Basically, I wasn't happy with the way they handled Jesse's return to glee. So this is something more real and more enjoyable, in my opinion. It starts after regionals. Lots of St Berry (as you can see from the rating!)

So, it's the day of regionals, they've won, and Rachel is walking home, planning setlists and reading her Funny Girl libretto…

So of course I'm happy that we won regionals, but now all my energy has to be focused on nationals. Im already writing possible setlists, featuring myself heavily on lead vocals of course. I know it might be big headed of me to say this, but I'm the most talented person in this school, and we can't rely on another barbie-and-ken fiasco a-la sectionals. But I don't like to think about that day. The day Finn broke up with me. The day he broke my heart. Anyway what was I saying? Oh yes, nationals. Well I know we will be facing vocal adrenaline. Oh god. They crushed us at regionals last year. It was sheer luck that they weren't pitted against us today. But that was last year.

Last year, with all the pain. the duets. the decisions. the eggs that cascaded towards me like bullets and cracked, as their contents slowly trickled down into my training bra, my jeans. The look on his face when I knew I had been kidding myself. That I'd been blind to what everyone else saw. That final egg, which he smacked right down on top of my head, finally made the tears come. The egg ran right through my veins, chilling my bones, breaking my heart. That was the only thing that has ever truly knocked me. Not the daily slushy facials. Not Santana's bitchy comments about anything and everything about me. Not even when Mr Schue took my solo away. It was the look on his face when he did it, the look that still haunts me to this day. Why? Because I don't know if he loved me. I love him. I do. I love you, Jesse St. James. But he's gone. He had a full ride to a little place called the university of california, los angeles. 'maybe you've heard of it', he'd smiled, as he talked in his confident, sexy, adult tones. 'it's in los angeles.' something jolted inside my heart when he said that, and when we sang together…it felt right. Magnetic, almost. We were drawn to each other, by the universe…

Ouch! What was that? I'd nearly fallen over a number plate. Stupid thing. I was about to walk past it, when something made me stop. It was the number plate - it made the warm march afternoon freeze over like it was mid december. VOC-AD-01. Jesse's car. I knew it was his; he'd driven me around in it often enough. Why was it lying on the street? I looked around me, and realised where I was. Obviously lost in my own thought and the libretto of Funny Girl, a seminal Broadway classic, I'd wandered off into Lima Heights. Some of the kids from school lived here - Santana, namely, but I also knew this was where Jesse had rented a cheap apartment during his senior year at Carmel. I glanced up at his building. The window of his apartment was closed but that didn't surprise me, I mean, if you left your windows open in Lima Heights then you were asking for thieves. I slowly walked up to the door, wondering if I could remember the keypad combination. My fingers seemed to remember like it was only yesterday that I'd been here for dinner or a makeout session. I typed the five digits - 24601 - and pushed the door open. My heart was beating fast, hard. It wasn't because I was in pretty much the dodgiest neighbourhood in Ohio; I'd been here plenty of times - not recently, I think the last time was in the fall when I went to that crackhouse - and I regularly used places like this as character research for Maureen in RENT or Maria in West Side Story, for when I WILL play those parts.

As I walked up the stairs, a memory that I'd buried deep in my subconscious suddenly came flooding back. It was after we'd been at the roller rink, and Jesse and I were walking up these stairs, and then the power went out. We got to his door and Jesse said 'the power blows!', sounding exactly like Anthony Rapp, and then I burst into 'got a light?' and before long we were dancing all round the apartment, lighting my candle. I laughed softly. I reached Jesse's door, and was surprised to see the once bright red door had been painted black. I smiled as I got the déjà vu. As I got closer I saw the paint job was haphazard, clumsily unfinished. And for some reason there was a carving which unmistakably said 'St. Berry'. St. Berry? The nickname that Jacob Ben Israel gave us whilst we were dating? Jesse and I, that is, not Jacob. Just because we share the Jewish religion does not mean we are going to get down and dirty anytime soon.

I put my hand on the door and then stopped. 'alright, you've come up here for old times' sake, now leave. Someone else lives here now, Jesse's in LA, and you need to get back to blogging about Barbra Streisand, not mooning around over someone who broke you'. I firmly removed my hand from the doorknob - but as I did, the door slowly swung open a little. This made me stop dead. You don't leave your door open in Lima Heights, any fool knew that. Id lost count of the times Santana had come into glee club, furious because someone had broken in. Nobody lived here anymore. I shivered with anticipation as I entered the apartment. It wasn't trespassing if it was empty, right? Inside, it was…weird. There were all of his broadway posters on the wall - Rent, Mamma Mia, Hair, the Funny Girl one I'd bought for him, and the Spring Awakening one. I was struck as to how much he resembled Jonathan Groff, as I was every time I saw this poster. But…why would Jesse leave these behind?

I opened the cupboards - there were some pop tarts and beans, and on the side there was an empty krispy kreme donuts packet, and a pizza box. Someone else had clearly been here after Jesse - he stuck to a special diet and I knew he never ate empty calories. This theory was proved correct when, hesitating, I opened the fridge and there was nothing but a few six packs of beer. The only alcohol Jesse drank was neat vodka, because he said it had fewer calories. The rest of the open plan room was empty, so I walked into the bathroom. It smelled bad, like stale vomit, and I saw traces of what was unmistakably crack speckled on the edge of the lime green sink. I walked quickly out of the room, closing the door behind me. I was all for character research but I wasn't about to fill my body with potentially deadly chemicals.

The other door led to the bedroom. I opened it slowly. The first thing that hit me was the smell - tobacco, beer, and perspiration. Then I stopped dead. There was someone lying on the floor. Was it…no. I couldnt see the face, but the boots were too filthy, the leather jacket battered. But the hair…those unmistakable lustrous curls, which I had stroked so many times. I took a step forward, and the floor gave an almighty creak beneath my loafer. Oh no. The person began to move, slowly turning over, and I knew I should leave but couldn't, a strange combination of fear and excitment kept me rooted to the spot. A familiar face, clouded with stubble and spots, gazed at me. Everything else was different, but those eyes, those piercing, beautiful eyes, confirmed it. I gasped, as, tears filling his eyes, Jesse whispered, 'Rachel?'

So PLEASE review and i'll write some more :)