A/N: So I had this idea about a month ago, and I've been working on it ever since. I'm in love with You and I by Lady Gaga and I wanted to, somehow, turn it into a fic. I'm still new on all of this (and I realize I still haven't finished my other story) but it'd be awesome if you'd check it out... reviews are always appreciated. :)

You and I: Part One

i. It's been a long time since I came around, been a long time but I'm back in town.

Rachel had moved to New York, just as planned. She left Lima without looking back to follow her dreams. Two years into college, and there she found herself, on a train back to Lima, Ohio. She missed everything. She missed her exercise routine, she missed her dads, she missed her life. She missed her boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend. She had broken up with him because she had to focus on herself. He was willing to go with her, but he couldn't get into any schools in New York, and in a town like Lima, people like him already had their life set out for them. He'd probably become a teacher or an accountant; have a stay at home trophy wife, and a couple of kids to come home to. All he wanted was to get married, but Rachel felt like it was all a scheme to get her to stay. She wasn't going to. She didn't want to be a Lima loser, because there was already so much for her out there, but in all honesty, there wasn't. It was hard being in New York. Everyone always said she was one in a million, and maybe she was, in Lima. But in New York, everyone was there for the same reason. It was a cut-throat town. One day you had a friend, you auditioned for the same part, you're not friends anymore. Fame was the most important thing over there. Rachel used to think that it was. She had landed a few off-Broadway roles and had been poisoned twice by her under-studies. She made a living by waitressing at a local coffee shop… Something she could be doing in Lima, minus the poison. Being surrounded by all that energy just highlighted the fact that fame wasn't the most important thing. That maybe the most important thing was love. And she was back in Lima to get it.

ii. This time I'm not leaving without you.

Kurt had been denied the part of Matron Mama Morton in the Columbus Theater Company production of Chicago… he found it absurd. He couldn't make it to any of his classes for a few days; out of frustration and depression… what Blaine liked to call his Drama Queen days. Blaine had come home from his "late night psychology class" and he smelled of someone else's cologne.

Kurt tried to kiss him when he came into their apartment, and Blaine dodged the kiss and pecked him on the cheek. Kurt sniffed him.

"How was your day?" Kurt asked… "The lasagna is in the oven. Your favorite. I made it right after I sent a few hate e-mails to the theater company… thos bigots."

"Fine… and I'm not hungry. I already ate. Thanks though."

"You ate? But it's Cabaret Night. You come back late from your class, I have dinner waiting for you, and then we pop in Cabaret and cuddle as I sing through it."

"Yeah, uh, I went out to eat with a friend."

"With who? Liz? Did you tell her about me not getting the part? She sent me a text that morning wishing me luck and I never answered her… I've been to preoccupied to reply. Outraged."

"No, uh… someone else… did you record So You Think You Can Dance?"

"Yeah, and last week's episode is there too… who'd you go out to dinner with?"

Blaine let out a long, loud sigh, "Why do you care?"

"Uh, because you're my boyfriend?"

"Just… some guy, okay? Why won't you let me have friends?"

"Some guy? Do I know him?"

"Uh, no, Kurt. I don't think so. Is it possible for me to have a life outside of the circle you know? He's from my Lit. class."

"Blaine, what is up with your attitude?"

"You're up with my attitude, okay?"

iii. You taste like whisky when you kiss me, oh.

Quinn swayed to the music that the band on stage was playing, a drink in her hand. This was a regular spot for the frustrated 20 year old, but she'd been through a lot. The music ended, and Quinn decided to get a move on. She had to give a yoga class the next morning and she didn't want to look frazzled. Although she didn't really care. She didn't really care about anything. She figured her life was over when she was in high school, when she got pregnant, and reality hit her like an ice road truck. After high school, she graduated with average grades, and went to the community college. She makes a living as a yoga instructor at the YMCA, and she was just bumming around. Going out every night listening to music. Her parents would make excuses for her, saying that she's just a frustrated soul waiting for the right guy to come along. But, she simply didn't care. She took one last swig of her drink.

"Easy there, lady," she heard from behind her.

She turned around to see Noah Puckerman standing there, a smug look on his face. "Oh, it's you."

Noah Puckerman, otherwise known as Puck in high school, was a delinquent. In and out of jail, for various reasons, he was the talk of the town and he knew it. He had all the girls in town at his feet. All the girls except for Quinn, his only love. They were never together in high school. Well, it was sort of complicated. He was in love with her. He always had been. She just considered him a fling. She cheated on her boyfriend with him, losing her virginity and - from that one time - she got pregnant. She pegged him as a life-ruiner. Someone who she'd never even consider dating because - honestly - he was just a second choice. She was feeling lonely one night, and he was there. She didn't even admit to herself, for the first few months she was 16 and pregnant, that he was the father. But everyone knew.

"How have you been?" he slurred.

"Get lost, Puckerman," she said, trying to push past him. His eyes looked glazed in the neon lights.

"Where you headed?"

"Home. Like where you should be."

"Naaahhh," he said. She tried to push past him again and she looked up at his eyes, placed on his perfect, god-like face. He pushed her hair out of her face and smashed his lips against hers. The taste of booze was fresh on his breath. She felt a pang of something in her stomach. Nausea? Mystery? Regret? Intrigue? Lust? Whatever it was, she pushed it aside and pulled away quickly. She slapped him across the face.

"What was that?" She yelled, outraged. No one in the crowded bar noticed. He held his hand to his cheek.

"I miss you."

"You're drunk."

"Quinn, I swear to drunk I'm not God."

"Puck, you're drunk."

"I've missed you," he said, shaking his head, and trying to hug her. She instead grabbed his arm and led him outside.

"Let's get you home," she said, and she didn't know if it was because she wanted to spend time with him or because she wanted to get him home safely (and without a DUI), either way, she cared. And that was something.