A year-it had been a year. For some weird reason, Will remembered the exact date, and couldn't stop thinking about the significance of the calendar―exactly 12 months, 52 weeks, 365 days-since he'd walked in on her, in the breakroom at school, and she'd told him that Carl was gone. They'd drifted slowly back into "friend" mode, and never really got out of it. Emma was focused on her therapy, and Will was focused on teaching, and Glee club, and really that was all just bullshit, because he was still in love with her, but he was too scared to do anything about it. He had been so good at hiding it, though-sometimes from himself, definitely from her-until this morning.
Looking back, it seemed stupid, and random, but for some reason, this morning-with the morning sun hitting her hair, and her huge brown eyes fixed on him, the way she said "good morning" with that shy smile-it made the lock fly off the do-not-allow-yourself-to-even-think-about-it portion of his brain, and every feeling he ever had for her flooded over him like a tidal wave. Love, tenderness, desire―it hit him so hard he had to excuse himself, go to the men's room, rest his forehead against the cool metal of the bathroom stall, breathing heavily, wondering what the hell had just happened. It left him exhausted and spent, as if he'd just run a hundred miles.
He managed to make it through the day, get home after rehearsals, warm leftover pasta for dinner, and mindlessly stuff it down his mouth before he afforded himself the luxury of wallowing on the couch.
Which is exactly what he was doing when he heard the chime of his cell phone on the coffee table by his feet. He glanced over and saw Emma's text message:
Did you get the email with your photo for the Thunderclap? I look like a drug addict in my pic! :(
She attached the photo to the message. A bark of laughter escaped Will's lips. It was definitely a horrible picture―the flash was too bright, her skin looked pale, and her hair was flattened against one side of her head. He grabbed the phone, started typing a mindless joke, and then stopped. Deleted. Sighed. Typed again.
You're beautiful.
She was. Even in a horrible yearbook photo she was beautiful. Because he loved her. And he knew she loved him. As a friend-perhaps as more. But their timing sucked, it had always sucked, and after a year, they were stuck in a friendly loop with the potential to go on forever.
######
Emma opened the door of the coffeehouse and took a long, satisfying breath. She always treated herself to a chai tea after her SAT prep sessions, and today was no exception. She made her way straight to the register, so engrossed in the smell and heat emanating from the barista station that at first she didn't take in her surroundings. But as she turned to grab the ten-dollar bill from the pocket of her cardigan, she saw them.
Carl. With a woman. Emma's heart skidded up to her throat, and she turned away instinctively, praying he hadn't seen her. She really needed to get the hell out of here, chai tea be damned. She looked up, peeked in the mirror behind the cash register, and saw them, leaning in tightly towards each other, their foreheads almost touching. Talking. Laughing. He kissed her cheek. Ewww.
She needed to get the hell out of here now.
She retreated quickly, chin tucked firmly in her chest, hands stuffed tightly in her pockets Forget the tea; she could make tea at home. Or maybe she'd have a glass of wine instead. On second thought, two or three glasses of wine would do―
"Emma!" She heard Carl's deep voice boom across the shop. Mere steps from a perfect exit. Crap. Crap, crap, crap.
She turned slowly. "Carl," she called back, feigning surprise. "Gosh, I didn't even see you."
Carl stood up, clearly expecting her to come back and engage in some kind of conversation. With him. And the new woman. Lovely.
"Man, it's great to see you, how are you doing? You remember Melinda, don't you?" Emma made her way back towards them, with all the enthusiasm of walking the Green Mile. She remembered Melinda. She was a dental assistant in Carl's office. "Sure." Melinda eyed her up and down, and Emma suddenly realized how awkward this must be for her, as well. God, why did Carl have to call her over?
"So what are you up to? You look fantastic," Carl said jovially, the picture of relaxed charm. Jesus, did he not feel even the least bit awkward? Talking to his ex-wife, in front of his new girlfriend? He acted like these kinds of encounters happened to him all the time.
"Umm, thanks. Things are going well. At work. I'll be visiting my folks. You know, this summer." She couldn't seem to speak in anything other than short spurts. She glanced down, pissed at Carl for not acting more uncomfortable, when her eyes caught the sparkle of something shiny. On Melinda's finger. A big, gaudy, diamond-encrusted engagement ring.
She needed to get the hell out of here.
"As a matter of fact," she said, already pointing a finger towards the door, "I'm late for an appointment right now. With some students. We're planning…you know, stuff that they need to do…to prepare for…" she trailed off miserably. Curse her lack of lying skills.
"For college?" Carl finished, eyebrow cocked knowingly. He knew what a terrible liar she was.
"Yep," she answered quickly, already walking backwards towards the exit. Just a few more steps and this nightmare would be over. "So I guess, I'll… you know…"
"See you around?" Carl finished for her again. Melinda was looking at her like she was completely insane. Emma nodded, waved quickly, and shot out the door, doing her best to keep to a steady walk, her lungs taking in huge gulps of calming oxygen.
She turned the corner and stopped, covered her eyes with the heels of her hands, and fought the urge to throw up. Or scream. Or punch something.
Tears of frustration and rage welled in the corners of her eyes, and Emma power-walked home, furious with Carl, furious with herself for caring so much.
After her punishing walk home, Emma took a scorching hot shower, and plopped on the couch with a large glass of whine. Why was she so upset? She was over Carl, didn't want him back…didn't even get pangs of longing and loss when she thought about him anymore. Was it Melinda? It couldn't be, not really, because she didn't even really know Melinda.
By the time she'd made it halfway through her second glass of wine, it hit her-it was the idea that they were engaged. Engaged. God, he'd moved on with his life, and she...hadn't.
######
Emma wandered to the kitchen, poured another heavy-handed glass of wine, and was searching blindly for the TV remote between the couch cushions when the doorbell rang. Still wrapped in her musings over Carl, marriage, Melinda's frighteningly tacky engagement ring, and the beautiful elixir that was Pinot Noir, she was momentarily flustered. What the hell? Who would―
Will. She'd completely forgotten that he was coming over to help install her new ceiling fan. She made a loopy walk to the door and pulled it open with a jerk. She grinned at him, relieved to see a friendly face, desperate to free herself from her spiralling thoughts.
"Will! C'min," she cried, taking another hearty sip of her wine, wondering why her tongue suddenly felt so swollen. Will eyed her warily.
"Whoa, are you okay?" His eyes were sweet and concerned, and for some reason they held her gaze for longer than they should have. It was the damn eyelashes.
"I'm fine, fine, jus' felt like havin' a little drink," she grinned. He still looked worried as they walked towards the kitchen, and he unpacked the tools he'd brought while she sat on the edge of the counter, her legs swinging rhythmically, bumping her heel against the cabinets underneath.
"What made you decide to propose to Terri?" she asked suddenly. Will stopped, looking at her quizzically.
"Why do you ask?"
"Jus' curious. I mean, what makes a man fall so deeply in love that he proposes marriage? Is there a moment when he knows it's time? Did you jus' think to yourself one day, 'Man, that Terri, she may be a bossypants, but she's the one I want to share my life with, have sex with, make babies with, until the day I die.' Or was it more gradual than that?"
"I proposed to Terri because she told me to," he said evenly, squinting at her suspiciously. "I did everything she told me to do. It was kind of an issue in our marriage," he said dryly. "Why the sudden interest in proposals?" She shrugged her shoulders, looked down at her lap. "Just tell me, Em, I know something's up," he said gently.
She sighed, and her legs stopped swinging. "I saw Carl and his new girlfriend at Village Coffee this afternoon. She was sporting two enormous fake boobs, and one enormous engagement ring."
Will's mouth made a perfect circle, and he executed a silent "ooohh". His eyes were sympathetic, and she found herself instantly defensive.
"And I'm not jealous. And I'm not still in love with him. Okay?" She stared at him defiantly, her chin set hard.
"Okay," he said softly. "Then why are you so upset?"
"What makes you think I'm upset?" she scoffed.
"Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that you're boozin' it up at five o'clock on a Sunday afternoon?" He grinned a bit to take the bite out of his words. She sighed, and dropped her gaze back to her knees.
"I'm just," she paused, took another sip of her drink. "I'm just…" she was mortified to find that tears were blurring her vision, and her throat was dangerously tight.
"Emma," he whispered, moving slowly toward her.
"Ugh, please don't," she half laughed, half sobbed, jumping down from the counter and turning her back to him. "God, could I be more pathetic? Just forget I said anything, let's go get the fan out my trunk." She moved to leave the kitchen, but he moved between her and doorway, and closed her in with an arm over her shoulder. Then he spun her around to face him.
"Let's get one thing straight first," he said, his voice low and gentle, his breath soft against her face. "You are a beautiful, amazing, sexy woman. Any man would be lucky to have you." And suddenly he was the old Will, not friendly, keep-your-distance Will, but the man whose eyes trapped her, whose smell intoxicated her, whose full lips made tingly shivers run down her spine. She leaned forward slightly, and he froze, his eyes flashing with sudden comprehension.
"Emma, wait―" But her lips cut him off, and then they were kissing. Or rather, she was kissing, and he was backing away, until he hit the wall behind them, and grabbed her upper arms, separating their bodies.
"Em, you're drunk…" he warned, in a low, quivering voice.
"Not that drunk." She reached for him again, and he scooted to his side, avoiding her arms.
Ouch. Emma crossed her arms awkwardly over her chest. "You're right, of course. I mean, this is crazy. I―"
Will grabbed her, dragged her up against his firm chest, and proceeded to kiss her so thoroughly that she decided all previous kisses in her life had been silly, sloppy efforts, lost in the shadow of his mind-numbing worship of her mouth. Her entire body shot to life, pulse quickening, nerve-endings humming, fingers rising and anchoring in his soft curls.
She moaned, and he shifted, and then she was fumbling with his shirt, and he was fumbling with hers, and then their bodies were touching, skin to skin, and she was suddenly dizzy and confused. The fact that this was Will touching her, leaning to tongue her nipple through the slick silk of her bra, clutching her hips and pressing his arousal firmly against her, was too surreal to even think about. So she didn't.
"Emma...you feel so good," he groaned into her mouth. She let out a tiny whimper, unable to speak. Because she knew at that moment that she was still in love with Will Schuester, and that she was going to sleep with him.