A/N: I tried to stifle the craving, I attempted to ignore the desire. But in the end, it proved too strong to ignore. So after denying the urge for so long, I am finally coming out of the Gleek closet. I hope you enjoy my very first Glee tale, and that the characters aren't too OOC. To my Chuck fans, I promise that I haven't deserted you. But with the state of the show, my inspiration has dwindled and I needed to try a different creative outlet. I do, however, promise to finish my stories when my inspiration has been rekindled. In the meantime, I can only hope that you understand.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
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His feet make prints in the snow. Distinct and distorted, imperfect and irregular, but his all the same. He can hear the snow crunch underneath his sneakers, feel the brittle texture underneath his feet. It brings him a sense of peace, even when the snow rushes about his shoulders and dampens his thick brown hair. Even when the world seems to be crashing in on him from all sides, and his life seems to be falling into pieces. Even when he isn't sure where to turn next.
His feet make prints in the snow. When the sun disappears behind the Ohio horizon and the stars dot the pitch black sky, his feet make prints in the snow. Every time he makes the trek, every time he takes the by now familiar journey, he leaves a path behind him. He blazes a trail, erects a beaten track. Forming his own individual course. Evidence of the course that he's constructing within his own life. Evidence of the path he's blazing within his own heart.
He knows the analogy is lame. He knows that if the guys had any idea he was standing outside her window, his arms breaking into goose bumps both from the cold and from the knowledge that she's so close by, they would kick his butt. He knows that if she were to come to the window, if she were to see him standing underneath her windowsill, his entire life would change.
He doesn't know how he knows that. He doesn't understand where all this knowledge has come from. Really, he's always been a simple guy. He's always been laid back, easy going. He's always let life come as it came. Even so, he knows that he's right. He knows that if she saw him now, there would be no hiding how he feels. And if she knew exactly how he felt, things would never again be the same.
But even with this knowledge, even with the certainty that he's embarking on the path of no return, he can't pull himself away. He can't stop himself from taking this journey. He can't force himself to turn around and go home.
He needs her. God, how he needs her. Even with everything falling apart, even with his entire world crumbling around his feet, he's found one bright spot. One shining star, one point of illumination. One small girl who makes everything alright, whose brilliant smile erases all his pain, whose amazing voice eradicates all his misery. One person whose intoxicating presence makes him feel like he has something worth living for.
Perhaps it's because of her that he pulls the pennies from his pocket. Perhaps it's because he needs her by his side that he tosses them against her window. Perhaps it's because he cares so much that his breath hitches in his throat when her bedroom is suddenly illuminated by a bright light, and she appears at the window to push it upward from the windowsill.
"Finn?" she calls, wrapping her arms around her slender frame as the chill draft rushes into her room.
"Hey," he replies, waving feebly as a nervous smile spreads across his face. "What's up?"
"I was – I was sleeping," she states, her brow furrowing in confusion. And then she cocks her head to the side as she studies him further. "How long have you been standing out there?" she asks, staring at the blue tinge that has formed upon his lips.
"Oh, you know," he says, shrugging sheepishly, "A few minutes." Forty-five to be exact. Pushing his hands deep into his pockets to ward of the chill, he rushes ahead to cover for himself. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd go for a walk." Every night. For the past two weeks. An unexpected blush creeps up his cheeks, and he drops his head, scuffing his toe against the pure white snow. When he looks up again, Rachel's disappeared from her window and her bedroom light has been turned off.
His stomach drops even as his cinnamon eyes feverishly scan the nearby vicinity, desperately hoping that she's still somewhere in sight. Desperately hoping that she hasn't truly disappeared. But as he glances at the many empty windows and scans the various entryways to the Berry household, his shoulders droop from disappointment and a heavy sigh escapes his lips. Turning slowly around, he begins to travel down the path he's made to get to where he is tonight.
It's only when he steps into the first footprint, it's only when he starts to retrace his steps that he hears the tentative opening of her front door. Freezing in his tracks, his eyes widen hopefully as a pair of smaller feet begin to form their own footprints in the snow.
"You know we should be sleeping," she says, the perky quality of her voice causing his heart to skip a beat. "We'll be in no shape to beat Vocal Adrenaline in the Regional Competition if we don't enjoy at least eight hours of sleep each night, followed by a strenuous workout and a heartily balanced breakfast."
Finn can't help it. His lips quirk upward into a smirk and he turns to face the beautiful brunette enigma standing behind him. "Right," he says, nodding even though he's not quite sure what it is that he's agreeing with. "I just figured that I'd take a quick walk. You know, to clear my head."
Again, she studies him, giving him the uncomfortable feeling that she can see right through every one of his defenses. That her radiant brown eyes are staring straight into his thoughts, straight into his mind, straight into his soul. Even so, he finds that he cannot look away. In fact, he doesn't even want to try.
"Things have been tough lately," she states matter-of-factly. "Quinn. Puck. The baby." So simple, so direct. So few words to describe every insecurity it is that he's feeling.
"Yeah," he agrees, his hand forming an inadvertent fist within his jacket pocket. For a moment, thoughts of his ex-girlfriend and his former best friend flood his mind, eclipsing his senses and sending his pulse racing angrily through his veins. And then he hears her voice.
"It's going to be okay, you know," she says, her tone almost melodic as she places her hand on his concealed arm. "Things will get better."
"I know," he says. And when the words emerge, he realizes that he believes them. He knows that things will get better, just as he knows that he needs to be here tonight. Just as he knows that he needs to be with her. Extracting his arm from her tender grip, he reaches for her hand, threading his fingers through the negative spaces of her own. "I'm sorry," he says simply.
"For what?" she replies, an uncertain smile lighting up her face even as a hint of certainty forms upon her face.
"For everything," he admits. "For lying to you. For not treating you right." Pausing, he weighs his next words carefully, knowing that they could change everything. Knowing that what happens tonight could change the entire course of his life. Knowing that he doesn't really care. "For pretending like I didn't feel it, too," he finishes softly, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.
She's quiet for a long time, her lower lip suddenly held captive beneath her teeth as she contemplates his statement. "I'm not sure what you mean," she finally says hesitantly, gazing into his eyes. What he sees there, what he finds reflected in the depths of her coffee brown gaze, sends his pulse racing for an entirely different reason. And in that moment, he understands that she knows exactly what he means. But he also understands that she's just as afraid of getting hurt as he is of letting go of everything he's ever known. Even so, he knows that she's worth it. She's worth the derision, she's worth the ridicule. She's worth the loss of everything he thought he cared about. She's worth everything.
"I like you, Rachel," he admits, swallowing away the tension forming at the back of his throat. "Like, a lot." More than I probably should.
Her hand falters in his grasp, almost as if she considers pulling away. But when his fingers tighten subconsciously around her own, she simply shakes her head. "You've been through a lot, Finn," she says, gazing steadily into his eyes. "This really isn't the time to –"
"But I think it's exactly the time," he interrupts, unable to hold back any longer. "I'm tired of waiting, Rachel. I'm tired of pretending. I'm tired of being afraid to go after what I really want."
"And what is it that you want, Finn?" she queries, even while the certainty grows upon her face.
"I want you," he confesses.
Her lips part at his words, her tongue darting out to wet her supple mouth. His eyes inadvertently travel to the delicate pink flesh, flickering over her soft pink tongue and her perfect rows of teeth. Before he can stop himself, before he even realizes what he's doing, he's suddenly leaning forward and pressing his lips to her own. Her eyes widen at the contact, at the way that his mouth pushes against her mouth, at the way his fingers rise to curl through her hair. And for a moment, she allows herself to succumb. For a moment, she closes her eyes and falls into his kiss. For a moment, she wraps her arms around his waist and kisses him back.
And then she pushes him away.
"Wait," she says, taking a moment to catch her breath. "We can't do this. I can't do this." Folding her arms over her chest, her gaze turns beseeching as it locks onto his own. "Finn, this isn't the right time. You're going through too much and you don't know what you want. I understand that."
"You're wrong," Finn says, his face flushed from their momentary contact. "I know exactly what I want." And for the first time in months – years, maybe – he feels like he does. Because being here with Rachel, feeling her wrapped in his arms, is the most natural thing he's ever known.
"You think you know what you want," she replies, a sympathetic gleam entering her deep brown eyes. "It's perfectly natural to have these feelings after experiencing severe betrayal. It's your typical rebound situation –"
"I'm not rebounding," he interrupts her again, taking a step forward. Once again, he feels the snow crunch underneath his footfall. "Rachel," he begins, running a frustrated hand through his damp russet hair, "I've felt this way for almost as long as I've known you. You – you make me feel things." God, he sounded like such a pansy.
"I make you feel things?" she repeats, arching a brow. Even despite her apparent resolve, he can tell that he's gotten her attention. "Like what kinds of things?"
"Like," he hesitates, searching his mind for the right words. He never has been very good with language. "Like when you sing," he tries, his eyes lighting up when he suddenly realizes what he wants to say next. "I can be having the worst kind of day. The guys can be ragging on me, and Qu – certain people can be giving me a really hard time, and I can feel like life isn't really worth living. And then I hear your voice. It's like a part of me suddenly feels . . . I don't know," he finishes lamely, the selfsame blush reforming upon his cheeks, "Alive or something."
"Finn," she says softly, her resolve faltering as she takes a step toward him. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I need you, Rachel," he replies seriously, a tentative smile spreading across his face when she allows him to take her hand. "Like, all the time. You're kinda the one person who makes all the bad stuff disappear, you know?"
"Yeah," she nods, just as seriously. "I do." And then she's kissing him, her fingers threading through his hair and her body pressing heatedly against his muscular frame. The snow continues to billow about their shoulders, falling upon their bodies and causing goose bumps to break out onto their skin. But neither of them really notices. Neither of them really cares. Because in that space of time, when they come together in an affectionate embrace and he feels her heart beating heavily against his own, everything else falls away.
"I can't believe this is happening," she says softly, leaning her forehead against his chest when they break the kiss.
"I know," he replies, kissing the top of her head. After everything they've been through, after everything it took to get to this point, he can't believe that he's finally here. He can't believe that he's finally figured out what it is that he wants. He can't believe that Rachel Berry is finally snuggled in his arms.
"You know this isn't going to be easy," she says, leaning back to look up at him. "We can't just expect everything to fall into place. You're the high school quarterback and I'm the lead Gleek, and no one is going to –"
"Rachel?" he interrupts one last time, smiling affectionately.
"Yes?" she replies, furrowing her brow.
"Let's wait until tomorrow to talk." And then he bends down to kiss her again, his tongue darting out to taste her lips as he wraps her in his tight embrace. Yeah. This was definitely one journey he wanted to take.