A/N: New story! It all started with the line 'we were born and raised in a summer haze' from Adele's 'Someone Like You' and turned into this. Welp, it's gonna be quite the journey. This story'll consist of twenty-five chapters in different periods throughout Finn and Rachel's life together (and apart). The chapters will appear in no specific order and every single one of them will exist throughout a duration of the summer. Well, enjoy! Reviews make the world go 'round, just saying.
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SUMMER HAZE
CHAPTER ONE
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Cherry smoothies with a hint of vanilla. Those are her favorite, and he takes note to it.
"You didn't have to," she's sure to tell him every single time. It's a Wednesday? She doesn't want his smoothies. It's a Thursday? She still doesn't want his smoothies. If she's feeling up to it by Friday, she'll wait out on her front porch until he shows up around eight o'clock with a smoothie in hand and an exhausted grin.
Friday she rises up from the chair she's sitting in, dropping the can of bug repellant she's got in her hands to the wooden floor of the porch. Turning to face him, she pivots on one foot, lets her brunette locks sway at her shoulders and fiddles with the buttons on her coral-colored cardigan.
"I had to," he says, walking up the steps of the porch and pulling out two unwrapped straws from his pocket.
"No," she begins, "you didn't."
He tries his hard not to be fidgety; not to be nervous. Once his eyes lock with hers, he can't help to be anything but. She's just Rachel Berry, sure, but her glassy, almost-broken glance isn't one of comfort, and it's not like it makes him feel like less of an asshole or anything. He gulps once, then, "Take it."
"I don't want your smoothies."
"You don't want me either," he says, head ducked. He doesn't plan for it to come out like that. Hell, he doesn't plan for it to come out at all. But it does, and he can hardly feel pity for himself after he catches her narrow-eyed glare. It stings a little, sure, but he can't feel any pity.
"Maybe you're right," she says almost instantly, causing him to arch his brow. "Maybe I don't want you. Not when you're like this anyway. Look at you, Finn. You... you ended something you jumped back into without thinking by... well... not thinking. Again. You must really care for Quinn if you're willing to turn this relationship into a game of tug o' war."
"English please?" He laughs, squatting and plopping himself down on the first step of her porch, waiting for Rachel to sit beside him.
She only stands, hovered over him like she's superior. Sure, he knows she's just standing there to stand, but he can't help but to feel like something lesser when he lets his gaze catch onto her fiery, irked one.
"Why on earth were you so willing to end things with Quinn this time around?"
Shrugging, he leans over and starts to pick out random pieces of grass from her lawn, his mind soon drifting elsewhere.
"So I suppose you haven't come up with a reason, hm?"
Shaking his head, he breathes heavily. "Is the fact that I was getting tired of her good enough?"
Rachel lets out a snicker. "Well, isn't that just fantastic? You may not be the most perfect boyfriend in existence, but I sure as hell didn't take you as the kind of boy that'd become bored with his girlfriend and grew a sudden urge to move onto the next."
"You're the next," is all he answers.
"So I suppose you'll recycle me too, huh? You and I will go at this thing for a little while - two or three months tops - and then you'll trade me in for someone else? Wonderful, Finn, wonderful."
"You know," he breathes, "I don't just come visit you night with a cherry smoothie for nothing. Also, it's got a hint of vanilla. Just a hint. I remember you saying you liked it better that way."
Arching her brow, she lets out a huff, then sits on the step above him, letting the bottom of her flat scrape against the step he's sitting on. "You remembered?"
"Yes ma'am," he laughs. "Last summer we went to the movies like, every day. And I'd get the banana smoothie and every time I offered to give you a sip, you'd reach into your pocket and throw a five-dollar bill onto the counter. And you'd wait in line until you watched the stupid guy with the lisp behind the counter squeeze out the vanilla extract with your own two eyes. I remember."
"So," she chuckles, "let me get this straight. You've been bringing me cherry smoothies for the past two weeks because you've got a sudden longing for the past, or...?"
"Don't you ever miss it?"
"You have Quinn."
"I don't want Quinn."
Snatching the smoothie from the step it sits on, Rachel tears off the cap and lifts it to her mouth.
"I brought straws," he says, reaching into the pockets of his khaki shorts. "Two of 'em."
"Well," she laughs, "don't complicate it. I'm sure drinking straight out of the cup won't kill me."
"Want me to stay?" He asks, looking at her up and down. He doesn't stare for too long, but when he does, he catches the way her sundress moves to the barely-there wind. He catches the way she rolls up the sleeves of her cardigan - right to her elbow on both sides. He catches the way her untamed hair hangs loose by her shoulders, hardly brushed yet hardly far from perfect. It's like looking at some sort of doll or something, he thinks. Only, the doll's locked up in a glass case and shouldn't really be viewed by anyone.
"What?" She asks fervently.
He guesses he's that rule breaker, that one boy in the window of the toy shop who's being tugged on both arms and yet still can't let go. Corny, sure, but he can't help it. It's how he feels, and Rachel Berry doesn't make it any easier on him.
"I'll stay with you," he says. "If... if you want."
"You don't have to," she says, bringing the smoothie up to her lips and licking the rim of the cup. "I mean, you could if you'd really like to. It's not like I'm ever doing much, anyway."
"It's summer," he tells her. "You're not supposed to be doing a lot. I mean, my idea of fun would've been hanging out here all night, but what'd you have in mind?"
"Not in mind, exactly, but it'd be nice to be like everyone else," she starts. When he shuffles in his spot, letting his legs dangle off of the porch and onto the grass, she ducks her head. "Ask me how many of those parties I've been invited to. Santana's pong party; Brittany's pool party; Noah's 'let-me-see-how-many-people-I-can-get-drunk-and-on-a-trampoline' party. I knew about all of them, but it's not like anyone really wanted me there."
"You don't even drink," he says. "And besides, it's not like you missed anything major. A few drunken karaoke numbers by Puck and Santana, an overly-drunk Artie being carried into the pool by an even more-drunk Puck..."
Rachel rolls her eyes.
"Maybe he was a little bit stoned, too," Finn adds. "We all were at some point."
"Yeah, everyone besides me," she says, almost pouting.
"You're a good girl," he says, letting the palm of his hand graze her knee almost unnoticeably. "What's a girl like you gotta get drunk and stoned for?"
"What's everyone in our neighborhood gotta get drunk and stoned for?" She has a point, but he says not a word. "You know, I shouldn't even worry about them. It's not like I'll ever be included in any of these shenanigans."
"I don't see why," he shrugs. "I mean, you did host like, the third coolest party of the year."
"Don't remind me," she says, burying her head in her lap. "The 'Rachel Berry House Party Train Wreck Extravaganza' was just that... minus everything but a train wreck."
"I had a little bit of fun," he says. "A little."
"You don't have to lie for me," she tells him. "You've never lied for me before. Please don't start."
He wants to ask her why she's letting her hand lazily graze his thigh. He wants to ask her if she feels the same way he does when she sits out on the porch with him. He wants to ask her why the hell she just couldn't take the damn smoothie on Wednesday. Thursday, even.
But he doesn't because he's a coward. It's one of the only things he feels about himself these days. He's a coward.
"So," he breathes, "good smoothie, huh?"
Tilting her cup over, she lets out a shrug. "You want a sip?"
He nods, then proceeds to silently curse himself out. Fucking coward.
Lifting the cup over to him, she lets a drop of smoothie leak out onto his nose, then laugh once he tilts his head up and lets it drip down even farther.
"Let me get that," she says, laughing. Leaning her body right over his, she takes her tiny index finger and almost traces the outline of his nose throughout the smoothie. Once she's done, she dips her finger in between her lips, presses down on it and licks every bit of the smoothie off.
"Damn."
"Sorry," she giggles coyly. "I couldn't help myself on that one."
Try being me, he thinks. He can never help himself when it comes to her. Ever.
...
He thinks it's dumb of Santana to purposely go out of her way to make sure Rachel's left off of every possible party list in existence.
He manages to get her to come with him for a round of manhunt at Puckerman's house one Monday night and even though she's hesitant at first, she shows up with her own flashlight, an extra pair of Duracell batteries and a fanny pack.
"Well, we're not going camping, but if you'd like us to point you to some woods, I'm sure me and a few others wouldn't mind driving you on down and tossing you over by the bushes." Finn watches the way Santana speaks, disgust and anger filling her voice as she looks at Rachel up and down, her top lip pressed against the bottom.
"She'll be on my team," Finn says, stretching his arm out so it's around Rachel's shoulders.
She bites her lip but says nothing. He watches her stand there almost helplessly, taking every word Santana spits out at her without a single utter of self-defense. It hurts him, sure, but he's also relieved because, well, he's almost sure he isn't the only coward around.
"Hey," he turns to her with a whisper, "ignore 'em. You're on my team and I'm not sure if you know this, but I'm pretty kick ass when it comes to games like these. 'Specially manhunt."
Rachel nods. "Great."
Santana splits everyone else into teams, pointing for Finn and Rachel to start over by the bushes beside Puck's car. "You two may as well give up now," she says, laughing. "I mean, everyone knows Puckerman and I kick ass at manhunt."
Finn only laughs, lets his hand glide up Rachel's wrist and whispers, "C'mere."
"Try to keep it in your pants!" Puck yells over everyone, giving a wink in both Finn and Rachel's direction.
Letting out a disgusted snicker, Rachel pivots on her left foot and turns away from Finn in almost an instant. "Well isn't that just lovely?" She calls out over her shoulder, ducking her head to the floor.
"Rachel," Finn breathes, walking up behind her, his breath hot on her exposed shoulder, only the strap of her tank top covering it. "Listen," he whispers, "you can't stay mad at me forever. And... and you can't be annoyed at everything Puckerman says. He's... Puckerman. Oh, and you can't listen to Santana. I... I do know how to play this game. Kind of... good, actually."
"Well," Rachel corrects him, his brow arching, "you play the game kind of well. And for the record, I've given up being angry at you."
"Given up?"
Nodding, she looks to him. He thinks it's the first time she's made eye contact with him all night, but he shakes that off and manages to smile back toward her, even though she's angry and frustrated and everything else, too.
"What do you mean you've 'given up'? You can't just get rid of me, y'know."
"I know that," she breathes, folding her arms at her chest. "And I'm not getting rid of you. Think of this as me getting rid of my feelings for you."
"Feelings?"
"Look," she mutters, turning on her feet and walking toward the side of the house, "we're supposed to be crouched over by that bush. At least, that's what Santana said and, well, we may as well obey her. To tell you the truth, she kind of scares me."
"You scare me more," he blurts out.
"Excuse me?" Brow raised, Rachel turns away with a huff, strutting over to the bushes and crouching down on her knees. She uses one arm to pull the garbage can that's rested in the Puckermans' driveway over to her and hides right behind it.
Hurrying over to the bushes, Finn uncomfortably crouches down next to her, hitting his foot on the back of the can. Squatting, he lets out a sigh, then brings his hand to the small of Rachel's back. "You're not a scary person or anything," he says, "but you do scare me. Like, one day you're really, really nice to me and the next you hardly talk to me. You'll call me to see what I'm doing one night and then the next day you'll avoid me like the plague or something. Why, Rachel? Am I that bad of a person? Or do you just hate me? I think I could deal with being a bad person but just... just don't hate me, alright?"
Giggling, she brings her hand up to his cheek and rests it there for a moment. He manages to fidget a little, but it's not like it makes her bring it down or turn away from him completely. Looking him straight in the eyes, she lets out another laugh, then, "I could never hate you."
"You couldn't?"
She shakes her head. Leaning forward, she lets her hand graze the top of his thigh. He fidgets once more, lets out a deep breath and leans back so hard his head's in the bushes.
"Well," she breathes, "I'd like you a little more if you didn't end up catching Poison Ivy after tonight, but..."
Laughing, he sits up quickly, takes his hand and twirls a strand of her hair resting just on her shoulder. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me."
"Then I won't," he says, laughing.
He thinks she wants to kiss him or something, because she's leaned forward and her lips are pressed together and she's glowing - he knows glowing's a good thing, always - and she's actually forming a smile and she just looks happy. He doesn't initiate anything, though, because he's pretty sure she'll retaliate if he tries, so he just sits there. Sure, he looks like a fool, but he just sits there.
Taking a deep breath, Rachel leans forward, breathes a little more and then shrugs. "These bushes really do itch."
"Yeah."
Letting out what seems to be an endless sigh, Rachel stands up on her toes, reaches out her hand to grab his and sways it to the side when he doesn't. "You're not coming?"
"Coming where?"
"We need a better hiding place," she tells him. "Somewhere less... well... like this."
"Why?" He asks, fiddling with the unbuttoned button on his flannel instead of paying her any attention.
"Because," she says, almost in annoyance, "it's not private enough. I can practically hear Santana coming up the side of the house now. And I think she's got a water gun."
"Why run away?" He says, still planted on the grass. He picks at a few leaves on the bush, paying no attention to anything else going on. With a shrug, he nods for Rachel to sit back down. She doesn't. "You know, if you run now, she'll catch you quicker. And spray you with that water gun you say she's got. And I'm pretty sure you'd rather not be soaked."
Stomping her foot on the dirt, Rachel only groans. "Please," she hisses, waving her hand, "just come on."
He can't say no now, no matter how hard he tries. Lifting himself off of the ground, he holds out his hand. It takes two seconds for Rachel to grab onto him, three seconds for the two of them to sprint to the awning in the driveway, and four seconds for both Puck and Santana to aimlessly squirt a gallon of water all over them.
"Shit," he curses, unknowingly letting his hand graze Rachel's soaked backside with a chuckle.
"Oh my goodness," she laughs, "look at us. We're a mess."
"Tell me about it," he breathes in her ear, taking one hand and running it through his damp hair, shaking his head so it's off and away from his forehead. "But you do look kind of cute like this."
"Wet?"
"Always," he nods, takes her hand and tells her he's got those super-sized towels back at home.
She only asks him where he's parked the car.
...
She's dried off after an hour of laying out on Finn's deck, one of his towels practically dwarfing her. She sprawls herself across his couch after he begs her to just have a seat, lets out a sigh and closes her eyes.
"What if I fall asleep on the couch?" She asks, opening one eyelid and leaning her head up from the armrest she's sunken deep into. He guesses she hears his footsteps, his small steps toward the couch, his hands deep down in the pocket of his jeans.
Shrugging, he looks to her once, then lets out a breath. Taking slow strides until he's at the end of the couch, he sits down. "Then you fall asleep on the couch," he says, almost indifferently.
"And you'd be alright with that? Your mother would be alright with that? Finn, I'm pretty sure Burt and Kurt wouldn't be alright with that, would they?"
"Who cares?" He shrugs. "You're my friend and there's no way I'm gonna let you go home by yourself after tonight. You were soaked. And you look tired. And maybe hungry. Are you hungry? We've got food in the kitchen."
Leaning up, she presses her lips together, then lets out a little chuckle. "I could go for a midnight snack," she tells him. "W'do'u got?"
"Everything," he shrugs. "Literally. You like to bake, right? We could... we could try and bake something."
"We could," she says, lifting her body off of the couch and practically sprinting to the kitchen door. "Come on!" She calls out from behind her, laughing a little as she grabs the doorknob.
Biting his lip, he takes her hand, opens the door to the kitchen, boosts her up on the counter and reaches in one of the cabinets for mix - any mix.
"Banana bread sound okay?" He asks, throwing the box down in her lap gently.
Pressing her lips together with a nod, she runs her finger over the flap on the box twice, then looks up to him. "Perfect."
It isn't forced and it isn't rushed. It just kind of... happens. And he can't say he minds. Not that cooking with Rachel Berry's more special than doing anything else with Rachel Berry, but it's pretty special. Not to mention that she's actually looking at him.
She's digging her fingers into the flour bag, pinching a bit of flour between her index finger and her thumb and flicking it at his nose. With a laugh, she reaches her hand out and wipes the tip of his skin. "There," she says, "all better."
Each time he tries and grabs the broom to sweep and she hoists her body up off the counter, snatches the broom from him and tells him she's better with housework anyway.
The first two batches come out wrong and Finn blames it on Rachel. "You distracted me."
"Will that forever be your excuse?"
"Maybe."
Two hours and four batches later, they make something edible.
"Now what?" Finn asks, dropping his fork into the empty baking pan.
"Now we wait," she says with a nod, licking the last bit of banana bread from her own fork.
He's not sure what she means, exactly, so he reaches his hand out to the top of her lip, clears his throat and tries his hardest not to chuckle. "You've got banana bread on your lip." And she does. She's got crumbs on the top of her lip and even though it looks almost adorable, he takes his napkin and wipes it for her.
"I could've gotten that," she says.
"Yeah, but," he begins, "it was better doing it together."
...
Cherry smoothies with a hint of vanilla. Those are her favorite, and he takes note to it.
She's sick the second week in July and he figures he may as well visit her because he's done helping Burt down at the tire shop for the night and Puck's got other plans.
He sets down the cherry smoothie on the top of her coffee table, not forgetting to grab a coaster from the edge because, well, she always scolds about the importance of using coasters every single time he fails to do so. "There," he says, "coaster and a smoothie."
"Perfect," she laughs, nestling herself even further into the pillow she's resting on. "But you should go. I'm contagious."
"As if," he chuckles, kneeling down beside her. "You know, you're kind of more fun to hang out with than Puckerman. Kind of."
"Well, I'm flattered."
"You should be."
"I am."
And he kisses her. He doesn't know where it comes from or why exactly he does it, but he kisses her. She's talking one minute and he's talking too, even if his palms are sweaty in the pockets of his jeans and she looks a little distraught, her head sleepily collapsing into her pillow. He kisses her anyway, the smell of cool mint on his breath and a smell of sickness on hers.
"I... I'm sick," she says, pulling away, letting her head fall to her pillow once more.
"And who's to say you'll never be sick again when I'm with you?"
"What... what do you mean?"
He takes a breath and really, he knows it isn't necessary, but he tells her anyway. He tells her that one day - maybe years from now - she might come down with a cold and he'll still be there anyway, his lips not far from hers. "What then? You'll make me back away if you've got a cold. What if we get married? What if one day, you and I decide to get married and you come down with the flu. I'm not supposed to kiss you for like, well, however long the flu lasts? That's craziness."
She arches a brow. "And this isn't craziness? I was sitting in my living room practically sick to my stomach and you kissed me. You brought me a smoothie and then you kissed me."
"It's a good deal," he laughs. "I mean, the smoothie part..."
"You mean both parts," she corrects him, sitting up in her spot and letting her hands fall to her lap and then slowly graze over to the tip of his wrist. "You don't regret kissing me. You... you're just afraid I'll regret you kissing me."
"I was right," he says breathily, "you do scare me. It's like you know me so much I forget to be myself sometimes."
"Is that a good thing?" Intrigued, she lets go of the hold she's got on his wrist and slides her right hand under the cover she's clutching onto.
"Do you want it to be?"
"Don't ask me that."
He only cocks his brow, then grows nervous. He's not sure, really, why he's nervous, but something about her is making him nervous and he just grows more and more anxious; he's afraid of saying the wrong thing or really saying anything at all.
"Ask yourself that," she tells him. "Ask yourself whether it's a good thing or not. Do you feel right about it or not?"
"Can I get back to you on that one?"
Lifting his hand with her own, she brings it close to her mouth. Pressing her lips together, she gives his skin a little peck, then sets it down on the couch beside her. "You know, you can spend the night if you want to."
"I want to."
And they fall asleep on the couch just like that. Of course, his body's too big to really fit, but she scoots over as much as she can, her heated body warming his arms as he pushes up next to her. It's hot in the room even though she's got a fan blowing onto both of them and both of the windows wide open, humidity barely coming through.
"Goodnight Rachel," he turns over to her once the lamp's off and she starts to let out small, soft breaths.
"'Night," is all she answers.
"Rachel?"
"Hm?"
"Do you think we'll spend every summer like this? Together, I mean."
"If it were up to me," she breathes, "I wouldn't have it any other way."
"Oh. Well. Goodnight."
She turns over on his side, pecks him sweetly on the cheek and tells him to get some rest. "You wouldn't want to catch whatever I've got," she murmurs.
"S'probably too late," he shrugs even though, really, he can't be bothered to care. He's already got 'Rachel' written all over him.
...