A/N: This update is for all the students out there going through Finals Week. Good luck and hope it goes/went well!

.
Oh please believe me, I'm more scared than not
.

There are only about two weeks after Thanksgiving until "Reading Period" begins, which seems to be a week to prepare for Finals. Quinn's a little surprised by this, but she supposes it makes sense, because her finals are all cumulative and just the thought of them is stressing her out. She's grateful, though, that her English teacher is one of the few decent teachers she'd had at McKinley; she at least had a pretty good idea of how to write an essay going in to college, now cultivated by her composition class, which should help, as most of her finals are essays.

A few weeks before Thanksgiving, she'd gone to get lunch at the dining hall at around 11 on a Tuesday, between her two classes, and ran into Sean there. They'd ended up sitting together, and a discussion of their schedules had revealed that this was usually a good time for both of them to eat on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Sealing her into agreeing to meet for lunch on those days, Sean had stated that he takes a nap after his 8am class on those days and will not be setting an alarm; Quinn will have to wake him up for lunch, or he would probably sleep right through it and right through his 12:30 class. Laughing and rolling her eyes, she'd agreed. Stephanie's eyes had sparkled with mirth when she'd found out Quinn and Sean were eating together regularly.

"Going for your lunch date with Sean?" she asks cheekily the week after Thanksgiving, after their shared Thursday History class, in which Quinn had spent what felt like the whole class rolling her eyes at this one guy's obvious ass-kissing of their professor. She has more than one class with this guy, and she wants to strangle him in each one.

"They're not dates," Quinn sighs.

"Sure," Stephanie smiles.

Quinn doesn't even bother trying to contradict her. She's been making her case for weeks now that, although Sean is a genuinely nice guy, there's nothing between them. She remembers thinking initially that Sean was attracted to her, but even that has faded; his behavior has been clearly friendly. But Stephanie seems obsessed with Quinn's sex life. Or lack thereof, she thinks, not even really bitterly at this point.

As Stephanie heads to her next class, Quinn goes back to the dorm and knocks firmly on Steve and Sean's door. Sean answers, bleary-eyed and scratching his beard (he and Steve had both forgone shaving in November, but more out of laziness than anything else), and behind him she can see that Steve is still in bed, which, what the hell? She's pretty sure Steve is supposed to be in class right now, but maybe it was cancelled. She doesn't know.

"Let me put on pants," Sean says quietly, shutting the door and emerging a few minutes later clothed, but still with red eyes.

At the dining hall, Quinn gets some kind of spicy chicken wrap. Her appetite is still pretty light at this time of day, but waiting until after her 12:30 class is a bad idea. Sean gets tomato soup and a grilled cheese, and Quinn always smiles at the way he dips his sandwich in the soup, like a kid. He always just shrugs and says he is a simple man with a basic palette—Taco Bell is considered ethnic food where he's from.

They exchange small talk. Sean isn't sure why Steve is still in bed, either, but he thinks he didn't go to his morning class either. Quinn says she thinks Lulu will be visiting the dorm that night for a drawing contest—a good nearly end-of-week stress reliever. Sean wants to go hiking that weekend, which they've done a few other times, sometimes without Quinn and Lulu, who are frequently busy on weekends. Quinn nods, "I think I'll be in town this weekend."

Sean's expression shifts from his typical serious, stoic face to his amused one, "What is actually the deal with you and New York?" he asks.

Quinn rolls her eyes, "Don't tell me you're listening to Stephanie. You met Rachel that one weekend. I'm not visiting some imaginary boyfriend."

"No, I believe that," Sean responds, "I get that Rachel's your best friend, but I mean…I miss my friends from high school, too, but I don't visit them like that, I just look forward to seeing them on breaks. I mean, it's like Lulu, how she spends her weekends with her boyfriend all the time, I guess? Most people don't put that much effort into a friendship."

There are words on the tip of Quinn's tongue, and Sean is just so nice and she's spent enough time with just him that she might trust him a little bit, which is terrifying, because trusting anyone has never exactly gotten her anywhere good.

Ultimately, she swallows the words, forces a smile, and says, "I do, I guess. I don't know how not to." It's the truth for this case, at least.

Sean eyes her a moment longer, as if expecting she's going to admit that like, Rachel's roommate is her boyfriend or something, but then shrugs and dips his sandwich in his soup.

Quinn feels the familiar sting of cowardice.

In Pottermore—which, come on, what kid in her generation hadn't given the site a try?—she had first been sorted into Gryffindor, but she knew it was such a lie that she'd deleted her account and tried again.

That's what this feels like, but there's no delete, and the opportunity is gone.

.
I think it's alright to feel inhuman
.

Friday, a week before Reading Period, usually means video games or movies or something.

This week, though, those plans seem to be scrapped. Lulu's boyfriend has been whining that he never sees her (which, as far as Quinn can tell, is bullshit because Lulu goes there more evenings than not. Quinn's never met the guy, but she's pretty sure she wouldn't like him. Stephanie has, and immediately told Quinn she hates him, but won't say anything to Lulu). Likewise, Stephanie sighs in irritation and says that Steve has been bugging her to hang out alone sometime soon. Once she leaves, Quinn figures she can hang out with Sean, but when she texts him, he says he's going to a party thrown by a group of Chemistry majors (the major he wants to declare) and he figures he should get to know them. He says she's welcome to come along, but she declines. She hasn't gone to any parties at Yale yet. Stephanie had told her early on that she didn't drink because both her parents were alcoholics and Quinn has to admit that some of her hesitation for drinking at school might come with that. Drinking with her high school friends, though she still moderates her intake very carefully, feels much safer. She hasn't always had great luck with alcohol, and much as she likes Sean, she's not sure she trusts him to keep an eye on her. So, sighing, she figures the best she can do tonight is get working on her homework. Yeats won't read himself. Besides, maybe they will go hiking that weekend, like Sean wanted.

She's not too familiar with much from this era of poetry. The only poetry she can really remember reading a lot of in high school is stuff like Robert Frost or Emily Dickinson—American poets, mostly, and fairly easy to interpret. She'd branched out some herself, sure, with Sonia Sanchez, e. e. cummings, Langston Hughes. Not that she dislikes any those poets now, but the British poets class has really been fascinating. She'd loved the Romantic poets they'd studied—Wordsworth and Blake especially—and though the Victorian poets hadn't grabbed her quite as much, some of the Modernist ones are. She's not sure that Yeats will be one until she reads "The Second Coming."

So many images. So many metaphors. By the time she finishes reading the poem for the first time, she shivers at the apprehension the poem conveys—it's visceral, powerful.

She's about to start a few paragraphs of analysis—her method of preparing for class, not an assignment—when she hears the key in the door of the dorm. She glances at her clock. It's barely been an hour.

Stephanie comes back in, sighing, kicking off her sneakers and tossing her coat onto her bed. Quinn watches her, eyes narrowed, until Stephanie finally glances up to meet her eyes, "Hey," she says dully.

"Hey," Quinn answers uncertainly. She lets her eyes fall back to her book, but finds she can't ignore the fact that her roommate is obviously upset about something. "You okay?" she asks uncertainly.

Stephanie sighs and sits down on her bed. "Eh. Just frustrated with Steve."

"Oh?" Quinn asks, raising an eyebrow. She hadn't noticed anything between them. When they all hung out together they'd take sarcastic shots at each other like always. Had they been getting snippier without Quinn noticing?

Stephanie props a foot on the edge of her bed to rest her head on her knee. "Yeah. I dunno, when I went up to his dorm to meet him, I was sitting at his desk waiting for him to put his shoes on and I saw one of his recent tests. He got a D. We argued about it at dinner. He's not doing well in class right now and he won't tell me why." She shakes her head, "He's smart. I mean, I know his family's rich but he's not at Yale because of that. He was fifth in his graduating class. I don't understand what's going on."

"What did he tell you?" Quinn furrows her brow. This does seem shocking. Steve doesn't seem like the type of guy to screw around at school.

"He didn't tell me anything! Just told me the test was a fluke and not to worry."

"Maybe it was?" Quinn suggests, "I mean, the semester's getting down to the wire. Maybe he just had a bad week, didn't have time to prepare for it."

Stephanie shakes her head, "No. I can tell when he's lying to me. Something going's on. And I'm just…I'm frustrated with him. Sean told me the other day that Steve slept through two of his classes. I mean, that's ridiculous. How can I help him if he won't even go to class?"

Quinn's a bit horrified at that, because she hasn't missed class once this semester—leaving the room to call Rachel really doesn't count, not when she needed her, besides, she was only gone from class for five minutes, tops—and she knows Stephanie and Sean have similar attendance records. They're the kind of geeks who like school, who take it seriously. However, "Maybe he just needed a break. Like I said, the semester's getting crazy right now."

Stephanie sighs, "Maybe you're right. I just have a feeling something's going on, and I don't get why instead of worrying about him or feeling sympathetic I'm just getting angry with him." Quinn shrugs a little helplessly at that, and Stephanie finally sighs and fully meets her eye. "Thanks for listening, Quinn. You're sweet."

Quinn rolls her eyes, "Yeah, yeah. That's what I'm here for. Can't exactly get away from you."

Stephanie chuckles weakly, then says, "Like you would want to."

Quinn laughs then. But she's right. Quinn's glad she has Stephanie for a roommate, and for a friend.

.
You're more than a superstar
.

Deciding to come see Rachel in the musical is an easy choice.

Rachel had tried to downplay the whole thing, talking about how she only had a few scenes, and pretty much just a duet, and how she knows Quinn must be busy wrapping up her semester. Quinn had pretended that she wasn't sure whether she could come, but really, there is no question. It's the weekend that Reading Period begins, and she feels like she has plenty of time to complete the papers she has to write and to study for the finals she has to take. And besides. It's Rachel.

She gets in touch with Santana to figure out how best to go about visiting, because with Rachel's hesitance (perhaps embarrassment that her first role in a production in New York City—even a school production—is such a small one?), she doesn't want to have to convince her friend that she does, in fact, want to be there. Santana says she and Kurt are planning to see the Thursday evening production (there are to be four; Thursday, Friday and Saturday evenings and a Sunday matinee) because they both have the evening off, but Quinn won't get out of class in time to join them Thursday. So she asks Santana if she thinks she should surprise Rachel on Friday, and Santana tells her she should do whatever the hell she wants and that she and Kurt will be fine if she stays at the apartment.

She makes Santana send her detailed instructions for how to get to the auditorium in which the show is being performed, including subway lines she should take, as she still doesn't quite trust her phone's map. She has to trust the map for one thing, however, because she's not about to ask Santana how to get to a flower shop while she's at it. That's something Santana will tease her about. So she does find one on her map and, without letting herself think too hard about it, gets Rachel a bouquet of daffodils. Because it's appropriate to give flowers as congratulations, right? Besides, Quinn has always liked daffodils.

The theater is packed. She's not sure what she expected, but not this. A good seventy percent seem to be college-aged kids—no surprise, given the school—and the rest are adults—professors? Parents? People in town? Surely, all of the above. Quinn finds a spot off to the left side of the auditorium in the middle and reads through the playbook.

She can't help but smile when she sees Rachel has specifically thanked Quinn, Santana and Kurt in her bio. She reads it over and over again. Rachel hadn't even known she'd be there to read it.

And the show itself, well. Quinn likes it just fine. Okay, a lot. She likes the fact that show tries to dismantle racism; "You've Got To Be Carefully Taught" hits her harder than she expects, and an angry chill shoots up her chest at her father, whose racism had been subtle, but there, which she had not realized until her teenage years. The cast is pretty solid—again, unsurprising—and Rachel…well, watching Rachel sing up there with a short guy with a voice like Kurt's (who is still a little too tall and a little too dark to pass as Rachel's character's brother) a simple little tune, somehow even just that gives her chills. When Rachel sings, she's never been able to do anything else but sit up and pay attention. And Rachel does something with her posture, the way she points her toes slightly in and sways with her shoulders more than her hips when she walks, she somehow conveys the childishness her character possesses pretty convincingly.

All in all, Quinn sees no other option but a standing ovation after the musical is over.

Out in the lobby of the auditorium, she along with a good fifty percent of the crowd stand waiting for the actors to emerge. They watch the side doors expectantly, some eating refreshments, loudly chattering. Quinn clutches her purse and the daffodils.

Rachel finally emerges, laughing with the little guy who played her brother, messing up his hair. Quinn stands in the crowd, eyes trained on Rachel. She feels almost creepy, like a stalker-fan, as she watches as Rachel accepts brief congratulations from people in the front of the crowd for the first twenty seconds or so, until her eyes land on Quinn.

Her hand flies to her mouth—an overdramatic gesture that somehow seems perfect for a Rachel fresh off the stage. Quinn smiles warmly and approaches her. "You were amazing," she greets softly, passing the daffodils to the actress.

Rachel takes them without thinking, and then finds her voice, "Oh my God, Quinn!" tumbles out of her mouth, and she throws her arms around the taller woman, the daffodils still clutched tightly in her hand. Quinn winces, wondering briefly if the flowers just got crushed, before she squeezes Rachel back. "I had no idea you would be here!" Rachel enthuses as she pulls back, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Isn't it better this way?" Quinn smiles.

"I would have made my performance extra-special for you," Rachel pouts, "like I did for Santana and Kurt."

Quinn shakes her head, "I don't believe for a minute that you put anything less into your performance tonight than last night."

Rachel's eyes glint for a moment before she grins, "No, I suppose you're right."

They gaze at each other for another few seconds, and Quinn abruptly feels awkward. They spent a decent amount of Thanksgiving break together, doing what they typically do—watch TV—but they really hadn't talked much about anything serious. Not even when Quinn had brought over 500 Days of Summer. She'd let Rachel cry herself out, over Finn, but Rachel really hadn't said anything except that she felt sure now that nothing with him would ever work. And Quinn had watched and held her as she'd cried for the relationship that had actually ended months ago.

It's not fair for her to be frustrated with Rachel about this. It's just that Rachel is such an expressive person that she can't believe that she wouldn't want to talk to Quinn about this, since it's such a monumental thing. She knows that even when Rachel didn't really have friends, she would end up venting some of her pain onto her fathers (though, clearly, not all of it, because she'd never detected hostility from the men, and Quinn also suspects Rachel hid a lot because, from what she can tell about her fathers, if they'd had any idea how badly Rachel was bullied, they'd have pulled her from McKinley and sprung for private school). So she knows Rachel has always had somewhat of an emotional outlet in her life and, okay, maybe she's jealous that it's Kurt for her again, or, God forbid, even Santana—there's someone you can't really expect sympathy from.

She's also fairly certain Rachel has been able to read her frustration, and that the hesitance between them could grow if they don't do something to change it.

Quinn doesn't really acknowledge what she can do to change it, because, she'll admit, she wants Rachel to break first, to confide in her first, before she'll do the same.

She may never quite outgrow the idea that friendships are competitions, too.

But for now, Rachel examines her daffodils with a tender smile, Quinn swallows down the pulse in her throat that jumps to life when she watches, and eventually, after some pleasant, low-key conversation over Italian takeout, they head home to curl up together in Rachel's bed.

That, at least, always feels right.

.
I'll never let you sweep me off my feet
.

It's her finals week, which means she's probably going actually crazy—so crazy that, unfortunately, she's unable to visit Quinn at New Haven like she'd wanted and briefly considered. She feels guilty that there are still trips on her Metro-North pass. She ended up taking time off from work, which she hates to do, but it's just a fact that she's pretty much just running around like it's Hell Week again (which, thank God the musical is over and the play goes on in January, and it's not actually Hell Week on top of everything). She's singing the same song over and over again dancing the same routine over and over again, studying her notes and writing practice essays.

It's also Hanukkah, and it's the first time she's barely been able to celebrate. She ends up lighting candles pretty late at night, and ends up doing homework in her bedroom so she won't be working in front of the candles. Kurt nearly hyperventilates when he comes home to unattended burning candles at one point, but she sets a timer so she doesn't forget about them. Her fathers had sent her a package with little gifts, and she calls them on evenings when she makes it home before nine to thank them, and they open gifts together, and sometimes light the menorah and say the blessings together, but she barely has the attention to spend on it. She's sure she won't make it to synagogue—she's never bothered to find one in the city to get comfortable attending—and it really feels almost like an inconvenience at this point in the year, which is sad, because she had always looked forward to it. Maybe she can go out and get some good latkes or something.

She's usually better at taking care of the house, but this week she's just been neglecting it, to the point that Santana yells at her and Kurt (who frequently has this problem) about all the dishes in the sink and scattered throughout the house. Kurt just looks pale and guilty and apologizes, saying it was always his chore at home and he hates it, and isn't trying to put it off forever, he just keeps forgetting. Rachel snaps that she is having a really busy week and things will be better by the end and until then, Santana will just have to deal with it, before storming into her (their) room.

Santana follows, eyes blazing, pointing to the half-full cup of water and plate on the floor next to Rachel's bed. "That's not cool. Seriously, Berry, I have to live here, too, and I know I'm not the most organized person," she gestures to her side of the room, which is, as always, kind of cluttered, "but at least I'm clean!"

"It's my finals week!" Rachel shouts back, far beyond being intimidated by an angry Santana, "I have enough on my plate right now, but fine, you know what? I'll do the stupid dishes!"

"That's not what I meant, and don't you fucking dare, you're just enabling Kurt to keep leaving messes everywhere if you do."

Rachel storms back out with the plate and cup and tosses them, harder than is necessary, into the sink and turns on the water. Santana stands nearby with her arms folded, continually muttering, "Don't do this," and finally Kurt comes over to stand tentatively next to Santana, holding a dirty plate and bowl.

"I'll do them. I'm sorry, Rachel, Santana. I know I'm not the neatest person."

"I don't understand how your room is meticulous, but you do this," Santana snaps, gesturing to the sink.

Kurt shrugs a little helplessly, "I don't do it on purpose. I just forget," he snaps back, beginning to get peevish.

"How can you forget when you go to get a glass of water and you can't even get the cup under the faucet because of all the shit in the sink? How do you not go, oh wait, those are mine?!"

"Stop it!" Rachel shouts, suds flying into the air as she slams her hands against the side of the sink. Her hands are red with the heat of the water, and her face is flushed and sweating lightly, "Both of you, stop it! Yes, we are having problems with the house. If you haven't noticed, I think I'm the only one who cleans the bathroom, which is currently disgusting, I don't understand how Santana and I are shedding so much, and one of you is constantly leaving globs of toothpaste in the sink, and the shower has repulsive soap scum accumulating. We need to come up with a solution, but we need to do it civilly. I won't have us ending friendships over chores!"

She's nearly in tears, and Santana steps forward hesitantly, staring at Rachel's hands. "I was never angry to the point of not wanting you guys in my life," she mutters awkwardly.

Rachel grips the sink and heaves in a breath, "We're all overreacting," she intones dully, "Including me. I know our friendships aren't actually ending, I'm just scared. We share such a small space, and finances, and that always complicates things."

Santana sighs heavily, and says quietly, "We didn't even know each other all that well before we all moved in together. I don't know if that helped or hurt. But whatever, I mean, it turns out I kind of like you guys. I'll still like you even if you trash the house."

Kurt nods, "I have decided we are friends for life. Even if Rachel sings in the shower at way-too-early o'clock and Satan here clomps around the house and manages to brush her teeth more loudly than is humanly possible when she gets home from work. We can revisit the issue of keeping the house clean after your finals, Rachel. But for now…let me do this." And he steps forward, taking her hand and moving it off the edge of the sink, bumping her hip with his until he's the one in front of the sink, dropping in his plate and bowl, and then grimacing as he puts his hands into the hot water to bring up a plate.

After a moment, before Rachel and Santana have wandered away, he murmurs, "I'm sorry, though. I've been stressed out, too. I'm…not getting enough hours at work. I'm trying to pick up a second job, and that's worrying me." The way he purses his mouth and focuses on his task signals to them that he doesn't want to talk any more about it, though, so the girls leave him to it.

Oddly enough, exploding at each other seems to help her nerves somewhat, and by the time she gets out of her second to last final on Thursday afternoon, she's pretty calm about her Friday morning one. She heads home, skipping studying in the library; she no longer needs a room to sing in. She can study at home, keep it low-key.

Santana is off that evening, which if Rachel thinks about it, might be Santana's first day off in about eight days. Ever since she got back for Thanksgiving, they keep offering her overtime, which she's been happy to take. She's excited to have money for Christmas.

Or at least, she was. She notices Santana is looking pretty sulky when she comes in. She's barely seen her since their big blow-up on Tuesday, and she settles next to her on the couch, "Hey, what's wrong?"

Santana sighs heavily and sets her computer aside, crossing her arms. "Remember when I told you that apparently it was surprising I'd been able to take off for Thanksgiving because of blackout days on the schedule where no one is allowed to request time off? Well, now I know what it means. Christmas Eve through the day after Christmas are blacked out. I won't be able to go home for Christmas."

"What?! That is inhumane! I have half a mind to call the ACLU!"

Santana chuckles a little bit wearily, "Don't bother, Berry. I mean, it's unfortunately what I signed on for with retail work. The ACLU doesn't really fight for laborers unless it's actually against the law, and unfortunately this is well within the law."

Rachel sighs, "I know, but…that's awful. I'm so sorry. Would you like a hug?" she offers, which Santana accepts for a few moments before pulling away to fold her arms again. She's composing herself, Rachel realizes, and she stands up with the excuse of getting some water to give Santana some space.

She goes into her room to study, to continue to give Santana space. Despite everything that has happened this week—the fight, Kurt's admission that he's broke, Santana's despondence about Christmas, she is still a lot more relaxed than she had been earlier in the week, and slips into study mode fairly quickly. She turns on some low music—classical, actually, because the rumors that it helps with studying seem to actually be true for Rachel; though she doesn't know if it helps her retain information, she knows that it helps drown out other sounds and that she doesn't distract herself by singing along.

Her phone goes off, which startles her, and she frowns a little at the unfamiliar number. She doesn't even know the area code. She's about to just reject the call when it occurs to her that it could be a classmate with a question about the impending final, and she decides it would be rude not to help in this time of need.

"Rachel Berry speaking," she answers.

"Rach?" The voice comes through the line, sounding echo-y and distant. Like he's in an empty auditorium. Her breath hitches.

"Finn," she struggles to keep her voice neutral.

"Hey," he says warmly, and she squeezes her eyes shut. This can't be happening. Her heart lurches.

"Why are you calling me?"

"Because I miss you. I forgot to bring your number with me to basic training, but when I went home for Thanksgiving, I got it off of my old phone. And I wondered if you got my letters. I was hoping we could talk about what we want to do next." That distant, spacious quality of sound manages to snap her back into focus, because it just emphasizes to her how far away he is, physically…and emotionally.

"No, Finn, I have not received any of your letters. Like I told you, I had Santana and Kurt intercept them all and, I presume, destroy them."

"You did?" he asks, the disappointment heavy in his voice, "Well, that's okay. I can just tell you now. Rachel, I love you. So much. I just want another chance to make this work for us. You're my inspiration, and I think about you every day. I'm trying to become a better man for you."

She inhales deeply. They're the kind of words she's always wanted to hear from a handsome man who loves her, and they're even more potent coming from his lips than from his pen, and she remembers, vividly, for a split second, how it feels to be held by him, to be engulfed in warm, strong and loving arms, to hear his heart beat beneath his ribs, to inhale the vaguely sharp scent of his body spray.

But that's replaced instantly by flashes—him laughing when Santana insulted her, him curled on her bed next to her, lying to her face about his lack of virginity, the jolt of horror she'd feel every time he would take his frustration out on objects around him, his desperation and despair when he asked her to marry him, his blank face as he completely guilelessly drove her to the train station to break up with her, the imagined scene that she's never been able to unsee of him attempting to yank Quinn out of her wheelchair…

"God, I can't do this," she states, trying for confident, but hearing desperation instead, "I really can't. We're over."

"We're not, though, because I love you and you still love me."

"No, I don't."

"Rachel, yes you do, you told me—"

"I do still have feelings for you. But I'm no longer in love with you. Because you're…you told me we were done, and then came after me, and now you're not respecting me or my wishes for some distance. And because one of the most basic components of love is trust, and I no longer have trust in you, especially after your subterfuge at the train station."

"My…what?" At Rachel's heavy, exasperated sigh, his voice changes, becoming hurt and slightly whiny, "Look, I'm sorry I don't always understand the things you say. I know I'm not the smartest guy in the world, okay?" she can hear him inhale, and then murmur hollowly, "That didn't used to matter to you."

"I'm sorry," she apologizes quietly, "But I've made my feelings perfectly clear. What are your feelings, Finn? I want you to think honestly, now. What is it about me that you love?"

"I…what? You're awesome. And kinda sexy. Of course I love you."

"I'm awesome. Anything else?" She's sure he must hear the challenge in her voice.

"Well…yeah, I mean. Look, what is this about? I know I wasn't always the best boyfriend, and maybe I didn't tell you that you're awesome enough, but you are. I think that all the time, and I'll say it now, when I think it. You're awesome."

She sighs and quietly, but emphatically, states, "I appreciate you telling me that, but I don't need to hear it right now. I'm sorry to inform you that we really are over. We just don't fit together anymore, you have to see that. Maybe one day we can be friends, but that's all. I don't want you contacting me until I tell you you can."

There is silence for a few moments, until Finn mutters dully, "That's it?"

"It's been over for months now, Finn. Please," she pleads, "for your sake, and mine, let this go. We're no longer the same people. We've both been hanging on to what we want the other person to be, but those people are gone. Remember when you asked me if maybe I was just in love with the idea of you? I think…that's all that's left now. My feelings for what I wanted you to be."

"I'll always love you, Rach," he pleads in return, but she hears the tentative goodbye in his voice.

She sucks in a breath, "I'll always remember what it was like to love you and be loved by you," is all she can offer.

After another few moments in which they just breathe on the line, he hangs up. She places her phone down delicately on her bedside table, surprised that her eyes are dry, surprised by how little she is actually feeling. She suspects she may be in shock. Or maybe she really did finish all her crying over Finn Hudson that night on Quinn's shoulder in her bedroom in Lima. Still, she doesn't want to be alone anymore, so she leaves her room to sit with Santana, only to find her entering the bedroom.

"Kurt texted. I'm gonna meet him at the subway station."

"I'll come with you," Rachel offers. A walk will do her good right now.

Santana pulls on pants, a jacket and a baseball cap, while Rachel pulls back on her winter coat. Santana nods at her and they leave the apartment.

As they walk, the first snowfall of the season flutters slowly down from the sky, and to Rachel, it doesn't feel like everything around her is dead and asleep. Maybe it's because the city is always alive, no matter what the season. Maybe it's because winter has always been her season—when she was born.

Maybe that's why the first snowfall feels like rebirth.

Additional A/N: Chapter titles from LP, "Into the Wild," Animal Collective, "For Reverend Green," Bat for Lashes, "Laura," and La Roux, "Bulletproof."