Notes: This has spoilers for 2x21 Funeral, and what my headcanon thinks about what Finn was going through when he entered the auditorium to give Rachel that tulip.
His mind is reeling as he pulls into the little flower shop near McKinley, the same one he got Quinn's corsage from.
Finn's a mess; not because of all of the stresses of the school year being almost over and Nationals in just a couple of days now, but because of her. Rachel. He cannot believe it took him all this time to realize something he felt he always knew; that it's her, that it always was her.
He can see so clearly now, and it's like before this moment he was blindfolded as a little voice in his head kept telling him things he ought to want, things he ought to do, and he listened. But he also knows that he's always been stupid when it comes to girls; he shouldn't have gotten with Quinn, and he feels bad because even though she tries to hide it, he knows she's hurting. But Finn also knows that it was better to end it now rather than later, that it was better to just nip it in the bud instead of dragging on their miserable relationship, that it was just foolish trying to pretend that they were meant to be.
They weren't meant to be; she's not Rachel.
He doesn't pick a bouquet for her, just a single flower, but not a rose, or a gardenia like he got for Quinn—a tulip. A single pink tulip, because looking at it, Finn's reminded of that tether he has, of the love he feels, of all the brightness and beauty she brings to his world, and the corners of his eyes sting a little as he pulls it up from the vase it is inside and shakes off the water from the stem.
He pulls into the parking lot right outside of the auditorium, figuring that Rachel's probably inside singing her heart out to calm her nerves before the list of the featured soloist gets posted. Finn didn't hear her; he doesn't even know what song she sang, but he wants to offer his support, be there for her. And he wants to tell her he's sorry—for all of it: for not trying to work past the rough spots of their relationship, for giving up on them. He's not sure what to expect, so he expects nothing. He just hopes that she'll take the tulip he has for her and maybe listen to what he has to say.
With a slight skip to his step, Finn makes his way to the auditorium, going over his apology in his head, the promises he's going to make to Rachel and stick to this time, how he's going to tell her that he'll be better for her because she deserves it, and those three words that he's been aching to say to her for so long now.
Opening the door, she's the first person he sees and his whole world seems to stop for a moment. But then he realizes that she's not alone; she's with him and they are standing so close, too close, and he can't look away. And he's so tired of everything that jealousy doesn't even bubble up inside of him, taking over every nerve and cell—all he feels is sadness that Jesse's here again, making her happy, while he's failed to do it. Finn wants to call out to her, to remind Rachel that he's here, that he still loves her and always has, but his throat is so tight that when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is a quiet strangled noise that doesn't even carry over the rows of seats to the stage where his happiness is standing.
When they kiss, he's not surprised.
He doesn't know what to feel, how to feel. The only thing he knows is that Rachel was his heartbeat. His muscles, his bones, his mind, his lungs. The song in his heart. She was unacknowledged, yet just as necessary as a limb or a breath. Being without her, he feels like a part of him was ripped off without warning and he's left with nothingness.
He watches as they walk away holding hands, and he brings the single tulip out from around his back, holds it for a moment before he releases the grasp he has on it and it falls to the floor.