They had been dancing around each other lately, since the first night, although Rachel never went far from him and still stayed in his room at night—always came in at twelve on the dot—and had bruises to show that she frequently forgot about his wheelchair. He felt slightly guilty about that, so he tried to make sure it was on the opposite side of the bed now.
"Rachel, classes start this week." He stated it casually as they sat in the living room/dining room watching some Broadway show on TV.
"Oh…" She looked over at him. "I need my text books still." She silently went back to her program.
Artie was a little concerned with her lack of communication since they got there; it wasn't her usual bubbly self. "Would you like to go get them today?" He glanced at her before taking a sip of his soda sitting on the end table beside him.
"After this, the mistress is about to confront the wife of the man she's been seeing and kill her." Rachel stared at the TV, her face creepily blank.
It had been like this for the last week, all she did was watch musicals and Broadway and old people shows. It was slightly annoying, but Artie wasn't about to complain—he seen her stabbing the life out of some broccoli earlier that day, so much it looked like a pile of goo.
"Okay, we're good to go." Rachel was in front of him. He hadn't noticed that a whole half hour had gone by. She leaned down and kissed him chastely before grabbing her keys and holding the door open for him.
Rachel Berry was an odd girl, but seeing as she kissed him all the time—without warning—and he woke up to her grinding against him with the most delectable turned on face he'd ever seen—he supposed she wasn't that bad. Although he was pretty sure that whatever Puck had done to her the last couple months they dated in their last year at high school had her sex crazed, it was only a slightly disturbing thought, one he silently thanked the mohawked boy for.