Tugging your coat closer to yourself as you brace the evening cold, you decide to turn into the nearest pub you find. Naturally, it's the one that you frequent because of how much the mini stage at the end of the room reminds you of your own stage in the basement. You don't usually sing, you do that enough in school and you find yourself wishing to take a break and embrace what the others have to offer.
Walking up to greet the bartender, she smirks and orders you to hit the booth. You resist but you know you'll never out talk her. Huh. You pause for a brief second, looking at the booth and remembering that most people have returned home for Christmas. You imagine the former occupants - Mike and Mercedes laughing over something while Brittany occasionally glancing over, checking her girlfriend while talking to Kurt. It pleases you to no end that so many of you made your way out of old Lima.
New York, New York indeed.
Sighing as you plonk down unceremoniously against the old leather, you take in the familiar surroundings; the slightly musky air, the dim lighting that gives each group enough light, but enough privacy to feel the comfort that they yearn from at home. The place is modest without being cramped, with the quiet murmurings giving you enough room to unwind. Looking at the other three patrons in the pub, one completely slouched over in his sleep, two others staring blankly into space, you slump further into your seat and think back to your dads. It's not that you didn't want to spend the holidays with them, it's that it has always been your plans to spend your first college Christmas among your friends, bathing in the novelty of a New York Christmas and the upcoming new year. Your fathers aren't dwelling too much in the empty nest syndrome though, no, as you think back to their Skype call in the morning from the celebratory cruise that they currently are on.
"Stop sulking and feeling sorry for yourself, it is Christmas in New York." the bartender sneers as she sets your beer down. You usually don't indulge in such mindless frivolity that could potentially harm your throat and thus, your Broadway aspirations if you would go that far. Yet you make an exception because, live and let live. You wrinkle your nose as you inspect your drink, it's not your usual blend of cocktail but it seems apt enough for this night.
"You know very well that I do not practice the customs of celebrating this festivity, Santana. Also, contrary to your opinion, I merely miss the company of our friends and am not wallowing in self-pity." You cringe as you hear the lie yourself. You're going to be an actress, surely you can deliver that line with better expressions. It sounded better in my head, though. You think sourly.
The bartender/makeshift waitress raises an eyebrow and smirks at you. "Yeah, well, I get off in an hour and Britt's gonna be here in a couple of minutes so you can cry your little midget heart out to her when she gets here. Keep your sulkiness to a low, would you? The place is getting depressed just by hearing you breathe loudly." Before you can argue, Santana throws you a quick sneer over her shoulder as she pushes herself off the booth and head towards other patrons.
You grin slightly as you watch her back move away from the booth. It still amuses you how everything turned out. Sharing an apartment with Santana (which by extension meant that you had Brittany living with you guys most of the time) in New York was not how you originally envisioned your undergraduate years to be like. Sure, she still throws witty insults your way, but you quickly learnt that it's her form of endearment for you. She's fiercely protective and loyal, but you still can't fully comprehend the fact that your high school nemesis and bully has turned out to be one of your closest friends.
You both left Lima at the same time, with you pursuing your Broadway dreams in NYADA and Santana in NYU. It was by chance that you walked into Santana along the hallway of McKinley, causing the printouts of available lodging around NYADA to fall out of your hands and she caught a glimpse of them. The close proximity of NYADA and NYU propelled discussions of having possible living arrangements together, with the perfect apartment situated comfortably between both institutions popped up for rent. Most of the members of glee had already set bets as to how long you two could survive in a convinced space without tearing each other apart. Ha, you muse, thankful that for some miraculous reason, your weird dynamics balanced out, earning yourself a close companion in this large city. A little way down the road, Brittany was offered the role of a dance choreographer after being spotted by one of the judges who was impressed with her performance in Valerie that went viral a couple of years after your competition.
Santana didn't need to work her way through college, having her college fees already settled for her, but she needed to occupy her time, thus finding the job of a bartender to be a good experience. "Plus, its being a badass and chicks dig it," quoting the Latina herself. You weren't worried that it would affect the dynamics between the couple, knowing in truth, how close the workplace was from Brittany's studio and exactly how whipped Santana was.
Most of them left the state, with Mike and Mercedes in Tisch, Kurt alongside with you in NYADA, Tina in Columbus, Quinn in Yale and Puck expanding his pool company in California. The only senior left was Finn, who decided to stay behind to help Burt's shop after your break up. You keep in touch with some of them, with those in New York meeting up on Friday nights in this pub and constantly skyping and emailing the former head Cheerio, making the best of your new-found friendship. Your heart hastens with a slight twinge and you take a deep breath, willing yourself to regain your composure. Ever since her accident, you've found yourself thinking about Quinn a lot, and while you're grateful for the friendship that you have established, you can't help but yearn for more.
It was the little things you missed about her; the way her eyes would glower if something caught her attention, the wrinkle of her nose the second she had a different opinion but never voiced it unless necessary, the quirk of her lips when she found something amusing but never let it show, the slight way that she would sway her hips as she walked down the halls. It wasn't all just physical of course, it was the subtle ways that she helped others, silently taking on the blame for others, guiding them through life and at the same time, trying to be the one that people looked to. You remember that day when you glanced into one of the windows when visiting Grandma Berry, making out a familiar blonde gritting her teeth, attempting to walk with the help of the balance beams. You remember how her knuckles turned white as she stood shakily, pain etched on her face as she pushed herself to take one step. Your heart lurched and your stomach bottomed out, wanting to push into those doors to help her while at the same time knowing that it was you that caused her the pain that she was in. It was then that you saw this side of Quinn, hidden from the world and suffering alone, that you realise that you were off in the deep end. You're masochistic, you think, romanticising the taunts and the bullying that you put up with. You believe that the waver in her voice when she talked to you was out of fear and insecurity. You've always wanted to get to know the person beneath the Cheerio outfit, to be her friend, and if you dared admit to yourself, even more than that.
"Hey blueberry," a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts and she was greeted by the former blonde Cheerio as she slid into the booth, rubbing her arms and bouncing her feet in attempt to ward the chills. Looking up, you find her seeking her counterpart and winking in acknowledgement.
"Hey Britney, what's with blueberries?" you grin towards the bubbly girl.
"Well, you look sad and blueberries are small and sweet." Brittany stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You shake your head in amusement as you realise that you didn't catch the pun quickly enough. Soon enough, you welcome Brittany's infectious positivity and slide into an easy conversation and listened to the ridiculous mistakes that her crew made. You thought that Finn was bad (not that you would ever voice it out) but these were soon-to-be professionals, and for that moment you worried about the future talents that would dance alongside with you on Broadway.
The sound of a mic being switched on and tapped catches the attention of both of you as Santana, now with a Santa hat, onstage with the faint blue light cast down upon her. Glancing at the only 5 patrons in the pub, she clears her throat, "It's time for some of you miserable souls to get your asses up here for Open Mic. Remember, just tell Tony your song if you wanna sing tonight. He's not that hard to spot, there's only one person walking around with a clown nose. Well this ends my shift for the night and have a good Christmas, you loons. First up, a present for Miss Rachel Berry, with the note "I'm sorry I have been such a cowardly wuss, but good thing Santa Tana knocked some sense into me at four in the morning." Merry Christmas everyone." Santana smirked as she read off an invisible note.
Completely bemused, you watch Santana walk off stage and towards your booth, settling next to Brittany and greeting her with a small peck on the lips. Focusing your attention back to the stage, you feel your heart race as your breath hitches. The familiar balance of piano and acoustic guitar engulfs you as she glides to the seat in the centre of the dimly lighted stage. You lose a few seconds of the song as blood rushes to your ears, hardly daring to believe that she's finally there in person. It takes her less than the first couple of lines to seek you out, your eyes grow wider as she flashes a nervous smile at you before taking the second verse.
May be surrounded by a million people, I still feel all alone
You don't realize you're holding your breath until you let a shaky one out, letting the familiar alto wash over you. Her voice, you muse, has always been something that grounds you. You don't realize that you've gripped the edges of the table so hard that your knuckles have turned white. You don't notice the smirk that Brittany gives Santana as she nuzzles into her girlfriend. It's been such a long time since you've heard that melodious voice and you barely register the lyrics.
And I've been keeping all the letters that I wrote to you
As the light dances around her, you will yourself to look at her again, properly this time, and you're floored at the intensity of her gaze that she's returning. There's something different in her eyes and you can feel this image, this memory burn in your mind, always remembering the elegance and glow that radiates around her. You feel light-hearted and your breath starts to hitch and butterflies flutter and- no. You're bordering on the point of delusion if you think she's returning any of it back. She misses her friend, the friendship you've formed in your senior year. It's your nature to be dramatic and bitter, that's how you are on a snowy Christmas eve.
Let me go home, I'm just too far from where you are.
With wide eyes, panic sets in and you start to kick yourself for getting so lost in thoughts that you almost miss her entire song. Just as the chorus sets in for the last time, you take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders, willing yourself to tear your walls down. At the same time, you guard that flimsy fence up in your heart, keep it from rattling everywhere and spilling out dangerous secrets.
Music dies down to a low murmur as you hear Tony introduce the next singer that you barely catch because your heart is thumping wildly in your chest as you force down a blush as she makes her way towards the booth. It's with the same confidence that she has always exuded, you note, but that tentative smile that graces her features catches you off-guard and you feel yourself closely teetering off the edge and falling into those eyes yet again.
"Hey Rachel," she closes in for a hug and you let yourself soak in the embrace, familiarity spiking your nerves as you inhale, reliving the scent that has always been uniquely hers. You fight back for control, willing yourself not to gape like a fish as she hugs Brittany and squeezes Santana on her shoulder. They're not as surprised as you are to see her.
She falls into an easy conversation with the couple across the table, catching up on things that you already know of, and you occasionally catch her glancing sideways at you and the smirk that seems to be permanently etched on Santana's face. You love how your friendships have progressed to a point that you can sit comfortable with the unholy trinity and not feel left out. Stirring your iced tea slightly as you nod appropriately at one Brittany's stories, you take a sip as you will yourself to find your tongue and hold a conversation like a normal human. You're Rachel Berry for goodness sake, but the cat that never caught your tongue is back for revenge after you squashed it with multiple encyclopedias from when you were a child. You take a while but finally settle into the conversation, and you're sure it's all in your head but you swear you feel the blonde next to you relax ever so slightly and leans in closer to you.
After a couple of hours and with everyone already caught up with each others lives, you don't expect Santana to announce that she and Brittany are going to take off and head to Britt's place. Alarm bells ring in your head as you filter out their excuse of spending Christmas without any interruptions but by the time you find the words to argue with her, she's already pulled Brittany out of the booth and wished the two of you a Merry Christmas and a promise to catch up the following day, sniggering the entire way.
Which leaves the two of you, slowly walking along the pavement to your apartment.
"You've been awfully quiet tonight, Berry. One would assume that either my presence has rendered you speechless or that you're not too pleased to see me." Quinn says quietly as you rush to apologize.
"No, no, I entirely regret my earlier behaviour. I'm sorry, it's just that not having seeing you in person for such a long time, let alone Christmas eve, has caught me off guard. And please do not misinterpret my earlier silence for anything negative, I was merely wondering how I didn't think of hopping on the train earlier to catch you in New Haven, but it occurred to me that we didn't have any discussions or plans and I didn't want to come across-"
She giggles and you freeze, mesmerized by that beautiful sound, knowing exactly how cliché that is, but you know you can't help it.
"I'm just kidding, Rachel, but I'm glad to see that you're back. Missed you too, you know." She half grins at you, shuffling her pockets for a key as you stand outside your apartment. She pulls one out and states, "Santana", to your unspoken question. It takes you a ridiculous time but you just realize that she didn't carry any bags with her the entire way.
"What time did you get here?" You ask, closing the door behind you and finding her things placed neatly in a corner next to the television. You take the coat from her and hang both of yours at the door as she takes off her scarf.
"Around three. Santana picked me up from the station while you were rehearsing in school and she decided that me singing would be a good surprise for you. I know it's not much but I'm apparently Santana's Christmas gift to you, so Merry Christmas!" she says as she shrugs, an amused glint lingers in her eyes as she watches you fumble with your fingers.
You're looking down on the floor as you stand rooted on the sport, feeling your heart thudding loudly in your ears as she walks closer to you. You look up and open your mouth, but nothing comes out and you look like a fish gasping out of water. She takes your hands in hers and you feel her standing so close to you that you can feel her breath on your lips. You're not sure if you're dreaming but this is the closest you two have ever been.
She glances down at your lips and you see a tongue peek out from hers to wet her lips and you think that this can't be happening, you must have died and gone to heaven, but as soft, warm lips touch yours, you feel your eyes flutter close and you press forward. It's a fleeting moment, but it's perfect and you open your eyes to meet hers shining brimming with unveiled emotions and you're sure you've died.
"I love you," slips from you and your stomach starts churning as you feel like Ted from the sitcom that you watch, mentally berating yourself for being so tactless and preparing yourself for the end of a friendship that you just found. You were so close. You sigh as you try to apologize for messing things up but you hear a soft chuckle and you feel two fingers lifting your chin up.
"Always so intensely forward, this one." She muses as you stare, bewildered at her lack of disgust and horror for your unexpected outburst. She dips down and catches your lips again, and this time you let your hands slide around her neck as you gasp, feeling her arms encircle around your waist.
It feels like a fairy tale; a dream, and there are so many things to discuss, so many questions to answer, but for now you soak in her embrace and you feel at home.
"You're my best present, thank you for being here." You find yourself murmuring against her lips as you feel her smile.
"Merry Christmas, Rachel."
I wanna come home
Michael Bublé - "Home"