It had been an awkward night to say the least, even more so because they slept in the same room, separated only by a thin wall and a cleverly-decorated sheet. It had a large pee stain on it. She assumed it was probably Finn's from when he was little. She stared at it the whole night; it practically made a face at her.

"I'm not sure I can do this," she said. It replayed in his head a bunch of times after she pushed him away. They only kissed for a microsecond. There was immediate regret in it for him. He felt like an inchworm. He felt crazy. No girl like her would ever be interested in someone like him. He wasn't trying to make it to home plate with her, either. He'd been there plenty of times, though, all with different girls. Never the same girl twice. He usually became too attached and they would run off.

He was pretty bad when it came to girls, for the most part. Being raised only by his mother for much of his life, he was usually a little more affectionate than most guys. Sure, he was rough-around-the-edges, but he had a big heart. She didn't even bother asking him about any of that, though. She just pushed him away and moved to her own side.

He sat for a while, mulling over the last two minutes. He thought - maybe - she was flirting with him or something. Then, he just felt stupid.

Neither of them knew that the other lay on the other side, staring at the wall between them.

Dawn came soon. Finn shook his head to the sound of the pipes from the shower running; they were connected to his wall. He squinted as he looked at his clock. Six-thirty. He grunted a little. After all, it was summer, and no normal person that he knew made it a point to be up that early. He sat up, covered in a thin layer of sweat. He lacked air conditioning, at least in his room. He usually slept with the window open, but she said it made it easier for burglars and dander to find her. Whatever the hell that meant.

It was then he heard the most angelic sound he'd ever heard in his life. He carefully rose from his bed, making his way to his bathroom. Steam plumed from under the door, though she left it cracked.

Trying to go unnoticed, he opened the door and peeked his head in. He didn't feel guilty or anything; in fact, he didn't think twice about it. He was more interested in hearing her sing. He stepped inside a little more, just listening. He could see a silhouette of her through the curtain.

"Rachel?"

She continued singing, not hearing him just a few feet away. He cleared his throat.

"Rachel?" he said, a bit louder this time.

Before he knew it, he had a bottle of Dove whizzing at his face. Spot on. She could have tried out for the Cleveland Indians if she wanted. "Ow! What the hell was that for?" he asked, as if it surprised him she was startled by his presence.

"What are you doing in here?!" she screeched, doing her best to cover herself with the curtain, though he'd seen plenty in her fury.

He shook his head a little, trying to recover from his injuries. "I heard you singing," he said, holding his eye. "Excuse the hell out of me." He held his eye, a few drops of blood dripping down his cheek.

She sighed lowly and carefully got out, making sure she was plenty covered. "I'm sorry," she said, keeping her distance. "I didn't mean to harm you." She took a small step forward. "Let me see that." He winced as her thumb brushed over the small scratch in his eyebrow.

"You really nailed me," he said with a small laugh. "You ever play softball?"

She looked at him incredulously. "My schedule never called for that," she said flatly, uninterested in sport of any kind. Especially one that required so much artificial dirt. He frowned a little. "You should have," he mumbled, just trying to make small talk.

Her eyes couldn't help but wander, seeing he still hadn't dressed. On top of that, he was sweaty. "You never showered yesterday," she noted, her nose crinkling at the realization.

He shrugged. "Yeah, so?"

"Well…look at you," she said, trying to play her checking him out as being overly-concerned about his hygiene. "You're all sweaty. I bet you'd feel much better after a shower."

He shrugged once more. "Just gonna get dirty again anyway," he shot back, watching her the whole time.

There was a tension in the air that neither of them could particularly deny, though, if you asked her, she would.

"Why'd you push me away?" he asked, unable to not stare at her.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She shifted on her heels.

He frowned. That stung a little. "Yeah you do," he said. "I made a move and you pushed me away. But you were practically ripping my clothes off five minutes before."

She began to get a little uncomfortable; this was never her strong suit. He could sense this, too. "I assure you, I was not undressing your perfectly defined abdomen with my eyes," she said, her eyes widening to an unhealthy degree before they met the floor. It was particularly fascinating today.

He rolled his eyes. "You use a lot of big words," he said, step-by-step backing her into the wall. "I think that's a cover for something."

She swallowed thickly, never noticing how close her relationship with the wall was until she was there. "A cover?" she asked, feigning naiveté. "A cover for what?"

He was bent down a little more now, though not close enough to kiss her. (At least not yet.) "I don't know," he answered honestly. He was never good at solving the whole puzzle; he hadn't quite had her pegged that well yet. "But it's kind of hot."

Her brows furrowed. First, he was detesting her presence. Now, he was calling her hot?

There noses were starting to brush. It took everything in her not to stare at his lips, or that charming little half-smile he was wearing. "I…assure you, Finn that I'm not hiding…" She paused on her words. "Whatever you're suggesting that I'm hiding."

He grinned. "Then kiss me."

She could feel her face burning, her fingers still wrapped securely around the hem of her towel. "I don't know if I can do that."

He frowned; he was so close that she could practically smell the grass on him from the day before. "Why not?"

She bit her lip and turned her head, not wanting to be tempted further into kissing him. She decided not to answer, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

He began to catch on himself, though. Slowly, he stood up. "Sorry to bother you," he said simply, leaving her standing there in her towel. Quietly, he closed the door. This was definitely going to be a long summer.

—

The band Rancid Puke blared from his stereo; he was more and more into hard rock with each passing day. He also loved house parties. Why not combine the two?

His mom had to go out of town for an "emergency meeting". They were left alone; it was nitrous.

They'd been getting along decently, though there was an obvious tension between them. If you asked either of them, their answer would be the same. They - for all intents and purposes - were in no way attracted to each other.

There were plenty of girls at his party, though he could only keep his eyes on her. She stayed curled up on the couch, attempting to dictate the volume of the stereo from there. It wasn't really working.

"HEY, DO YOU WANT TO GO TO OUR ROOM?" he asked over the stereo. No one else seemed to notice them talking, but she gleefully accepted.

She followed him up the stairs, much like that first day they met. It was strange how they found it easier to be alone with a house full of people.

She sat on his bed, dressed in a black skirt and tank top. He was wearing clothes this time; a polo and cargo shorts. He sat down beside her, giving her a beer. "Loosen up," he instructed. She didn't argue this time. In fact, she welcomed it.

She cracked open the bottle and took a swig. Her face crumpled. He laughed. "I should've warned you," he said, drinking a small drink of his beer. He wiped away the remaining contents with his forearm, his dimples returning.

She stared at him for a moment, though he likely didn't notice. His gaze was on the floor.

"Because I'm from East Lima," she blurted out randomly.

His brows furrowed. He scratched his ear. "Yeah, I know that," he confirmed, looking up at her. "What about it? Your daddies make a lot of money." He shrugged, feigning indifference.

"I mean," she said, putting her hand on his thigh. "I mean that's why I pushed you away." He frowned a little.

"So you wouldn't kiss me 'cause I'm from the opposite side of town?"

She looked down. She wasn't proud of it or anything. "I would kiss you now," she clarified. It was almost a hint, and, for the most part, she didn't even realize what she said to him.

He looked at her for a moment before he lifted her chin up. Their gazes met. Slowly, he leaned in a little. He wasn't drunk; it took at least six beers for that. She, on the other hand…

Again, their lips met. He was more of a gentle kisser, surprisingly. She was a little new to the whole game. Naturally, she approached it with tenacity.

She also had great upper-body strength. So much so, that she could push him down without a second thought. He felt his eyes widen as he hit the mattress, his large arms flying up to either side of him.

She lay on top of him, easily able to straddle him.

"What are we doing?" he asked. It seemed like a natural question after being forced down on his bed. It was usually the other way around - and not in a dangerous sort of way. He usually took control during these situations.

Carefully, she began to pull his shirt off. "I've felt…hiccup…guilty since the moment…hiccup…I didn't do this the first time," she explained. He frowned a little.

"I think you've probably had a little too much to…"

She carefully put her finger over his mouth, not allowing him to protest. "You're a…hiccup… man, and you have….hiccup…needs." He only blinked back at her. He wasn't sure how paying his taxes fit in this situation.

He sighed and laid idly as she continued to attempt to undress him. "Do you want a little help?" he finally asked, feeling guilty for making her do all the work. She shook her head.

Finally, his chiseled figure was free of the dastardly cloth. Or at least, his top-half. She drunkenly ran her hand down his chest. It was surprisingly smooth, certainly not like the Bounty man, which she had come to expect. But she wasn't complaining. She leaned down near his ear. "You're cute," she said with a giggle. He couldn't help but smile, even if she was plastered.

He leaned up a bit and carefully turned on his side, tucking her hair back. "Wait." She frowned at him. Was it her breath? It had to be, she thought. She had quite a bit to drink. She began breathing into her palms.

"Breath mints, I have breath mints." She began rifling through her purse, continuing to hiccup.

He shook his head a little and gently grabbed her hand, stopping her. "It's not your breath," he said, seeming somewhat confused. "I…" He looked down at her, unsure of how to phrase the question. "Have you ever…you know?"

She stared back at him, just as confused. "Have I what?"

He rubbed his neck. "You know…been with anyone?"

She frowned, having the inclination to slap him across the face. "I've been with loads of guys. S-so many guys…" Her voice began to slur. "That…hiccup…Paris Hilton herself would be jealous."

His face wrinkled cutely. "Is that the hippo at the zoo?" he asked, causing her to bust out into laughter. He frowned at her reaction.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," she said, sitting up. "You've clearly not been cultured."

He sat up with her, settling into a dissatisfied posture. "You don't have to make fun of me," he said quietly, his face red. It was hidden by the moonlight, though.

"I'm not making fun of you, you're just not…not…" She paused and hiccupped again. "You're a bad boy. And if you don't know who Paris Hilton is, then I don't think we'd work out."

His head bowed a little, the words leaking out of his mouth like turpentine. They were flammable, certainly, and would probably have serious repercussions once out, but he found himself unable to care. "If she's not as pretty as you, then I don't care."

She stopped, her smile slowly fading. He realized his error as soon as he said it, and even if she was drunk, those words would ring in her ears for a very long time. My god. He really did like her.

"You…you think I'm pretty?" It's almost as if the confession caused her to sober up a bit. At least her hiccups were gone.

He made a pained face before shooting up from his spot. "It's dumb," he muttered, going to his door. "And this party is over." The mood turned sour quick.

Within a surprising amount of time, he had his friends gone. Most of them were too drunk to really care. They could always go drink elsewhere.

He came back up and slammed the door. "You should take a shower," he said flatly. "That guy spilled gin in your hair and it'll get sticky." He kicked off his jeans, revealing a long pair of boxers underneath. She stared for a moment, though it didn't register what she was looking at until he was under his covers. She simply nodded and got up, wobbling a bit to the shower.

He watched her the whole way, ready to help in case she stumbled too hard and tripped. He felt a little guilty for her current state. She cracked the door and undressed herself, sliding in.

Soon, steam began pouring from the room. It felt nice, even if it was still warm out. He lay in bed, watching the vapor fill his room, coating his skin in its warmth. He ghosted his fingers along his abdomen. She didn't seem to be repulsed when he admitted he thought she was pretty. And he sort of watered it down; "pretty" was generic. He thought she was gorgeous. A bit high-maintenance and terribly confusing, yes, but gorgeous nonetheless.

He carefully crawled out of bed and walked to the door. She was singing again, though it was more quiet this time. He didn't mind it, though. She had a marvelous voice. He could see why she spent so much time practicing and pushing people into trap doors.

He slowly stepped through. "Rachel?" he asked, his voice being overpowered by hers, even if it was on a low level. She continued to sing away, her silhouette becoming more and more an actual person the further he stepped inside. He swallowed thickly, finally reaching the curtain.

"Rachel?" he said again, loud enough for her to hear this time. She grabbed a bottle of shampoo. "I'm armed!" she warned, not yet to the point of having any sort of way to utilize the shampoo as a weapon. He chuckled a little. "It's Finn."

There was a small sigh of relief from her. "What are you doing in here?" she asked, seeming somewhat nervous. He'd been pretty upset a few moments before. "I…um…just wanted you to know I meant what I said. But I meant it a little more than what I said."

There was a long pause, filled in only by the sound of the water. "What?"

"I-I think you're pretty," he clarified. "But I think you're more than that."

The shower curtain pulled back and he meta curious stare, her curls lining her face. "Go on."

He cowered a little. "Well, I think you're beautiful." He knew by all the movies his mom made him watch with her that girls loved that, though he genuinely meant it. "And I'm not just blowing steam." He looked around for a moment, trying to keep his eyes off of her.

She looked down again, and, without warning, pulled him into the shower. His eyes widened a little as he came face-to-face with her unclothed body. He turned away a bit, covering himself. It was never hard to get him going. "W-what're you doing?" he mumbled, now soaked through his clothes. There was not much point in hiding anymore.

Instead of answering, she turned his head back to her, pulling him down for a kiss. It wasn't ferocious this time, and he didn't feel the need to pry them apart with the jaws of life. It was soft, and sweet. His favorite kind.

She wasn't really drunk at this point. The guilt mostly washed that away. That, and the steaming hot water she'd secretly been drinking since she got into the shower. She knew exactly what she was, and what she was doing.

He carefully pushed her against the wall, the cold tile quickly being replaced by his hand. She shivered at the replacement. He was proving to be surprisingly gentle. Her hands ghosted down his sides, his boxers becoming a thing of the past.

Using some of her ballet techniques, she masterfully kicked them over the top of the curtain. He hardly noticed, his lips traveling to her neck, leaving a trail there.

He wasn't as grabby as others boys might have been, either. His hands stayed glued to her hips, hers taking a moment to roam.

They traveled along his abdomen until he jolted, her very touch causing him to stiffen. Both could feel his face turning red, a typical reaction to this kind of attention.

He tried for a moment to pull away. Her hand latched to the back of his neck, pulling him back down. A simple nod was all he needed to keep going.

He hoisted her back up against the wall, her legs wrapping around his hips.

She licked her lips, looking down at him. It was impressive, though she hadn't anything to compare it to. He looked up at her, silently asking for permission again. And she gave it to him.

He took a moment to look over her. For whatever reason, he neglected that privilege when he got into the shower. She was as gorgeous as he thought she would be. He wasn't too crazy about admitting that he thought she'd be gorgeous naked, though. It seemed weird.

He ran his hands over her, gently squeezing her breasts, eliciting a small moan from her. They weren't the biggest apples in the bunch, but they were perfectly fit for her. Girls with large breasts - to him at least - were usually just as fake.

He did this again, it getting him going more. He watched his hands work their magic, a series of small moans erupting from the young engine view, or whatever she'd been calling herself recently.

"God," he heard, though he couldn't have been sure who it was coming from. Slowly, he moved himself forward, pushing himself between her legs.

If someone would have told her the first experience would have been the worst, she might have prepped a bit better.

But there was a strange pleasure to it.

She groaned, her hands locking in his hair. He was taken mute for a moment, and the thought crossed him to stop. He pulled away, their bodies still connected. "Are you…um…" He cleared his throat, searching for the right words. "Do I need to stop?"

She shook her head in protest, getting an angry look. Why in the world would she stop? He pondered the same thing before continuing, his movements slow and calculated. The water made it a bit better for the both of them, though he was arguably in better shape than she was.

With each passing moment, he drove his hips further into her, causing her moans to deepen. Each thrust, she could feel herself burning with a deeper desire. The pain had subsided, leaving only room for pleasure.

Each new movement elicited new noises from the both of them, be it a grunt or a moan. He liked either, though that aspect wasn't as controlled as he hoped it'd be.

As soon as he felt the finish line approaching…he heard a buzz. It was distinct, though it didn't seem to bother her.

He slowed down for a moment, though she didn't notice. In face, he was a bit hazy throughout his whole performance. She didn't notice that either.

He felt himself squint, unusually blinded all of the sudden. The buzzing continued. He didn't even have the capacity to finish the job.

Then it hit him…his alarm clock - which he got for Christmas as a gag - squirted him with water.