Author's Note: This is a birthday present for my dear friend, missmandamargo. It's probably going to be drawn out to a 4-part story (eventually) but I wanted to get the first chapter out in time for the big day. Obviously I'm not normally a Pieberry writer, so this is something a bit out of my comfort zone.
They aren't expecting any visitors. Rachel is already in her pajamas and is halfway through her nightly cup of tea when there's a knock on the door.
It's not a simple 3-tap knock that most people use. No, it's more like someone is auditioning for Stomp on their door.
Kurt gets up from the couch and Rachel follows him towards the incessant, rhythmic banging. She makes a mental note to call the landlord in the morning to demand that he install a peephole for their safety. The only way to call the cops on this crazy person that has shown up unannounced at ten o'clock on a Wednesday night would require a physical description.
As soon as Kurt slides the door a few inches open, the banging halts abruptly. Without warning, a hand from the hallway grabs the edge of the door and throws it open. Before Rachel can even react, her face is buried in blonde hair that smells like strawberries. It's vaguely familiar and Rachel only knows one girl that would greet her in such a manner.
"You kind of smell like my Aunt Edith," the girl comments in lieu of an actual greeting. Rachel extracts herself from the hug. "So, where am I sleeping?"
"Why are you here, Brittany?" Rachel asks. It's only out of curiosity that she even bothers to ask. She also doesn't expect an actual answer from Brittany - they usually aren't on the same brain waves.
"I'm moving in," Brittany informs her. She retreats back into the hallway to retrieve her abandoned suitcase. She ignores the stunned silence of her new "roommates" and wheels the bag past them as she heads deeper into the apartment.
Kurt's eyes follow Brittany's path as he slowly closes the door and deadbolts it against any other spontaneous visitors. Brittany leaves her suitcase in the middle of the living room as she begins her self-led tour of the apartment.
Rachel can hear the squeak from Kurt's bed when Brittany leaps onto it. She darts into her own living space before Brittany has the opportunity to explore it unsupervised. The stack of letters from Finn in the nightstand are for her eyes only. Plus, there are those pictures she let Brody take of her in a shoebox under the bed…
Brittany comes bounding in a few minutes later. She hops onto the bed next to Rachel with no hesitation. Rachel just watches as Brittany snuggles into the pillows and makes herself at home.
"Your bed is more comfortable than Kurt's," Brittany comments. "Looks like we're going to be roomies!"
"Brittany, we have a perfectly comfortable and ergonomic air-mattress."
"Oh, you don't have to sleep on that for me. I don't mind sharing with you now that I know you're not actually a Hobbit."
Rachel shakes her head. She really can't tell if Brittany is kidding or not and it makes her uncomfortable.
"How long are you visiting for?" Rachel asks. She figures they can address the sleeping arrangement issue later.
"I already told you - I'm moving in," Brittany responds, sounding exasperated.
"Brittany, aren't you supposed to be finishing your senior year at McKinley?" Rachel questions cautiously. If Santana were here, she'd probably attack Rachel just for her having the audacity to ask Brittany about her education.
"I wasn't learning anything there," Brittany states, like dropping out of high school is no big deal.
Rachel bites her tongue on lecturing Brittany on the importance of a high school diploma. Brittany isn't one to follow a path that most people considered normal. She is already exhausted and surviving Cassie July's class in the morning ranks higher on the list of importance.
Kurt walks in and settles on the foot of the bed.
"So is this like a giant sleepover every night?" Brittany asks, eying up Kurt's outfit before turning her gaze to Rachel. "Are the matching pajamas really necessary? Because I don't really like wearing clothes when I sleep."
"Um, Brittany you need to wear clothes in my bed," Rachel tells her. She tells herself that she'll find a way to move Brittany onto the air mattress tomorrow, but right now she needs to get some sleep and she figures Brittany has had a long trip. "I need to get some sleep."
Kurt agrees and climbs off the bed, bidding the girls a good night. Brittany skips after him and returns with her suitcase bouncing behind her. Rachel is prepping the bed for her unexpected visitor and when she turns around, she's given a full frontal view of topless Brittany.
She's caught glimpses of Brittany during costume changes in high school - plus, Brittany is kind of known for her stripper tendencies when she drinks. There's something infinitely more intimate about having a half-naked girl standing in her bedroom, however.
Rachel's mouth goes dry and she finds herself staring from Brittany's amazing abs to her incredible chest. Her skin is milky-white with scattered freckles across her shoulders.
Rachel can't help but compare her own body to Brittany's. She's dark where Brittany is fair. She's soft where Brittany looks rock hard. It's like having a reminder of why she was bullied throughout high school standing in her room, ready to make fun of her clothes or her height or her personality.
"Which side do you sleep on?" Brittany asks.
"Huh?" Rachel responds, forcing her eyes away from the dip of Brittany's hipbones.
"Which side?" Brittany repeats, gesturing at the bed. She pulls a t-shirt over her head while she waits for Rachel to respond.
Rachel releases a breath that she didn't even realize she was holding. Her heart is pounding against her ribcage.
"Oh. Uh, left I guess?" She's never shared a bed with another girl. When Mercedes or Kurt slept over, they always stayed on the air mattress once the movie time was over.
Brittany slips under the covers on the right side of the bed, snuggling down into the mattress like she's trying to mold herself to it.
"Are you coming to bed?" Brittany asks. Her gaze seems to burn right through Rachel. She turns away before answering.
"I haven't finished my cleansing routine yet," Rachel says quickly and shoots past the curtain towards the bathroom.
Her heart is pounding and she snaps the lock in place, giving her the tiniest bit of control. The events of the last hour race through her mind as she scrubs her face and brushes her teeth. Rachel likes plans and organization and guests that were actually invited to visit.
Instead there's a hot blonde in her bed, one that she never imagined would be there. Of course, they're kind of friends now, she guesses. They weren't at the level where they hung out alone - at least Rachel didn't think so - but whenever she saw Brittany, they exchanged pleasantries.
It doesn't explain why seeing Brittany like that affected her so intensely. Rachel blames it on the shock of the whole ordeal, but she can't trick her brain into thinking that's the entire truth.
She tiptoes back to her bedroom area, hoping that Brittany will be asleep. Her luck is obviously dried out because the girl is still sitting up, her thumbs pounding away at the screen of her cell phone.
"Santana says hi from Kentucky," Brittany chirps without looking up. She's dating some girl on the soccer team who is super hot and has legs that are even nicer than yours."
Rachel has no idea how to take that. Did Santana use those actual words? Rachel knows that her tiny stature typically makes people overlook her actual features. Considering she's shorter than every other girl in glee, the one thing she is confident in is her legs. Brittany might be a dancer, but her long, lean frame takes away from how defined her calves are.
Or is it that Brittany thinks her legs are nice enough to use as a comparative piece?
All of it is way too confusing to reason through tonight.
"Well, that's nice. How are things going with Sam?" She climbs under the covers on the left side of the bed and turns the lamp off, bathing the room in shadows. Rachel settles down on her pillows, taking special care to lie closer to the edge to avoid awkward, accidental touches with her bedmate.
"Sam's fun. I'll have to call him later to explain why I'm not in school anymore."
"You came to New York without telling your boyfriend?" Rachel can't imagine what it would have been like to get on a plane without saying goodbye to Finn. How they left things anyway was hard enough as it is.
Brittany doesn't respond and Rachel figures it best to not push her. Rachel pulls the blankets up to her chin and curls into a tight ball. She loves her bed and usually is the kind of person that can fall asleep at the drop of a hat, but the whole situation is making her anxious.
She listens to Brittany's breathing, waiting for it to even out and indicate that her bedmate has fallen asleep. Her thoughts race from the steps she's been practicing for July's class to why Brittany chose to pick up and take off for New York without even informing her boyfriend.
She doesn't remember falling asleep, but when she wakes up and glances over at the clock, she realizes it's already past 7 and she needs to leave in exactly sixteen minutes if she has any chance of being on time for class.
Someone is in the bathroom so she dresses hurriedly and tosses her dance shoes into her bag before scrambling around for her music theory notebook. There's no coffee left in the kitchen - just her luck - so she grabs a dry bagel and shoves it into a plastic bag, figuring she'll eat on the train. She fills her water bottle and waits for the bathroom so she can at least brush her teeth and hair before she takes off for school.
It takes five more minutes for Brittany to vacate the bathroom and now Rachel is sure she's going to be late for class. She pushes past their guest and slams the door in her face so that she can get ready.
Without a goodbye, she's out the door and sprinting for the subway.
There's nothing more horrible than walking into Cassandra July's class three minutes late.
"Ahhh, Schwimmer." Her attempt to sneak in quietly as her classmates work through their warm-up fails. The music stops and Rachel can feel the attention of the entire class on her. "Obviously you believe that you have no need to stretch and prepare for my class. Why don't you show us all the routine that you were supposed to have mastered by today."
Rachel is still holding her bag wearing her street shoes and jacket. She drops them hastily and pulls on her dance shoes, tying them quickly and standing up to her full height. A boy, Jase, is standing in the middle of the room next to Cassie now, obviously Cassie's chosen partner for her. Jase is probably the least talented male dancer in their class and Rachel knows she's just being set up to embarrass herself.
Jase holds out his hand and Rachel reluctantly takes it. She's worked her ass off all week to nail down these moves just to get past Cassie's next onslaught of insults.
The music begins and Rachel stiffens into first position. Jase's clammy hand finds her waist and she tries to not cringe.
The first twelve bars go well - Jase is careful to not lead too much but keeps par with her as they move. Rachel can feel the exact moment that it all falls apart. Jase stumbles on his step and it pulls her completely out of her focus. She tries to recover, but as she spins, she catches Cassie's look and she knows that she's done.
Being the performer that she's trained to be for eighteen years, she continues until the very last note.
"Late and completely unprepared." Miss July's voice rings out in the otherwise silent room. Rachel's cheeks burn scarlet, but she forces herself to look directly into the eyes of her instructor. "I think I've seen enough to fail you for the day. You are dismissed."
Rachel steps forward, panic rising through her.
"Miss July, I-"
"Save it, Schwimmer. Maybe next time you will not waste my time."
With that, Cassie turns her back to Rachel in order to address the rest of the class. Tears stinging in the corners of her eyes, Rachel grabs her belongings and flees from the studio.
The idea of sitting around at NYADA until her next class is unbearable. There's no place to hide here and get out her frustrations over Cassandra July and her evil reign of terror. She's been studying music theory for as long as she can remember, so she decides to just head home and give up on this day before it really has even gotten started.
Kurt is at class by the time she gets back to the loft, but she's almost forgotten about their surprise visitor. However, she's quickly reminded when she opens the door to a view of Brittany's ass.
The blonde is stretching - her hands are pressed to the floor and the muscles in her legs are defined against the strain. She's just wearing a sports bra and shorts that are so tiny that Rachel can see the bottom of her ass.
Brittany looks at Rachel through the space between her legs as Rachel slams the door shut. Rachel's eyes are locked onto her in a sort of reverence. It takes Brittany's voice to break it.
"I thought you had class this morning," Brittany comments, standing up to her full height for a short moment before moving into a lunge.
"Uh," Rachel says, forcing her eyes away from the way Brittany's shorts are riding up. She really has no idea why this girl is affecting her so much. "I sort of got thrown out of my dance class."
Brittany looks at her, holding her gaze. Rachel wants to escape, to hide in her room and cry away the disappointment. NYADA wasn't supposed to be this hard. Life in New York wasn't supposed to feel this miserable.
It's a full minute before Brittany responds.
"I mean, you're not the best dancer, but I don't think you're bad enough that the teacher should refuse to let you be in the class."
It's typical Brittany honesty; Rachel doesn't think it's really meant as an insult, but it's not really a compliment to her talents either. Really, it's just stating what Brittany knows as the truth.
"I work so hard. I practice for hours. I have blisters on my feet in spots that I didn't even know could get blisters. And it feels like it's all for absolutely nothing."
Her walls dissolve and the sobs start before she can even try to hold them in. The pain bubbles through her. Cassie July has finally managed to break her resolve. She may be able to sing better than anybody in her year at NYADA, but if she can't pass this class, she'll be tossed out of the program.
She knows she's not a bad dancer, per say. Granted, partnering up with Finn, who has the grace of a hippopotamus wearing roller skates on a good day, probably was detrimental to her development. Rachel knows she's never going to be able to move like Brittany or Mike, but she puts in the effort to learn the moves and she feels like that alone should be enough to find her way onto Cassandra July's good side.
Her body is shaking; her face is soaked with her own tears and running makeup. It's not the first time since she's been in New York that she just wants to completely give up and move back in with her dads. She knows she'd make a good vocal coach or director at a local theater. Her acceptance to NYADA was the first thing that made her feel like her dreams were attainable. Studying under people that have actually performed on Broadway stages is supposed to mean that she's going to make it there. Dance class is not supposed to ruin all of that.
"We can practice," Brittany says with a shrug of her shoulder. "I'm a pretty good teacher. How else do you think Santana learned to bend like that?"
"Why would you do that for me?" Rachel asks, sniffling. Brittany has never been much more than civil to her despite the amount of hours they spent around one another in glee club.
Brittany looks at her, her expression impassive. Something about the intensity of Brittany's blue eyes makes Rachel uncomfortable though.
"We're roomies now, right? You and Kurt share beauty products and braid each other's hair. I can help you dance."
Rachel wants to hug her. She refrains, twisting her hands together in front of her. Announcing hugs would be something little Lima Rachel would do and she doesn't want to fall back into being that girl.
Brittany walks away, marking the end of the moment between them. Rachel swats at the tears running down her cheeks and heads for the bathroom to clean herself up.
Feeling guilty about skipping class, Rachel gets ahead on her reading and studies all morning. The only thing that slows her down is the growling of her stomach. It's only then that she notices the mix of scents wafting through from the kitchen.
Watching Brittany cook is a sight in itself. She's all over the kitchen like a whirlwind, leaving a disaster in her wake. A pot bubbles on the stove and she bends down to check out whatever is in the oven before flipping the eggs in the frying pan.
"I didn't know you cooked," Rachel comments, sitting down at the little table while Brittany pours herself a glass of juice.
"I don't really understand formal recipes, but cooking is really just a giant experiment. Sometimes it comes out so gross that even Lord Tubbington won't eat it, and other times it's really awesome."
She grabs a dishtowel and pulls a tray of muffins out from the oven, dropping them onto the baking rack to cool.
Rachel waits until Brittany's constant movement slows down a little bit before she pours herself another cup of coffee.
"Want some? I made extra for you and Kurt since I sort of used all of your eggs and stuff."
"That's very nice of you, but I'm a vegan," Rachel reminds her gently.
"I didn't harm any animals in the process," Brittany says with a grin, gesturing at the muffins.
"Vegan means that I don't eat products of animals either. So nothing like eggs, milk, or cheese. I'm sure Kurt and his boyfriend will devour your muffins though."
"What do you eat instead then?" Brittany asks her, opening the fridge to examine the options.
"Substitutes that use soy mostly. I eat a lot of things that come from plants instead."
"So you're afraid to hurt animals, but you don't mind hurting plants?" Brittany questions.
Just from the way Brittany says it, Rachel wants to defend her beliefs, but telling Brittany that plants don't have feelings makes her feel silly just thinking about it. She watches as Brittany starts collecting supplies for another cooking experiment. The blonde squints slightly, causing her nose to wrinkle in concentration, as she reads the different packages.
"Can you eat these things?" Brittany gestures to the counter. Rachel moves forward to survey the ingredients.
"Everything except the gummy worms," Rachel tells her, impressed with how quickly Brittany manages to adjust to her dietary needs. Despite dating Finn for the better part of two years, he often forgot that she couldn't eat a regular slice of pizza or a cheeseburger.
"Those are for the chef," Brittany clarifies, yanking the head off of a green worm with her teeth. She shoos Rachel out of her workspace as she reaches for a clean frying pan and turns on the burner.
The resulting product is some sort of egg-substitute scramble with mushrooms, peppers, and onions. It smells delicious and Rachel picks up her fork as soon as Brittany deposits the plate onto the table in front of her.
"Britt, this is amazing," Rachel compliments, nearly moaning at the satisfaction she feels from the first bite. "This is like high-scale restaurant quality."
"Cooking is just experimenting and having fun. When something goes wrong, you throw it out and start again. You just keep doing it differently until it turns out delicious."
Rachel is really unsure how Brittany managed to flunk every year of science class when she understands the main concept better than most people. Maybe Brittany is right - she isn't learning anything by repeating her senior year because she has a better understanding of the world than most eighteen year-olds.
"Well, I manage to set off the fire alarm every time that I try to use the stove," Rachel admits with a laugh. "It's nice to eat something other than a salad for once."
Brittany leaves the mess and sits down with her own omelet and muffins. In her mug, she has hot chocolate with a huge pile of marshmallows on top. It smells like she made it from real chocolate instead of some powdered package. For a moment, Rachel wishes that it wasn't made from regular milk so that she could trade her bitter, black coffee for some.
When Kurt gets home from class, it's to a very messy kitchen. The girls are still sitting at the table talking about Rachel's dance routine, oblivious to the batter that is now congealed to the countertops.
"What happened in here?" he asks, eyes going wide and he takes in the sheer mess.
"Brittany was cooking," Rachel states simply, like that's a reasonable explanation for why their kitchen looks like someone set off a flour bomb. Kurt raises an eyebrow at Rachel, trying to have a silent conversation about their new roommate. "Try one of the muffins, Kurt," Rachel urges.
Kurt looks hesitant, but Brittany is out of her seat fetching him one before he can really object. She thrusts it into his hand and looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to take a bite.
He nibbles off a corner cautiously, but his expression changes quickly.
"Holy shit, this is actually really good," he tells Brittany before taking a larger bite and peeling back the paper. He joins Rachel at the table to finish his muffin.
The comfortable conversation that they had before Kurt showed up dissipates in his presence and Rachel feels almost like they are more acquaintances than friends. Besides Kurt's little gay panic incident when he dated Brittany for a week, Rachel wasn't sure that the two of them really spent that much time together. She definitely hadn't been invited to join in on trips to the mall or sleepovers with Brittany, Santana, and Quinn. Their interactions had been limited to the choir room or an occasional party where Brittany was usually too busy dancing with anybody near her to actually interact with Rachel.
Rachel is a little shocked when she realizes they've co-existed all day without one of Brittany's backhanded compliments or any major lulls in conversation. They don't have much in common - Rachel is focused and driven with everything in her life while Brittany likes to just let the wind carry her from one adventure to another.
Kurt thanks Brittany for the muffin and makes a comment about the kitchen returning to its original state before he picks up his bag and moves into his curtained bedroom to start his homework.
"Do you have a studio or something at school that we can use to practice?" Brittany asks as they get started on cleaning up. Rachel scrapes eggshells into the trashcan before dropping bowls into the sink and turns to face Brittany.
"Yeah, we have access to the classroom studios after-hours as long as there isn't any class going on," Rachel tells her.
"Once we've got the kitchen clean, I'll make a list of what we need for dinner and then we can go practice and pick up groceries on the way home."
Rachel remembers how scared she was during her first few weeks in New York. At the time, she was still living in a dormitory with a meal plan. There was no need for her to ever really venture off campus if she didn't want to - they even have a Starbucks in the student center.
Brittany doesn't seem to be intimidated by the sheer size. Somehow, she managed to find her way down to Bushwick without any assistance. Rachel had gotten lost in her own neighborhood every day for two weeks when they first moved in.
When they head out, Brittany walks like she was born to stride down the sidewalks of New York City. She zips through the crowds and squeezes onto a crowded subway train with Rachel pressed close to her side. Rachel cringes and tries to stay calm about the people knocking into her with every tremble of the subway car on the bumpy track. Despite doing it daily, she definitely has not embraced this part of public transportation.
Brittany chats up a little girl who is holding a doll and sitting in her mom's lap in front of them. The girl has dark pigtails and looks like she can't be older than four. Rachel listens in as Brittany discusses the girl's doll in detail like she's talking to an adult, not a toddler. When they reach their stop and Rachel calls out to Brittany that they need to exit, Brittany says a hurried goodbye to the little girl before slipping past the people and back out onto the platform.
Rachel leads them towards the NYADA campus, but Brittany hardly looks around as she keeps pace beside Rachel. It's dark and frigidly cold and Rachel shivers through her layers of clothes over her leotard. She's grateful that Brittany doesn't dawdle like a tourist as the wind picks up, hitting her neck like an icy slap.
They duck into the building and walk down the deserted corridors in silence. Rachel glances into the classrooms as they pass, catching glimpses of adult yoga classes and elective dance classes.
Cassandra July's classroom is empty and Rachel hits the light switch, illuminating the room in the fluorescence. Brittany wastes no time stripping out of her winter jacket and Rachel watches as Brittany floats through the room, taking in the long mirrors and perfectly waxed floor. NYADA doesn't slack when it comes to facilities, Rachel has to at least give them that.
She takes her time in shedding her clothes and changing shoes, mostly because her eyes are glued to Brittany. The girl is stretching a few feet away from her - not dissimilar to the position Rachel found her in earlier in the day. Her ass is less defined in her baggy sweatpants, but Rachel still finds herself admiring Brittany's impeccable dancer body with a certain mix of jealousy and reverence.
"Are we gonna dance or what?" Brittany asks, standing up hopping a couple of times on her toes.
There's a nervous energy about her that makes Rachel feel jittery and she stands up to start stretching herself.
Brittany gives her a couple of minutes to do so; choosing instead to spin on her toes like it's been too long since she has danced. Though, if Rachel is really honest, it seems like any minute Brittany isn't dancing is one minute too long.
"I'm all ready," Rachel tells her, standing with her back straight. It's a habit from being in here - the straighter she stands, the taller she looks. It's already horrible enough being towered over by Cassie that she tries to help herself in every way possible.
"What kind of dance are we tackling tonight?"
"Well apparently I flunked Tango today. I'm not even sure what was assigned today since she tossed me out of class, so I guess I should just try to excel at last week's lesson so that I can prove that I deserve to return for Monday's class."
Brittany walks over and presses on Rachel's shoulders, forcing the brunette to sag under the added weight.
"I'm not telling you to slouch. When the pressure builds up, you need to push back against it, not give into it." Rachel's unsure how to respond, but she's pretty sure that one minute in the studio with Brittany has already given her more of a dance education than Cassandra July has managed to do in five months.
Brittany moves one hand onto Rachel's waist and holds her other out, waiting patiently for Rachel to get into position.
"Should I run you through our choreography first or something?" Rachel asks, feeling silly standing in the middle of the dance floor with her hand in Brittany's.
"I'm playing the man here. People think that the guy is supposed to lead, but really they're just setting the tone. It's your job to add the flair and finesse. Everybody's eyes always follow the woman. The dance floor is someplace that you'll always be the main event, not the accessory. Own that."
There's no music. Brittany doesn't count off the steps. With a jerk, she pulls Rachel into motion.
The steps aren't completely unfamiliar - Rachel has spent enough time in the past week learning choreography. This isn't as structured. There is no counting in her head, no calculating every movement. There's just Brittany's grip on her waist and motion that she's completely not in control of.
Brittany moves like waves of the ocean - rhythmic in her push and pull, yet still somewhat unpredictable. It's almost like the music emanates from her in the quiet studio - Rachel feels it echoing in her own chest, propelling her forward.
They stop abruptly. Rachel nearly stumbles with how quickly Brittany halts and all it does is cause Brittany to tighten her grip on Rachel, holding her steady.
"You're following." It's almost accusatory. Rachel opens her mouth to protest, but Brittany raises a hand to stop her. "If this is going to work, you need to listen and not try to prove that you're perfect all the time."
Brittany breaks their contact and Rachel's shoulders slump automatically now that she's not being held up. Brittany walks over to her jacket and pulls an iPod from her pocket. Rachel watches as she hooks it up to the sound system and presses play.
It's not the song that Rachel has been practicing to all week, but it has a very similar sound.
"Now this time, you're going to actually lead. Take control. Show yourself off," Brittany tells her as she strides back across the waxed floor.
She holds her hand out again and Rachel steps into her, trying to exude confidence. Brittany's lip curls into a restrained smile and she lets her hand settle onto Rachel's waist.
Rachel counts them off in a determined voice and Brittany steps into motion under Rachel's lead. She moves gracefully in time with no flair, making mental notes on Rachel's technique to work on later.
Rachel focuses on her steps, counting them in her head along with the music, calculating each step a half beat before execution. Dancing to her is a science: one with a formula and an expected outcome.
When she runs out of steps from class, Rachel tries to stop, but Brittany drags her on, forcing her to stumble repeatedly until she falls into step. She can feel the dynamic shift when Brittany forces her to lead again. Her feet and head simultaneously start repeating the choreography.
"No," Brittany says, pushing Rachel off balance with a double step. "No choreography. Feel it, don't memorize it."
Rachel is lost. The steps feel foreign without the choreography rattling through her head on its way to be translated by her body. It's jerky and awkward. Her feet ache and she's frustrated that Brittany isn't helping her work on technique. Cassandra July wants to see impeccable choreography.
Her head gets lost in thoughts of getting chewed out by July again and it takes Brittany dipping her to pull her back to reality.
Everything stops abruptly as she focuses on Brittany's face hovering just inches above her own. Rachel's cheeks are warm from exertion, but Brittany's hot breath makes them burn. It's an awkward position, her weight being supported in Brittany's arms on an angle, but neither of them move an inch.
Thoughts start racing when Rachel watches Brittany's tongue sneak out of her mouth to lick her lips. They're chapped from the harsh, dry winter air, yet bright pink and alive. It's such a casual move with no ulterior motive, so innocent and unsuspecting. It makes Rachel's heart pound in her chest in a way that it shouldn't and she pulls herself upright, nearly giving herself whiplash in the process.
"I - uh - I think that's good enough for tonight," Rachel stutters, turning her back to where Brittany is still standing in the middle of the floor. She hurries over to the sound system and shuts it off, ripping the cord from Brittany's iPod.
"Rachel-"
"It's been a taxing day and I'm due for a good exfoliation and a solid eight hours of rejuvenating sleep. Plus, I need to study and I should probably practice for my vocal lesson before-"
The words get caught in her throat because Brittany has managed to glide across the room and has her pointer finger pressed against Rachel's lips to shush her.
"You talk too much," Brittany tells her with a giggle. "And you think too much. Don't you ever just live?"
Rachel ponders for a moment. She does things for entertainment; she and Kurt are now regulars at Callbacks and she's seen almost every Broadway show running right now. On Saturdays she sleeps in and then watches marathons of The Real Housewives of New Jersey. Isn't that living? She's a college student living on her own in a gigantic metropolis filled to the brim with living.
"Of course I do. It's just that I need to pass these classes if I want to have any shot at being on a Broadway stage. Mediocre NYADA students don't make it in this city."
"If you'd stop thinking so much, you wouldn't have to work as hard. It's about feeling, not thinking." Brittany walks away from her and picks up her coat from where it's laying in a heap by the door. "Now, we need some hot chocolate for the ride home."
Rachel stares at Brittany, who is already zipped up and waiting for her, weight shifting between her feet with unburned energy. There's something endearing about the way Brittany's blonde hair sticks out from underneath her hood or the way she smiles with her whole body when their eyes meet. It sucks Rachel in like a vortex, holding her steady like she's standing in the eye of a hurricane.
She didn't expect Brittany to show up in New York, inviting herself to move in. Rachel wants to be annoyed that her hospitality is being taken advantage of. Yet she doesn't want Brittany to leave, not before she gets to figure out what that little twinkle means. She's curious about this girl that she spent hours with every day for months at a time in their high school choir room. She doesn't know Brittany, not really. They're not friends in the way that she's friends with Kurt or Mercedes.
But she wants to be Brittany's friend - her real friend - and it makes her feel desperate in the way that the need aches into her core. There were times that Rachel felt this way with Quinn - this unbridled need to prove that they could be more than high school acquaintances. It's not something she wants to analyze - her unhealthy obsession with former Cheerios probably would equate to months of therapy to really figure it out.
Rachel pushes it all down and retrieves her own stuff, quickly changing out of her dance shoes and back into her boots. She bundles up tightly, the bright green pea coat making her overheat in the warm studio. Brittany steps out of the room first and Rachel follows her like it's the start of an adventure - even if it's just to find the nearest Starbucks. Something feels new about life in the City and she knows that it has everything to do with the tall, blonde dancer that is skipping ahead of her.