written spur of the moment, explaining why it's so short, random, and plotless.
to friends and Glee and finchel and happiness.
I don't own Rent, Glee, or any slight Aladdin hints. Those belong to their respective owners, not me.
Her bangs are falling uncomfortably into her eyes, but it's okay because she's staring him straight on, and she can't move an inch because if she does they won't be close enough. He's the street urchin who stole and escaped; he's a newborn baby satisfied with the world. He isn't a star athlete or whatever now. All she can see is his eyes (they greet her and hold her and carry her someplace warm), and the bits of bangs that keep getting caught.
It feels so strange to be back in his arms. She expected a weird coming-home sensation, but it was as though he'd never left. Even though he'd held a dream-queen beauty in them instead of her, a loser-star with a hope too big to contain in this one-shot town, it's amazing. There aren't any ghosts in the room. It's just the two of them, finally conjoined.
She remembers all their fights and silly duets and that last, desperate moment (he couldn't love her enough to forgive that mistake) before the big, blank expanse of misery that tided her over to this strange new land. This land called redemption, or maybe Seasons of Love, because the song is playing quite resolutely in the back of her mind.
"Hey, Finn?" She noses her way into that spot in his shoulder that felt like it was made for the contours of her cheek.
"Yeah?" She loves his voice. He's so awkwardly charming. It seems impossible that such a floundering boy could entrance half the school's population, but somehow he does it with finesse. And he's picked me, she reminds herself with a note of joy. 525 thousand, 600 minutes….
"I've missed this," she whispered, the diva gone quite soft and sudden. She is the urchin's accomplice for once, not the star. It's never felt so nice to be in the shadows. If this is what anonymity is like, she'll take it - in this form, of course, not on the stage.
"Me too, Rachel," he says, his arms making a still-familiar circuit up and down her back. "Me too." Somehow, in this new place, they manage to get closer than before, until they are one amorphous, shining thing caught up in raptures – from the beating of her heart to his fingers tapping habit-beats in her spine.