Things in New York are way different than he expected them to be. He's always known Rachel belonged here, that she'd flourish and thrive, and she has, she really has. But she's also grown in this sort of immense and enormous way that he never saw coming. He knew she'd change, she was moving and going to college after all, but he never thought it would happen so soon and so drastically. And it's not just the new clothes, and darker make up, and different hair; her attitude changed, the way she sees things and talks about things. He's trying to get used to it, and to New York, he's trying really hard, because he wants this to be where he belongs. He wants Rachel and he wants to thrive just like she does.
So he goes along with everything she wants him to do. Whenever she suggests a new place to eat or exhibit to see, jumping on the balls her feet and clapping her hands excitedly, he tries to get excited too. Tonight that means going to a party. A college party, Rachel reminds him, like it's going to be so different then a party at Puck's place or that cheerleader who lives on Park Knoll whose parents, like don't exist or something.
She's right though, it's a college party and it's totally different then partying at Puck's with the football team.
First of all, Rachel doesn't even know the people who live here. She wasn't even invited to this party, she heard someone in her modern dance class talking about it, so she asked her friend in her music history class for the address and she just gives it to her. It's kind of weird that the people who live here, whoever they are, don't care if there are strangers in their house. He wonders how many people here even know who's throwing the party or why. And he wonders how many of these unnamed parties Rachel has been to, and if it's safe for her to wander into random apartments and houses just cause there's loud music playing and cheesy Christmas lights poorly hung on the walls. And would Rachel and Kurt ever have one of these parties? He doesn't want a whole bunch of strangers hanging out in Rachel's bedroom.
And did he mention it's a Wednesday?! A party. On a Wednesday night. The things he used to have to do to get Rachel to leave her house on a school night. It's a college thing, he reasons, for what feels like the hundredth time this week.
Rachel comes back from the kitchen with two red cups, one is his and filled with beer, well half beer, half foam - new Rachel apparently doesn't know how to pump a keg. And one with some red punch thing that smells like it could give you diabetes and alcohol poisoning in one fell swoop. He doesn't know how she got the cups, because those tiny shorts she's wearing don't actually have pockets, so he knows she doesn't have any money- ok, never mind, he knows how she got the cups; high school or college, hot girl in hot clothes gets a cup.
He leans against the wall and she leans against him, her back on his chest and this is comfortable, the familiar gesture gives him hope. Just like when she shrieks for him to kill a bug in the apartment, the same as she would in her dad's house in Lima, and when she wears her pajamas with the fluffy kittens on it, just like she did the first time she ever snuck him into her bedroom.
They watch the party and they sip their drinks and Rachel waves to a few people walking by. Her cup is half way done when she turns around, replacing the back of her head with her chin. She's wearing this canary-eating smile that reaches all the way up to her eyes, and he knows whatever she's going to ask for is something he won't like.
"Finn," she hums, batting her eyes a few times for good measure. Wow, bringing out the big guns.
"Yes..." He answers knowingly.
"Will you dance with me? Please?"
He tilts his head back and lets out a dramatically loud groan, "Rachel..."
"Please Finn. Pleaseeee." She whines, squeezing his hands a little harder in anticipation.
He can tell she's already a bit drunk, and her juice stained lips are in a perfect pout, "Rach, you know how bad I am at dancing. Broken nose ring any bells?" He says, running a gentle finger over her nose.
"Nope." She retorts quickly, "No bells rung. Not one single bell." Her smile is wide and she looks pretty proud of herself. Why does he even bother?
He's never been able to deny her anything that was within his reach. He may not be good at dancing but he could do it. So he breathes a sigh of defeat and let's her drag him out to the makeshift dance floor. Which is really just a few wasted people bouncing around and letting their drinks slosh out of their cups onto the floor.
This college party doesn't make him seem any better at dancing, in fact, he feels even more awkward than usual; taller, gawkier, like everyone in the room is staring at him and laughing. He doesn't even know this song and he wants to stop right now, he wants to go back to that comfortable place on the wall with Rachel, but then he catches sight of her. He tries to get some perspective when he sees how blissful Rachel looks. She really has come into her own with her dancing; long gone is the overly analyzed choreography and worry that she's making some kind of colossal error. She just looks happy. Happy and free and fun. And he's really not moving all that much, and he doesn't think anyone is actually looking at him, so whatever.
Rachel's cup is finished now and she's dancing in circles. Her arms are out wide and her steps follow no real rhythm. Her hair moves in a big halo, the new blonde tips forming a kind of a golden ring around her, and he's struck again by how much she's changed in so little time.
She's breathless when she stops spinning, grabbing both his arms for support. She giggles madly and then looks up at him as if to see if he feels it too. Her eyes, though hidden by more makeup now, are still the same big, adoring ones that have looked up at him for years, and it reminds him that she's still in there somewhere, pieces of the old Rachel. So he kisses her, because he's been holding obstinately onto the hope that there was still some part of her that hadn't grown to change. And the way she looks at him hadn't, and he doesn't think it ever will. And he loves her for that. He really, really loves her.
So he kisses her in the middle of whoever's college party this is, innocent at first, but it soon turns to more, as it always has. His hands are buried deep in her hair and he can taste the fizz of her lethal, red drink on her tongue and it reminds him of root beer floats at Breadsticks on their third date, and God, can people see them right now?
He opens his eyes for a brief moment and yes, people can definitely see them. People who are half staring and half gawking and half giggling, and he doesn't know the rules about college parties and PDA so he forces himself to leave the warmth of Rachel's lips and pull her back to their spot off the dance floor.
She leans a little looser now, the entirety of her body weight resting on his. She looks a little ridiculous, like a puppet with no one holding the strings, and it's how he can tell she's pretty good and drunk. He's always been able to gauge her level of intoxication by how far away she gets from her own overt sense of decorum, and right now, relying completely on him to hold her body up, he knows it's time to cut her off.
He rubs his hand up and down her arm to get her attention, but before she can turn around she points across the room,
"Katie! That's my friend Katie!" she yells, looking up at him with eager eyes
The girl looks pretty wasted herself, she spends a good 30 seconds looking all around the party trying to figure out who is calling her name. When she finally spots Rachel she matches her enthusiasm with squeals of, "Rachel!"
"This is my boyfriend, Finn." Rachel explains, after 2 minutes of hugging and gushing over Katie's outfit.
Katie makes a big show of looking at him, starting at his sneakers and slowly rising all the way up to the top of his head. "Jesus Rachel, he's so tall!"
Rachel giggles, "I told you he was tall."
"There's tall and then there's….tall."
That doesn't really make any sense, but he thinks maybe he should be offended, "You guys know I can hear you right?"
They both laugh wildly at that, Katie even claps him on the shoulder, "Finn is tall and funny!" she says, before she abruptly stops giggling, "I have to pee. Rachel come pee with me."
Another thing that's the same about college parties and high school parties; girls always go to the bathroom together. He thinks he could be in college for the rest of his life and still not understand that one.
Rachel looks to him, silently asking for permission, and he gives her a little nudge towards the bathroom.
She returns 15 minutes later and he knows the line for the bathroom can be long, but not that long. It takes him all of 5 seconds to realize she's a little further away from that decorum line than she was 15 minutes ago.
She cheers his names and collapses into his arms, making some of his beer splash onto her back in his haste to catch her, but she doesn't seem to notice or care so, oh well.
"Rach, baby, what did you drink?"
"Um, shots?" she answers, though it sounds more like a question
"You took shots?"
"Yes. In the kitchen." She explains matter-of-factly. He wants to be mad at her, because it was a stupid thing to do. She's already drunk enough and now it'll be ten times harder to get her home, but she's looking up at him with those adoring eyes again; sure they're a little glassy now, but still so warm and affectionate.
So he brings her to the couch, where he hopes they can sit and let her sober up a little. He pats the spot next to him, but she moves directly for his lap. She curls into him like a cat, burrowing her head into his shoulder and securing her legs over his. She even lets out a little purr of contentment as she rubs her cheek up and down the soft material of his sweater.
It takes a little while, and he starts to think she may have fallen asleep, but she finally speaks, "I want you to be happy Finn."
He's taken aback, "I am happy."
"No. You love me, you're not happy. It's different."
He always hates when she does this drunken reveal of her feelings. Hearing her be so honest about things he knows she wouldn't say sober, it feels like an extreme invasion of privacy, like he's reading her diary or something,
"I'm happy, I promise. You make me so happy."
"But I want you to be so happy Finn. Like, Nationals happy, like Tony Manero happy!"
He doesn't know how to respond to that. He thought he was doing a way better job at convincing her that this was where he belonged. But really, how do you tell the person you love that you belong with them, but you don't belong where they belong?
He's trying to find the words, but when he looks down at her he doesn't think she remembers she said anything at all. So he tugs her a little closer, and kisses the top of her head and keeps hoping that he'll find a way to make this right. To get his girl, and his dream, all in the same place, at the same time.
…
They finally make it back to the apartment and he starts to head straight for bed, not expecting Rachel to follow just yet, her nighttime ritual awaiting her. Only she doesn't go for the bathroom, instead she makes a beeline for the fridge.
Her eyes are determined like she knows exactly what she's looking for, and she lets out a squeal of victory when she finds it. She digs in to the carton of leftover Chinese food with a vigor usually reserved for scouring the internet to find the right song to sing in Glee club.
He thinks his brain might be exploding, because there are like a thousand things wrong with this picture. Since when does Rachel eat past 8 pm? (Un-burned calories, Finn!) And since when does she not heat up leftovers? (Bacteria, Finn!) And since when does she eat chicken?! Chicken!
God, the debates they've had over Chinese food alone... He's always tried to convince her that the best part of Chinese food is coming back for it later, and she would never listen, always insisting that leftovers should be eaten the next day, thoroughly heated up. It's seems like she can read his mind though, when she finally says,
"You were so right. This is so amazing." Her voice is muffled by the pieces of chicken stuffed in her cheeks. She looks like a little chipmunk and it's probably the cutest thing he's ever seen. He laughs at her antics and moves to stand in front of her, suddenly curious to know everything about the new Rachel who stays up til 3, and eats cold sesame chicken, and wears eyeliner to bed.
He places his hands on her hips, his legs spread wide so that they're almost eye level and he opens his mouth. She sends him a secret smile and slowly feeds him a piece. And she's right, it's so good.
"Chinese food is way better here." He tells her.
Their faces are close, so close that his voice doesn't need to go any louder than a whisper. She answers in turn, her voice low and slow,
"It's the water." Is all she can explain before his lips are on hers.
The carton lies forgotten on the counter. He hears her fork clatter to the ground, but she doesn't hesitate. That old alarm he has goes off in his head, the one he honed over time and through many mistakes and lectures. It's his Rachel alarm. It reminds him of things that he couldn't care less about, but that Rachel cares deeply about. Like not letting the water run while he brushes his teeth, and making sure all the sheet music faces the same way. He feels like this falls under that category, but instead of going on a rant about germs and bugs and cleanliness, she tugs him closer and moans into his mouth. And well, if the new Rachel doesn't care about dirty utensils on the floor than he sure as hell doesn't.
He lifts her onto the counter, his brain feels so fuzzy that he almost drops her right into the empty sink, but he recovers the instant he hears her surprised yelp. His hands are everywhere and hers are just as hasty, reaching and tugging and grasping and desperate to pull him closer.
She finally breaks away from him, her ragged breath washing all over his face when she reaches to tug her shirt over her head. New Rachel has sex in the kitchen?! Good god, he can't take this. What about manners and modesty and unsanitary surfaces?
"Rachel-" he breathes out
She's panting in between kisses and trying to talk all at once, "Kurt- at his friends- midtown- too far."
He closes his eyes to try and control himself. It's been so long since they've been together, too long. And he's never seen Rachel this frantic and needy and breathless. He has to pull her away from him, just for a second. He holds her face in his hands and takes long, deep breaths. She looks confused but they're locked in this stare, their breathing in sync, their body's unmoving.
He reaches behind her to turn the faucet on, she curious, he knows, but she still doesn't move, doesn't stop looking into his eyes. He stretches his arm to get his hand under the water, a small puddle forms in his palm and he rubs his hands together so they're both wet. And without asking for permission he moves both hands to her eyes, rubbing his thumbs over the lids and pulling her dark makeup off onto his own skin.
He has to. He just has to see her, the real her, the real Rachel.
And he likes what he finds behind the dark mask, he always has.
He tells her how beautiful she is, no matter what she wears, or what color her hair is.
She looks up at him and he knows she's so, so happy. And he can't tell her.
He can't tell her that he doesn't fit in here, and he doesn't think he ever will. And that he loves her but he's afraid it might not be enough, because what if she stops looking at him like that? And he wants to make her promise, to make her swear to always look at him with the same pride and reverence and love, but how could anyone ever promise such a thing?
So instead he tells her he loves her, and he takes her to her bed and with every kiss he prays that everything will be okay, and for right now, hope will have to be enough.