I never liked this apple much
It always seemed too big to touch
I can't remember how I found
My way before she came around

He hates New York.

He does. Screw all that 'I heart NY' bullshit.

He hates the fact that there are 8 million people in the city but he doesn't really KNOW anyone (aside from his girlfriend and their little group. God forbid he makes friends). He hates the 'New York scene' where it's all standing in front of a hip, new club waiting for a grumpy bouncer to let you in so you can pay for overpriced drinks while listening to a lousy DJ. He hates the fact that he's paying a whole shitload of money for a stinking shoebox of an apartment and he can't even get his girl to move in with him 'cause there's barely enough space for her toothbrush. Her fucking toothbrush. He hates the stupid accents – hell no, he's not gonna fuh-gedda-boud-dit, jackass. He hates the sirens and the taxis and the bike messengers and how everything seems to be in a fucking hurry. He hates how you can't take a step anywhere in a 2 mile radius of Times Square without stepping on a fucking fanny-pack-wearing, camera-toting tourist (They're just billboards, dickwad! Stop gawking and get out of the fucking way!).

And right now, in the middle of summer when the heat just kind of coagulates in the city, the subways stink of sweaty, unwashed bodies and he's trudging along in a pool of his own sweat, he hates it most of all.

It's not glamorous like the shit they show in movies or TV. His job pays good, he'll admit, but if he ever had to redo his life over again, he's definitely not gonna listen to Anthony Bourdain anymore. Hell, Finn probably had the right idea – police officer in Lima and high school sweetheart barefoot and pregnant. At least the man didn't have to deal with rats in public parks (RATS!).

The small hand tugging on his startles him from his thoughts and he turns to look at probably the best thing in the entire city (fuck it – the whole world).

"Oh, Noah, isn't this exciting?" His girl is clasping his hand to her chest and jumping up and down in excitement as they watch workmen of the Richard Rodgers Theatre spell her name out on the marquee, one letter at a time. They've gotten the R-A-C-H-E-L-B-E down already.

The light that appears in her eyes should not make him feel like he has a gooey, caramel-y center but he can't help it. "It's your name in lights, baby," he says softly, kissing her on the temple.

She sighs happily. It's taken her years to get to this point, with her name above the title and her face on the Playbill and he's so fucking psyched for her. For a long time, it was tears and disappointment and him just wanting to punch every goddamned pussy/casting director on Broadway for making his woman cry. But now…now, she was the star. He always knew she was one; now the rest of New York knew it too.

He had followed her to New York back when he was still 19 and foolish and sometimes, he wonders what the hell he was still doing there. But then again, all he has to do is look at her, watch her just be her, and he knows something as true now as it was 5 years ago – he'd follow her anywhere. With a determined pull, he hauls her sexy little ass to him. Her arms automatically wind around his neck and her eyes are shining like mad.

She hums in contentment when he kisses her. "I love New York, don't you?" she whispers against his lips like a secret.

This – the fit of her in his arms and in his heart – is the only home he knows in this fucking city. "Love you," he shrugs, uncharacteristically sentimental.

"I love you, too." She smiles and if it was even possible, the light in her eyes grows brighter. It has him thisclose to proposing right then and there. Shit's happening oftener and oftener, if you ask him. Thankfully, she's distracted by her co-star coming out of the building and joining in her excited twittering before he can whip out a ring. Over the sound of traffic and yet another NYFD truck blaring its horns as it passes by, he realizes something. Maybe New York isn't so bad after all.

It has her.

(And so does he.)

From the Battery
To the gallery
It's the kind of thing you only see
In scented, glossy magazines

And I can't remember life before her name

Disclaimer: a shout-out to any fellow New Yorkers out there. Hey, as much as I love the city (and I do), there are some things that still irritate from time to time, right? ;)