Title: Unpacking Dreams
Characters: Finn and Rachel, brief appearance of her dads
Rating: R
Author's Notes: Written as future!fic in the world I inadvertently created when I wrote "Gift Wrapped". It's four years or so beyond the ending of that fic and for this story, I'm mainly filling in the past few years. You'll find an important part of the previous story at the beginning...
"Also different this year, with his strong arms holding her close to him, her legs around his waist (bringing to mind one of those wonderful filed-away memories of pale blue light over shimmering skin), is that he's whispered in her ear not only "I love you" but also a promise – one that gleams brighter even than the trophy being passed around their team. And she doesn't cry into his shoulder when she hears it (which surprises him, to be honest), but instead simply kisses him, grins with joy, and laughs.
It's a happy laugh, an affirming laugh, and he laughs with her and spins them around again. Because this is quite possibly the greatest day of his life.
He still has no idea how the hell a kid like him ended up with his hand on a national show choir trophy and a future Broadway star (he's sure of it) in his arms. He doesn't suppose the how and the why matter so much, though. Glee, Rachel, all of this – it's the best thing that's ever happened to him, and it (well, she) is definitely a gift he plans to keep."
Shifting the box in his arms, he glances again at the stairway ahead of him, mentally gauging the number of steps to the top before continuing. It's early autumn, and the air outside the front doors carries a chill, but that hasn't stopped the sweat from rolling down his neck and making his shirt stick to his back. What is this, he wonders ruefully, the fortieth trip he's made down these stairs and back up again?
On the landing, he pushes open their front door with his foot, looking around the sunlit apartment for a place to set the box and choosing to give it a home between the not-yet-positioned loveseat and recliner. It's marked "sheet music", so he figures he'll leave that one to Rachel to open and unpack.
As he's stretching his back, rubbing a spot that's already sore and wincing at his muscles' protest, the owner of that boxful of sheet music emerges from the bathroom, giving him a smile when she sees that he's back from another trip to the U-haul.
"I just hung the shower curtain," she says excitedly, and though he's not sure what's exciting about bathroom decorations, he grins at her enthusiasm; after all, it's his place, too, and he's just as excited to be here, even with an aching back and throbbing knees.
"That's great, Rach. Things are, you know, really coming together in here." He turns a half-circle in place, nodding as he gazes around at the empty boxes collapsed and stacked neatly in the kitchen, and the many items that have already found a home in the space.
It's a comfort, really, to see some of the knick-knacks he saw for years in her bedroom – and his as well, he notes with a smile – already gracing the horizontal surfaces that are barely unpacked themselves. They'll be moved around, of course, as the two of them set up the apartment, but right now, it's just a sweet reminder of home, and with the rest of his life a good ten hours and what feels like a lifetime away, that's just, well...nice.
They both turn toward the door as it swings open, and her dads file in, both carrying boxes and looking as though they're ready to be finished with the task. They set them on the kitchen counter, then stretch in much the same way Finn had a few moments before. He knows the feeling – moving is tough.
Mr. Berry smiles at Rachel, then adjusts his glasses and wipes his cheeks with his hands. "That's it for the boxes in the truck, honey." He glances over at his partner, currently using his shirt collar to remove the sweat from his neck in a very uncharacteristic fashion. "I think it's time for us to head back to the hotel. I know I need a shower before dinner."
Meeting times are agreed upon, hugs and pats on sweaty backs are exchanged, and a few happy, congratulatory remarks are made in the doorway of apartment number 35A before they're alone again, and it's almost, almost sinking in. This is home.
Small hands slide around his waist to clasp behind his back, and he folds her in his arms, kissing the top of her head. He hears a muffled, "I can't believe we're here" at his chest and realizes he feels the same – because while holding her may be second nature to him, doing so with his back propped against the front door of an apartment whose lease holds both their signatures is definitely another.
Even sweet moments like these don't come easily, he knows – and not only because he's sore and achy from carrying moving boxes up three flights of stairs all day. These things come after years of hard work at classes and make-ends-meet jobs, seeing each other on holidays and the occasional happy weekend, text messages and Twitter replies and twice, driving halfway on a weekday for lunch and a quick but unforgettable ride in the backseat of his very parked car. Twice, because as his breathing had slowed that day, he'd heard her whisper into his neck, "I'm off next Wednesday, too," and he had known that he would drive wherever, whenever she asked.
It had been so difficult to drop her off at college that weekend before he'd begun classes himself. Her roommate had undressed him with her eyes – to his disgust and Rachel's amusement – and the campus had seemed so different from the one he'd visited with his mom in Columbus the year before. All of a sudden, almost everything in the world had felt uncertain; a jarring transition from the recent feeling of skimming the stars, dreams close enough to touch. As he'd navigated his way back toward I-90 and Ohio, he'd had to turn up the radio to a near-deafening volume, take deep breaths, and force himself to sing along. It was a long drive, but he was glad he'd driven himself instead of riding with her dads – because none of those techniques had worked anyway, and he'd have felt like a total fool wiping at his eyes and trying to catch his breath in front of them during those first fifteen minutes on the road.
Performing with the glee club (moreover, being in love) hadn't made him a complete sap, though, and he still knew the powerful thrill of completing a pass, hearing the probably-drunk crowd scream with excitement at a touchdown for their team, and seeing a wide-open space on the field, end zone in sight, ball in his hands. It was true that he took more pride in his vocal talent than his athletic ability, but the latter was what kept him in college. So he'd found his way to the other side, even made the Dean's List a few times (his mom has those certificates framed on the living room wall back home), and had flashed a grin at a few tiny, beaming faces he'd located in the stands at The Horseshoe as he'd heard the names of Hubbard, Jennifer, and Huckleby, Kyle called over the speakers just before his own.
What he's going to do with a degree in Communications here in New York City, he has no clue, although he knows he needs to get his ass in gear and put his cell phone and his feet – perhaps even more so than his diploma – to good use and follow up his leads, find a job to support them. No matter what, however, he's infinitely glad to have expanded his vocabulary over the past four years; it was getting tedious Googling half the words Rachel used.
Rachel. He pulls her closer, kisses the top of her head a second time, and takes another look around their apartment as she squeezes him tighter in response. This may not be the fulfillment of his own dream – his can be met anywhere, honestly – but he's excited to be a part of her adventure. And wow, is he ever glad to be out of Lima. This, he thinks as he takes it all in, is a thrill akin to throwing the football for a completed pass or a pitch-perfect first note in a solo at competition – this is the very first day of really, truly sharing his life with someone else out of choice, out of love. It hits him hard.
The bedroom is cluttered with boxes and not-yet-arranged furniture in much the same way the living room is, and their brand-new bed frame is still in pieces, propped against the wall. But the mattress and box spring have pride of place in the center of the room, and he pulls her down with him as his ankles collide with it. His backache all but forgotten, they laugh together as it bounces beneath their weight, grinning at each other before continuing what they began in the entryway.
He's quickly divested of his sweaty t-shirt, and her own top follows suit, joined soon after on the floor by a bra too lacy for something as mundane as moving day – she smiles at him wickedly when he points this out. Finally, amidst the sound of quickened breathing and skin sliding against skin, every other article of clothing that separates them is hastily thrown to the floor.
Her hair forms a dark curtain around them as she leans forward to kiss him, one hand at his cheek and her fingertips in his hair, the other bracing against the strong muscles in his shoulder. They flex under her fingers as he clutches at her hips, easily helping to raise and lower her small frame as he meets her pace beneath.
"Finn," she murmurs, her lips sliding along his collarbone. "This is already a dream come true, you know."
Eyes half-closed, his mouth curves into a crooked smile. "Well, I made you a promise. And here we are."