him? "Just... I'll prove it to you, alright?"
She nods, then tries to hold onto his wrist the second he steps off of the couch. "Where are you going?"
He lies to her, because she'll totally check the computer history if she knows he's ditching what was supposed to be a 'study session' to go online. "To bed," he says. "G'night."
Even though he can tell she doesn't want to, she whispers a small, "Night", cups his face with her hand when he bends down to kiss her, and then mumbles a small, "I love you."
"I love you, too," he says, and he really means it.
"So, w'do'u think about eloping?"
"Eloping?" she's pretending to be stunned, but he knows she's secretly chuckling on the inside.
"Y'know," he says, looking down on her as she scoots over on his chest, her head brushing up against his collar, practically, "in high school, you told me you'd elope with me."
"I... I did not." She's so in denial. Either that or embarrassed. (The embarrassment is like, super cute, though). "Okay," she says about ten seconds later, "maybe I did. But I was stupid! And like... in complete and total awe of you. You were the most handsome, most popular jock in the entire school and you'd been flirting with me. Of course I'd blurt out something stupid. It's almost cliché, isn't it?"
"Flirting?" he chuckles, rubbing the small of her back with his giant hand. "I wasn't."
"Who's in denial now?" she says teasingly, quickly pecking him on the shoulder. "You know, I would've married you then."
"I know," he says. "You were totally crazy."
She slaps him in the forearm then, shouting, "Finn!" as if she's offended or something. She shouldn't be, though, because he's totally in love with her crazy — each and every ounce of it. She should know that by now.
"I would marry you in a second, honey," he says, winking, mocking the name she likes to call him more than not.
"I thought the talk of marriage scares you," she says, taking her hand and sliding it up and down his chest a couple of times. She wiggles over a little bit so she grabs onto the edge of his chin, then boosts herself up on top of him, straddling him, her arms rested on his chest.
"It... it does," he says, chewing his lip nervously, a gulp stuck in the middle of this throat.
"Why's that?"
His throat grows even tighter then, nervousness brushing over him like a tidal wave in the middle of winter. "Because you just... you deserve it done right."
"So you'd marry me?" She looks a little too hopeful now, her hands sliding up his t-shirt, balling up in the middle, just under his bellybutton. "I love you, honey," she giggles, tongue between her teeth.
"Mmm," he moans at Rachel's touch, still ever-so-grateful he's got like, the hottest, most talented girl alive right on top of him. "I just... I wanna do it right. And I don't want you to be all selfish and stuff about it. Because, baby, you know I love you and stuff, but um... sometimes... it seems like you just say I don't love you so I'll say I do."
She, clearly offended, gets up off of him in almost an instant, sliding off of his body and onto the floor, crossing her legs as she ducks between the couch and the coffee table. Finally she utters a small, "I... I do that?" and her voice is so, so small, nothing like her real speaking voice.
That scares him, so he takes his head in his hands, shakes it a little and tells her he takes back everything he said.
"Too late," she says, obviously still upset. "I just... you could've told me you felt that way, Finn."
"I try," he says. "I try all the time. Maybe too hard."
"Well," she says, eyes narrow and lips pursed, "maybe you're right. Maybe you just... shouldn't."
He cringes at that, because he hates it when she gets all upset and stuff.
"But is it so bad to want an extra 'I love you' once in awhile?"
He doesn't really know the answer, so he just waits until the room goes silent, pretends to fall asleep on the couch, and opens one eye gently when he catches Rachel throwing a bunch of covers over his exposed body about ten minutes later.
"I love you," she mumbles under her breath, probably hoping he doesn't catch it.
He does.
Rachel: I'm sorry.
Finn: 4 what?
Rachel: For all of it. I know you love me, not Quinn or Santana. I shouldn't force you to say it either. I just love you so much. That's all. Have a good day at work.
He chuckles under his breath at the way her texts are always so lengthy, and that just reminds him of yet another thing he loves about her. He loves the way she's so good with words. It's like she knows just what to say, and it's pretty admirable and stuff. He only holds onto the rim of the pole on the subway, pulls out a crumbled version of the map he's got in his pocket, and sort of blushes, because yeah, he sort of really loves just about every piece of her.
Finn: Trust me, I will.
Only, he's ditching work (and a few other things, too), because he's got something else on the brain.
He blows off a Starbucks date after she's done teaching a class down at the dance studio and after he's done at the fire station for the afternoon, and yeah, sure, she's a little pissed off, but he has a good reason (even if he can't share it with her right now).
He walks into one of the fanciest jewelry stores he's ever seen, hands in his pockets. He's not sure how to buy anything half-decent, because the closest thing to 'fancy jewelry' he's gotten for Rachel would be the star pendant necklace he bought for her back in junior year, and that was hardly fancy, because it was bought all with Kurt's help on one of those complicated online websites. All Finn had to do was wrap it, really.
This time, it's serious business. It's an engagement ring, and really, just the word alone makes him nervous. Yeah, sure, he's twenty-one and a junior in college, but it's not too much trouble getting around the payment if he tries, right? And yeah, maybe they're a little young and stuff, but he wants to prove it to her, so he'll do so, and this is like... the only way he can think of right now.
"I... I need help," he says coyly, getting attention of one of the sales assistants from behind the last counter in the back. "Where can I find like, the nice engagement rings? No crappy ones, please. I... I want one of the nicest."
The sales assistant smirks and waves for Finn to come with her.
He ignores three text messages and four phone calls from Rachel, and he's not even worried about the lecture he'll get for that, because this time? It's gonna be so worth it.
"Hey." When he walks into the apartment, Rachel's in a bundle on the couch, one of his old McKinley Titans football t-shirts and a pair of black sweatpants on, and a mug of hot tea in her hands. She doesn't seem too pissed off, which is a good sign, he thinks.
"Hey, baby," he says, nodding in her direction. He thinks quickly once he looks down to his right hand, a tiny bag dangling from it. "I'll... I'll be right back."
She doesn't even follow him. "Mhm."
He looks up to her, admiring the way she loses herself in the textbook beside her, only then to realize it's one of her music books instead. "Hey, Rach?"
"Hm?"
Yeah, he so planned to do it on Christmas Eve, a few hours before their flight to his mom's house in Ohio, but like, he just can't wait. Not any longer, really.
"Come with me," he says, waving the arm with the bag in the air.
So she does, and about ten minutes later, they're hand-in-hand in the cold, December air, the sound of their heavy, asthmatic-like breaths making Finn's stomach nearly drop. The ring shakes in the inside pocket of his coat, but finally, he stops Rachel at the Bow Bridge right in the middle of Central Park, the feeling of nostalgia brushing across the both of them. He can tell Rachel kind of gets a hint, maybe, because she holds onto him even tighter, even mumbles a little, "Finn..."
"Just... just give me a minute," he says, letting go of her hand and tearing open his coat. He's fidgety, and yeah, he knows his cheeks are probably a burnt red, even though the frigid weather drains the life out of him, but he can't help it. He's proposing. Proposing.
Rachel's standing beside him, head ducked and hands in the pockets of her coat, but even he can see the trace of a smile on her lips. "Finn, you don't..." she starts, shaking her head fervently, almost in awe as she watches him reach inside his pocket, tug down on his lip a little, and reach out his hand to grab hers. "You don't have to," she finishes, even though he does; he does have to.
"You... you know I love you, Rach," he starts, practically shaking in his stance. "And yeah, I do. I love you so much. I've never been good with words, you know that, so I got you this instead." He holds up the box then, and she practically melts into a puddle of awe, cupping her mouth with her hands, her eyes growing squinty and misty simultaneously. "I just..." he continues, his voice cracking as he goes on. "I love you, Rachel. I don't know any other way to prove that I don't wanna be with those other girls — Quinn, Santana, you know — aside from this. Well, yeah, I do know other ways, but they're not good enough for you. I've realized tellin' you all of those things like... like the fact that we share an apartment together, spend most of our free time together... it's not good enough. I'm sorry for that, Rachel, I am. I just... I've always had this fear that I haven't been good enough for you. And yeah, maybe that's true. Maybe I'm not good enough for you. But... but I've gotten over it, I have."
Her heart sinks at that, he can tell.
"But you, Rach," he says, "you haven't gotten over the fact that I've been with other girls; with Quinn and Santana. Baby, I'm not sure how many 'I-don't-wanna-be-with-'em-because-I-have-a-kick-ass-girlfriend-already's it'll take, but it's true. I just... I love you, Rachel. And I... I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, if you'll let me, 'course. It's just... sometimes I feel like you need to hear it sometimes, and yeah, sure, I don't love Quinn or Santana, but how am I one-hundred percent sure you don't know that, y'know? I'm sorry for what I told you in the past; that you just asked me if I loved them because you wanted to hear how much I loved you more. I... I was an ass when I said that, I was. But... but I do, Rach. I love you a million times more than I could ever love them because... well... they're not you. Rachel Berry's the one I want to marry, not them."
She shakes her head, almost at an inability to talk, clutching at her chest with her hand. "Finn..." she starts, almost in a whisper. "Honey, what—"
"W—wait," he interrupts, holding up a finger, stooping down below her one on knee. "Rachel, just... you know, you can marry me if you want to."
She starts to cry even harder than she's already been then, leaning up from up against the bridge, lunging forward and taking his hand tightly. "I want to."
And when she takes the ring, it's like a weight's been lifted off his shoulders for like, forever.
He loves her so much.
They're laying down on the couch a few hours before their flight on Christmas Eve, Rachel in Finn's lap as the news mumbles about in the background.
"I knew," she says, turning around to him with a grin, her hands finding their way around his neck.
"You knew what?" he asks, lips pressed and two steady hands on her waist.
"The computer history," she says, chuckling. "You must've searched hundreds and hundreds of websites for 'em, Finn."
"And yet you still acted shocked."
She lets out this little laugh that he falls in love with almost like, immediately. "That's because I was, Finn." She slides up on his lap a little more, peppering tons and tons of tiny kisses to his jaw. "Who would've known you were so good with words?" she asks, lifting up her hand and looking down to her hand — now occupied — with a satisfied smile. "I'm just... I'm glad it was done the way it was, you know?"
He nods, because yeah, he's pretty freakin' proud of that.
The next time they're at his mom's place (Christmas morning, his favorite time of year ever), he's engaged. He's got a fianceé. It feels all weird and different, but it's pretty cool when Rachel walks into the living room and her finger is like... occupied.
And it's really awesome when Rachel flashes the ring to like, whoever she talks to. He watches when she meets Quinn and Santana in the corner, the two of them sharing an armchair, Rachel beside them. "And he just... proposed!" she exclaims, lifting up the ring into Quinn and Santana's glance, even though they look practically like, uninterested.
Finn chuckles then, standing up from his dad's old armchair, the one resting in the corner of the living room, and wrapping his arm around Rachel's waist, much to Quinn and Santana's surprise. "I'm sure you'll be hearing this story, like, every day or the next year or so, so..."
"No, no," Quinn says, sitting up from the lean she's got on the cushion of the couch, her hair practically swaying at her shoulders as she boosts herself up. "I think it's actually adorable. I can't say it's unexpected or anything, but..."
"Honey, tell them what you did," she says, almost proudly so. When Finn doesn't speak up, she starts to chatter away, saying, "He recreated our entire high school relationship, practically."
He only lets her tell the story, standing with a glance of admiration in his eyes because, well, yeah, he totally admires his girl like no other. She's not a Quinn or Santana or anything. She's just Rachel, and he loves every ounce of her from head-to-toe.
He's glad she finally knows.
She finally knows.
A/N: Hm, well... keep an eye out for more fics in this 'verse, like I said before. I just envision the two of them and their New York City life almost perfectly. (A little too perfectly, maybe). If you have any suggestions for a fic involving New York!Finchel, don't hesitate to let me know. I'd love to hear some ideas.