A/N: Thank you for reading my story and the responses! In my original plan, the story will be consisted of 14 chapters or so, and now I'm working on writing down each chapter from its synopsis before I could be busy with my regular job. Which means this chapter practically is halfway, but story-wise, is still the course of development, and the story could possibly a bit longer than I thought it would because of that. Anyway, this chapter is a flashback before Finn met Rachel. I hope you guys'll enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee and its characters.

Chapter 7 – November 2010

Opening the door of his tiny apartment, Finn looked around the dark, cold living room. A few piles of his clothes on the couch, the coffee cup, which he had used in the morning, still on the kitchen counter, the rain drop strains of a few days before clearly on the windows. He let out a sigh. If strangers saw his apartment, they thought he was single. He slowly shut the door behind him and carefully dropped his backpack on the empty space on the couch, before walking into the kitchen. There was another proof which made the strangers misunderstand.

Don't get him wrong. Doing the laundry, the dishes, or any other house chores were definitely not girlfriend's task. He would say the same thing too if he were married. The point was, he didn't care how messy his apartment was since his girlfriend barely spent time with him here.

He was exhausted. Not just from the work (he had to clear up some stupid coworker's ass who had cut into the wrong sections of the film strip), but also from—everything.

He reluctantly started doing the dishes, thinking back the time he had bumped into his ex/current girlfriend in the street. Why did he think they could start over in the first place? He could tell that she was banging with his best friend at this very moment.

Correction. His ex best friend.

Finn first met Quinn Fabray at the summer party right before his senior year in college. He didn't know how long he was holding his breath when he saw her. She was a keen beauty. Why had he not ever noticed her in the campus so far? When their eyes met, she gave him a smile which got his feet cemented in the ground. She giggled at his demeanor and slowly approached him, swaying her hips seductively.

"I know you." She said through her eyelashes. "Finn, Finn Hudson, right?"

She idly traced her fingers on his bare arm. The feather touch made him shudder. Her shiny blonde, the smell of her sweet perfume and her clear blue eyes fixed on his eyes got his heart beat faster.

He had had girlfriends before. In fact, he had experienced many times that girls had come on to him because he was eye catching. With his height. Not with who he was. Yes, his height was the only thing he stood out amongst the others. That was all, honestly. His football skills weren't good enough to get college scholarships, his music (drums and singings) wasn't good enough to be professional either. His grades were average. And his dream he secretly had kept in his mind never voiced out loud—boys holding cameras usually had been called a creep.

She let out a soft laugh. "I'm Quinn." She held her hand out for him to shake. "Are you single?" She cut to the chase. All he could do was nod. "I think we should date then."

He had fallen into raptures for a while since then. His ex girlfriends were pretty too. But he had never seen a girl like Quinn, he no doubted that she was the most beautiful girl in the world. For that reason alone, he had always wondered why she had chosen him.

"You're generous and sweet, and of course handsome, silly." Quinn would say to him.

He had, however, eventually come to realize that her saying 'generous and sweet' was translated into 'he did as she bade' or what his best friend, Biff McIntosh, used to say, 'you've got your prick in her back pocket.'

She didn't like that he was absorbed in cameras and taking pictures in most of his spare time, saying that he couldn't earn his living out of it, or he should find employment in a company focused on imaging solution like Eastman Kodak or something, not a local photo studio/DPE store, if he so much loved cameras. She never took his love for photography seriously.

And she loathed the smell of photographic developer—photographic fixer, to be precise; it was a mix of chemicals included ammonium thiosulfate (you could imagine how stink it was). That was why she barely came to his apartment; he set up a photo dark room in his bathroom.

She didn't care that he tried to take pictures of her though.

Not that he did it often anyway.

He was never good with words. He was not good dealing with feelings and emotions. Especially when it came to women. So he thought she could understand what he wanted to do or say and why he had never given his (secret) dream up, or he could understand her more, if he took pictures of her and she saw the pictures he took. Camera was the form of the way for him to interact with people.

But whenever he looked into the viewfinder to take pictures of her, he always came to the thought of which she might have not ever opened her up to him. Did she ever love him? More importantly, did he?

That was his fault too. He admitted. He might have never been a good boyfriend for her. Because he had never endeavored to open her up to him. He had thought he had better to go along with her demanding manner. Which caused her to get more and more irritated with him, he assumed.

After graduation from college, things between them got worse. And one day, past two years dating, she dumped him for a guy who working at the same company as she did, Murphy's Insurance Company, Columbus branch.

Little had he known at that time that that the guy was Biff. He found that when she and Biff engaged a year after. To say that he had been dumbfounded was an understatement. Too surprised to get his thoughts straight, honestly. Which was good, though, because he hadn't had to end up being torn by a heartbroken (well, he had moped around with a self pity for a while instead).

They, however, broke things off after Biff had transferred to a branch somewhere in Asia. A while later, Finn bumped into Quinn in the street. She cried and cried, saying how she repented having broken up with him, how sorry she had been, and how much she loved him.

He, having just broken up with another girlfriend, thought that they could start over when she kissed him, knowing in the tiny space on the back of his head that she was a type of a girl who wanted to settle down and he could not fulfill her wish, yet.

He was pathetic. He knew.

He was 27 years old now, and nowhere near his dream. Because, look around, there were a bunch of people who were way more talented than he was. Besides, it had been a bit late in realizing what he wanted to be.

It was in the midst of his junior year in college. So, he had taken extra courses of the department of art, photography, as his minor (his major had been military history (history was the only class that he had been good at in high school, and he had thought that he could understand the situation his late father had suffered from). Nobody knew how he had been overwhelmed when he had seen the other students' works.

He, however, could never get over the thought of giving up. He just didn't know how to start, or how to give it up. He had been a rover in between for a long time.

He dragged his feet on the way to his bedroom and plumped himself down on the bed. He took a deep breath as he unconsciously reached for his late grandfather's Hasselblad on the night table. Only to find that it was disappeared.

He felt his face abruptly turned white as a sheet. He jumped out of his bed and rushed into the living room to pull his cell phone out of his backpack. He impatiently tapped his foot on the floor while waiting for his girlfriend to answer her phone.

"Did you take my camera?"

As soon as she answered the phone, he spat out in an accusing tone. Because the only one person who could possibly take his camera was his girlfriend; she had his apartment's spare key.

"Don't you have the courtesy to say something nice to your girlfriend first?" She clearly was annoyed with his demeanor.

"Did you or didn't you?" He didn't care how rude he was, or how arrogant she sounded.

"Well, I did." She let out a sigh. "Look, there's a friend of mine who's interested in ancient equipments and guess what? It's worth more than 8,000–"

"Don't smuggle out my stuff!" He cut in, almost yelling. "And It's not first batch, so it isn't worth that much in the market, for fuck's sake, Q! But for me, money can't buy it. It's my grandpa's! Apparently you don't remember that."

She sounded taken aback a little. "I-I'm sorry, okay? I thought it was okay since you haven't used it but just put in on the night table for a long time, like an ornament in the alcove or something."

He closed his eyes, suppressing his anger. "Give it back. Now."

"Um, I can't." She hesitated. "I'm a bit tied up at the moment. Can I bring it back tomorrow?"

He snorted. Yeah, right. She was tied up with his ex best friend who had returned to Ohio a few months before. "Fine." He let out a sigh.

Soon as he hung up, he noticed that he had missed a few calls and texts from his workplace. He groaned as he scrolled the screen to read the texts. He grabbed his wallet and the apartment key and headed for the photo studio/DPE store.

With anger at his soon-to-be-ex-(again)-girlfriend and annoyed with his stupid coworker who had cut into the wrong sections of the film strip again, Finn walked into a local bar, instead of going back home. He needed some distraction to invade his system to calm himself right now.

After a half dozen shots of Wild Turkey and a few of Blanton's, he finally felt intoxicated. He began feeling some liberation from the reality. He believed he could fly now. Or was he flying already?

When he asked the bartender to bring another Blanton's, a familiar female voice called out for his name. He span around on the bar stool as he found a tall pretty girl with a redhead out there. Ugh, what was her name?

"Not seen you here for a while."

The girl was one whom he probably had met before. Right, she was one of his girlfriend's best friends.

"Uh–" Finn rubbed the back of his neck.

"Would I better feel offended by the fact that you don't remember me?" Giggling, she slid herself on a bar stool beside him. "But lenient as I am, I won't be mad. I'm Vanessa, Quinn's friend." She gestured for the bartender to get her the same booze as he was having.

"I know you're Q's best friend, right? Sorry, I may be a little bit drunk." He excused, slightly slurred.

"I see." She smirked. "So, what brought you here?"

"Uh, work?" He was not going to tell a stranger (which she was not, but still) anything about his miserableness.

She arched her eyebrow, but didn't pursue. "It happens, right?" She downed her shot and ordered two more of Blanton's before putting one of them in front of him.

"A lot, yeah." He gulped the shot she offered. "Did it bring you here too?"

"Sort of." She shrugged.

He raised his eyebrow. Okay, if he didn't have to talk about himself, he could at least listen to her. Not that he believed he had a capacity to do so right now since he was one notch above officially blotto. "Sort of?"

"Oh, it's one of those things." She waved her hand in front of her nose. "A boss makes a play on his female worker, and she gets fired after having turned him down." She confided matter-of-factly.

Finn scrunched his nose. "Really? That's… awful." He really thought it was. "You did nothing wrong, right? Isn't against the Fair Labor Standard Act?" Wow, when did he get to know that kind of things? "Can't you do something?"

"I fell into a trap he set up." She shook her head with a sad smile. "The company has a real good lawyer and I have nothing to do."

"That sucks." He gestured for the bartender to get them more shots.

She straightened up on the stool. "Well, at least I have a company." He held her shot glass up in the air with a smirk. "To fucking asshole!"

He clinked his glass with hers with a grin. "Yeah, to fucking asshole…s!"

A big steel hammer repeatedly knocking on the inside of his head forced Finn to wake up. He groaned loudly and shifted on the bed which was… his? Rubbing his forehead with a hand, he did his best to open his eyes to see find out where he was. But he couldn't unravel except that this was definitely not his bedroom.

He slowly let out a breath, trying not to get his head throb more, as he managed to sit himself up on somebody's bed.

Then he realized.

He was naked.

Shit.

He didn't remember anything about the last night. Did he sleep with some chick? If he did, who did he do with? And… did the down there function enough to do that? Because he remembered that he had been completely drunk. Okay, that was not the point right now. Who had he met at the bar? Think hard, Finn. Think hard. Oh God, he had a terrible headache. He needed Tylenol or something… Wait a minute. Whom he had met at the bar was one of Q's best friends, wasn't she? What was her name? Mellissa? No. Don't knock on his head! Damn it! Aahh, something started with V… Vanetia, Vannetta, no… Vanessa! Right? Right. Vanessa. Fuck! Did he bang with Q's best friend?

Oh, yeah, he did.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit!

"Ouuuuuuuuuuch." His panic furthered his headache from a hangover. But he didn't have time to complain of pain. He looked around the floor to search his boxers and clothes. But the only he found on the floor was the boxers, that was to say, his clothes might have been in the other rooms.

Having put his boxers on, he took a deep breath before wrenching the bedroom door open and walking over towards the living room like a dead man walking.

Yeah, right. The apartment was Vanessa's. He thought as he found her in her kitchen. She was currently brewing coffee in there.

"Hey." Finn, only in his boxers, awkwardly called out.

"Oh, hey. Good morning." Vanessa, only in a big OSU T-shirt, cheerfully greeted.

Finn frowned. Didn't she have a crippling sense of guilt? Or embarrassment? "Um–"

"Wanna coffee?" Vanessa interrupted. "I've been into Kona coffee since I traveled to Hawaii." She turned around to take two mugs from the cupboard.

"No, I have to go to work. I'm late. But thanks." He looked over the living room to find his clothes. "Um, I didn't mean to take advantage of you or hurt you," he grabbed his clothes from the couch as he spoke before slipping into them, "and I'm really sorry if you feel like used or something like that–"

"It's fine, Finn." Vanessa cut in his rattling, giggling.

A little bit annoyed with her demeanor, but he shook off his thoughts. "No, it isn't." He put his hand into the pockets of his jeans in order to make sure that his key and wallet were there. "Look, I have a girlfriend. I didn't mean to cheat on her, either. I may be telling her I slept with someone else, but I won't mention your name, so–"

"It's not like she isn't cheating on you." Vanessa bluntly said before sipping her coffee. "With your best friend."

Taken aback at her words, he blinked a few times. What the fuck had she just said?

Yes, he knew his girlfriend had been cheating on him with his ex best friend. He was not that stupid. But that didn't mean it was okay for him to cheat on her too, before he could break up with her.

"You didn't know that?" Vanessa asked with a surprised look on her face.

"I know, but–"

"Then don't take it as it's big of a deal." Vanessa shrugged, continuing to sip her coffee.

"Y-you don't feel guilty about having slept with your best friend's boyfriend?" Finn stammered.

"You're really a dumb, Finn." Vanessa snorted. "Your bitchy girlfriend stole my man, twice!" She spat out.

Finn pulled a face. That meant she had used him. "Um, I don't know you two are still best friends though, I'm sorry about that, and I apologize for my part. But don't get me involved in you two–" He stopped himself in mid-sentence. His girlfriend? Stole? Her man? Twice? Did that mean Vanessa's boyfriend was Biff? He knew Biff had slept around in college, but he had never mentioned the name of Vanessa, as far as he remembered. And after graduation, well, was history.

He shook his head and cleared his throat. "Anyway, I'm sorry to say this, but this was a mistake, and I'm really sorry. And I'd really much appreciate you not telling my girlfriend about this before we could break things off." He rattled.

"Are you breaking up with her?"

Finn frowned annoyingly. Couldn't she pick up his other words but the last ones? "Look, this," he gestured a circle between Vanessa and him, "has nothing to do with our relationship, at least to me, and as I said a little while ago, I'm going to tell her that I slept with someone else, but not mention your name, and–"

"Then we can hook up whenever we want, right?" Vanessa winked at him suggestively.

"No," Finn raised his voice petulantly, "sorry, but I'm not interested."

"Wow." Vanessa blinked. "I didn't think that you were such boring. I should've believed her." She mumbled.

What the hell had she just said?

"Fine." Vanessa dismissed him with a waving hand. "I won't tell her about this. Do whatever you want to with her." She shifted her gaze from him to her cup.

Finn opened his mouth, but immediately shut it. More talking with Vanessa might be a waste of time. Besides, he had to go to work right now. He was already late. He just nodded and one last time he threw 'I'm sorry' for her before leaving her apartment.

"I slept with someone else."

Finn blurted out as soon as Quinn walked into his living room.

She, however, splendidly kept composing herself at his confession. Which made Quinn Quinn Fabray. Which a part of him admired.

"With whom?" She asked nonchalantly as she held his late grandfather's camera out to him.

"None of whom you know." Finn lied as he took the camera from her hands. "And I think we should go our separate ways."

"Because of her?" Quinn tilted her head to one side, her face still unreadable. "You love her?"

"Who?" Finn frowned.

"The girl you slept with." Quinn slowly parked herself on the couch before patting the empty spot for him to be on.

"No, she's nobody. I don't even remember her name." Finn sat on the couch beside her as he carefully put his Hasselblad on the coffee table. "I just, we don't work out. You know we don't."

Quinn let out a deep breath and took his hand in her both hands. "Don't you love me?"

Finn closed his eyes. "No, I don't." He opened them and looked into her eyes. "Neither do you."

"So, that's it?" Quinn smiled sadly.

Finn nodded. "Yeah, that's it."

Quinn let his hand pull away from her before slowly getting herself out of the couch and walking over towards the front door. And before opening it, she turned her head around to Finn. Then said over her shoulder. "I really loved you, Finn. Please don't forget about that."

With that, she quietly left his apartment.

Finn stayed on the couch for a while, recalling the first two years with her, then the latest year with her. Maybe they both had neglected to make an effort to understand who they really were. He, however, thought that they wouldn't work if they tried to understand who they were. He didn't know why. But one thing for sure, was that he would never feel any kind of connection with her. He didn't know how to describe it. Maybe it was so-called 'The One' as most people generally said.

He stood up from the couch and walked into the kitchen to make coffee. He put a kettle on the fire before turning on the radio, which an unknown song by some girls' rock band was on air, but was disturbed by noises since where he resided was not their area.

"… r guest… New Yor… ditor… zine… Welcome the show."

"… d evening."

"The Troubleto… new single… that correct?"

"Yes, and we… of them… but we decided to make…"

"…was fantastic… what do you… from them…?"

"… would rather me end up… broken after tries… regretting never having tried."

As he perked up his head at the words whoever she was had said, the kettle whistled. He killed the fire before being lost in thought.

What had she said?

Would rather me end up.

Broken after tries.

Regretting never having tried.

She might have said 'I would rather me end up being broken after tries than me regretting never having tried'?

"I would rather me end up being broken after tries than me regretting never having tried." Under his breath, he recited the words which the woman of a guest might have told to the DJ.

This was it.

He would rather him end up being broken after tries than him regretting never having tried.

He was going to New York.

He was going to try to be what he had wanted to be so long.

Even if he would end up being broken.

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