Rachel Berry was talking a mile a minute about some musical she once saw on a trip to New York with her was in his room. On his bed. And she was talking about musicals. Sprawled on the beanbag at the corner of the room, he watched her mouth move rapidly, not listening to a word she was saying. Three weeks ago was sectionals. Three weeks ago Finn Hudson thought he had his life at least partly figured out. Three weeks ago he realized he didn't know shit about anything. Quinn lied. She lied. And Puck. He was supposed to have Finn's back. Wasn't that what friends were for? Wasn't that what being best friends were about? He guessed not.

Her face lit up at whatever memory she was conjuring up at the moment. The sunlight that filtered through the window caught her face and made it look like she was literally glowing. Finn knew he should be listening to her, should want to know what it was that was making her so happy that her face threatened to split in two. But truthfully, he just couldn't make himself care. When she had invited herself over, he said yes because well, at least he wouldn't be alone, would he? And she was continuing to talk happily, not even caring or maybe not even noticing that he wasn't following the conversation.

Sometimes Finn thought he was fine. That things really weren't that bad. But then something always happens. Like when he was in his car and two kids passed him by, wildly gesturing at each other in their baseball uniforms. And he would remember Puck when they were younger, and how they had both promised they'd make it to the football team together or not at all. Or two weeks ago when he was at school and he spotted Quinn and his former bestfriend walking down the hall together. They had looked miserable. But the sight of them together only made him think of the lie they told, of the way they completely disregarded him and hurt him with smiles on their faces. He had slammed his locker so hard, they both looked up and saw him. But he had looked away immediately and walked towards Rachel down the hall, ignoring the frown on her face.

Or yesterday, when he turned on his lap top and that stupid, stupid sonogram was just there on his desktop. And he was fucking a douchebag but he clicked on that stupid folder anyway and he saw her. And he fucking cried like a baby, so hard, that his mother knocked desperately at the door, begging him to let her in.

"Drizzle." The sound of his voice surprised him. He looked up from the spot on the floor to see her cock her head at him questioningly. "I wanted to name her Drizzle". Her expression softened. He couldn't stop looking at her. It was so ridiculously expressive. "Because of the rain, you know? You know when it's still sunny but it's not hot and the rain is just kinda there but not in your way or whatever, and sometimes you can even see rainbows-" He stopped talking then, unsure what the fuck he was even saying. She smiled at him, not unkindly.

"I think Drizzle's a beautiful name Finn."

"No it's not. It's a stupid name. Only a dumbass would want to give a kid a name like that." His tone was vicious. She was so easy to read. Her smile turned into a frown almost instantly. And then she was looking at him, her face so filled with anguish, he had to look away.

"So it's a good thing she wasn't mine in the first place right?" he continued morosely as he stared at the floor. "I mean the poor child could have gotten my stupid genes. Can you get that from your parents? Stupidity?" He looked up at the sudden movement. She was looking at him, all offended like he just insulted her. She walked over until she stood directly in front of him, her hands on her hips.

"You are not stupid Finn Hudson. Stop saying that." She crouched down, her face at level with his. Her expression was soft, inviting. "That baby, Finn, she would have been the luckiest girl in the world if you were really her father." She said this earnestly, like she really meant them and he thought it was just this side of dysfunctional that she was telling him he'd be a great father and they were both barely sixteen. But dysfunctional was apparently Finn Hudson's middle name these days. He felt her fingers under his jaw, gently forcing him to look up.

"I know how much you loved the baby," she said, and her eyes looked wet. A tear slipped out and he found himself bringing up a hand to wipe it away. He heard her sharp intake of breath and he said nothing. Her eyes glazed over for a moment before she shook her head firmly. She seemed to be steeling herself up for something. "Finn, do you really want her to be yours?" she asked softly. She changed her position, sitting down indian-style on the floor, looking up at him. He thought about it.

"I- I don't know. I thought she was mine, Rachel. And I- I was so bummed at the thought of giving her away because I wanted to know her, you know? I didn't want to let her go. But then suddenly she's not mine anymore. And I just- it hurts." Damnit. Don't cry. Don't you fucking cry damnit. "I never- I don't know who my dad is. He died and I can barely remember what he looks like sometimes. And it had scared the hell out of me when I thought I was gonna be one because what do fathers do? You know? And Dri- the baby." he corrected himself firmly. It's not Drizzle. It's not. "I saw her Rachel. I have a picture of her in my stupid lap top. I just- I-"

"You love her." she finished softly. He shrugged and looked away. She laid a hand on his thigh. "It's okay Finn."

"What is?"

"It's okay to care." she smiled. Her smile was ridiculously sad, like she knew exactly what he was feeling or something. But how could she?

"I don't want to care," he muttered.

"But you do anyway. You care about Drizzle. I know you do. There's nothing wrong with that. And maybe when she's out there she wouldn't even know you exist. But you'll know she does. And that's what matters right? That you know you love her?" Her voice was wistful and she's staring off into space and it was like she wasn't even talking to him.

"Thanks." She looked at him, surprised.

"For what?"

"For being here. Just, thanks." She smiled and he leaned closer, his face just inches away from hers. Huge brown eyes were staring into him, full of wonder. He knew how she felt about him. And she makes him feel less lonely, less sad. Sometimes she could even make him smile. And as odd as it was, letting her voice wash over him as she chatters away merrily has a calming effect on him.

So why not?

He closed the gap.