AN: Hello dear readers! I was hit by a major spark of creativity and was able to get this chapter MUCH earlier than I had expected. I hope you all enjoy it :)
I do not own Glee!
Finn wasn't even sure how he ended up at Breadsticks in the first place. One minute, he was trying to dodge Quinn's latest tirade about how he was "emotionally unavailable" and "acting weird," and the next, she was practically dragging him out the door, insisting they go for a "real date." Apparently, she thought a change of scenery would do him good because he'd been "so tense" lately—what with juggling football and Glee and whatever else had been piling on him.
Like that was going to fix anything.
The idea of heading to some dimly lit Italian restaurant with Quinn breathing down his neck made him want to pull his hair out. How was he supposed to relax when she kept trying to dissect him like some kind of puzzle? But whatever. He'd told her he'd go, hoping it would just buy him some peace. Maybe he'd shove a plate of pasta in his mouth, nod along like he actually cared about whatever she was saying, and maybe—just maybe—she'd stop hounding him for one night. Maybe he could actually enjoy a meal without feeling like his brain was getting pulled in fifteen different directions. But that was clearly too much to ask for.
Finn hadn't even made a dent in his plate. The breadsticks sat untouched in their basket, cooling into mushy little nothings. His appetite had evaporated somewhere between the cold, judgmental silence and Quinn's sharp, passive-aggressive comments.
"You realize how embarrassing this is, right?" Quinn's voice cut through the air, her words low and clipped, like a knife slicing through tension. She stirred the ice in her drink, each swirl punctuating her annoyance. "You picking fights with Karofsky and running around with that troll? People are talking, Finn. I hear it."
Finn's jaw clenched. He could feel the words rising in his throat, the anger building like a fire he wasn't sure how to control. "I told you, it's not a big deal. It's just Glee."
Quinn's laugh was bitter. "Right. That's why half the football team thinks you're one step away from prancing around in sequins." Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she let out a soft, derisive chuckle.
Finn's grip on the edge of the table tightened. He stared at his pasta, willing himself not to snap. He had come here hoping for some kind of easy peace, but every sentence out of Quinn's mouth made him want to explode. The air between them felt suffocating—thick with all the things they weren't saying, all the frustrations they had buried under layers of fake smiles.
Quinn's eyes narrowed as she looked at him, her gaze turning cold and calculating. She sighed dramatically, throwing her hands up like she was the martyr in a melodrama. "Do you even care about how this makes me look? People are starting to talk, Finn. They're wondering what kind of girl I am, dating a guy who's more concerned with singing show tunes than playing football. People are starting to think I'm with a loser. A gleek." She practically hissed the word, making it sound like a slur.
Finn's fork plunged into his pasta, the metal scraping harshly against the plate. "Jesus, Quinn. It's not like I joined the chess club or started knitting scarves in the hallway."
"You might as well have." Her voice was hard now, each word falling like a stone. She leaned in closer, her nails clicking against the table, emphasizing each point. "You're throwing away everything for what? Some duet with that freak show of a girl?"
His grip on the fork tightened to the point where he was afraid it might snap. "Rachel's not a freak show."
Quinn's lips twisted into a sneer, the disgust in her eyes like a slap. "Oh my God, listen to yourself." She scoffed, tossing her napkin onto the table in a fit of frustration. "I knew it. I knew she was getting into your head. Is that what this is? You think she's some kind of deep, tortured soul? You wanna be her best buddy now?"
Finn's breath came out in a sharp exhale as he sat back, staring at her in disbelief. "No. I just—Jesus, I don't know, Quinn! Maybe I'm just sick of everyone telling me who I'm supposed to be. Maybe I'm sick of pretending that I'm this perfect version of what you want. I want to make my own damn decisions."
Her expression shifted, the anger slowly draining away, replaced with something colder, more calculating. She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowing. "You don't get to decide, Finn. That's not how this works. You think Puck and Karofsky are just going to let you walk away from everything? They're not going to forget you turned into... one of them."
Finn's hollow laugh echoed in his chest. "One of them?" He was stunned, the words leaving his mouth before he even realized he was speaking.
"Yeah," she said, her voice cold and firm, but something in her eyes told him she wasn't even seeing him anymore. She was seeing a version of him that was slipping away, and she didn't know how to hold onto it.
Finn didn't respond. He just sat there, feeling the weight of everything they weren't saying pressing down on him. Quinn's stare burned into him, but he couldn't meet it. Instead, he stared at the untouched breadsticks, wishing they were anywhere else—wishing he were anywhere else.
Then he heard it—the unmistakable sound of Rachel's laugh. Light, airy, and completely out of place in the miserable atmosphere of his night. It was the kind of laugh that always seemed to fill up a room, a sound that made everything feel a little brighter, even when it had no business doing so. But in this moment, it just felt jarring. Like the world was mocking him.
Finn looked up. And there they were. Jesse St. James, strolling into Breadsticks like he owned the place, his posture practically radiating confidence. Rachel was tucked under his arm, laughing at something he said, her hands moving in that familiar way, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. Jesse's smirk was as obnoxious as ever as he leaned in to listen, clearly enjoying every second of whatever it was Rachel was babbling about.
Finn's stomach dropped. He stiffened, his grip on the table tightening until his knuckles turned white. There was a weight to the sight of them together, something heavy that settled in his chest and refused to budge. Quinn, ever perceptive, followed his gaze.
"Oh, fantastic," she muttered, her voice thick with sarcasm as her eyes narrowed, following Rachel and Jesse's every move. "Of course, she's here."
Finn barely heard her. His eyes were locked on them. Jesse must have felt the weight of his stare, because he turned his head. And when their eyes met, Jesse's smirk widened, like a shark sensing blood in the water.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
Jesse leaned down, murmuring something to Rachel. Her expression shifted slightly—amusement flickering before giving way to hesitation. She said something back, but Jesse wasn't listening. His focus was entirely on Finn, his gaze smug and unwavering. Finn wanted to tear his eyes away, but it was too late. Jesse wasn't going to let him.
The tension in the air thickened as Jesse and Rachel barely sat down before they stood again, making their way back outside. Finn's gaze tracked them through the large windows, helplessly watching as Jesse led Rachel toward his car. That should have been the end of it. Finn should have turned away, pretended he didn't care. But he couldn't. He didn't.
He watched.
Rachel was talking, her hands moving with all the excitement that always seemed to spill out of her when she was caught up in something. Jesse was nodding along, but Finn could tell he wasn't really listening. He wasn't focused on what Rachel was saying; he was focused on her—the way she talked, the way she moved. It was like he knew she would talk no matter what, and he could just sit back and enjoy the show. Jesse leaned in at one point, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered something, causing her to laugh again, tilting her head toward him. Completely unaware.
But Finn wasn't blind. His heart sank when he saw the subtle shift in Jesse's grip on Rachel's arm—tightening ever so slightly, but enough to make Finn's stomach churn.
Jesse wasn't just acting like he had Rachel—he was making sure everyone knew it. He was making sure Finn saw it.
And then, as if on cue, Jesse pulled Rachel close. His movements were slow, deliberate. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, a kiss that was too intimate, too knowing, like a display for the world to see.
Finn didn't even realize he was standing. The scrape of his chair against the floor barely registered in his mind as he stood up, his fists already clenching, his entire body vibrating with the urge to do something, anything.
"Hudson!" Jesse called out, his voice dripping with fake surprise as Finn stormed toward him. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Here to get singing tips?"
Finn didn't stop. He didn't even flinch. He was right there, in front of Jesse, breathing hard, barely holding himself in check. "Cut the crap, Jesse."
Jesse raised an eyebrow, still playing it cool, like nothing was wrong. "Oh? Did I do something to upset you?" He turned to Rachel, his arm still slung around her waist like a trophy. "Rachel, did I upset him?"
Rachel's eyes darted between them, panic flashing in her gaze as she tried to read the situation. "Finn, don't—"
"Don't what, Rachel?" Finn snapped, his voice harsh. "Let him stand here acting like a smug asshole? Like he owns you?"
Jesse let out a low chuckle, a sound that made Finn's blood boil. "Ah, that's what this is about. You're still convinced that Rachel belongs to you in some way." He tilted his head, his voice thick with condescension as he looked down at Finn. "News flash, Hudson: she doesn't. And honestly? Even if she had a choice, I doubt she'd pick you."
Finn's temper snapped. He barely registered the movement before his fist connected with Jesse's jaw. The impact was like a gunshot, sending Jesse stumbling back into the side of his car. For the first time, that smug smirk disappeared from his face, replaced by the shock of the hit.
"Finn, please—stop!" Rachel shouted again, her voice trembling, but Quinn's voice cut through the air, sharp and venomous.
"Hey troll! Mind your own boyfriend," Quinn snapped, glaring at her with disdain.
Rachel flinched, and Finn saw a flicker of hurt in her eyes, but there was no time to dwell on it.
Jesse recovered quickly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a grin spreading back onto his face. "Big mistake."
Without another word, he lunged at Finn. The two of them crashed to the pavement, fists flying, bodies colliding with sickening thuds. Finn felt the sharp sting of Jesse's knuckles slamming into his ribs, but he didn't care. He shoved Jesse back, sending him sprawling against the hood of his car. Jesse kicked out, catching Finn in the shin before swinging another punch that narrowly missed his face.
Rachel screamed, her voice a distant echo over the pounding in Finn's ears. The murmurs of the crowd grew louder, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was the feel of Jesse's body against his, the sick thrill in his opponent's eyes. Finn could barely think over the rush of adrenaline coursing through him, but he saw Jesse's grin, the arrogant satisfaction in his every move. And then, for the first time, Finn saw Rachel's face—not with anger, not with disappointment—but with something worse. Something Finn couldn't name.
And then, Jesse chuckled again, breathless, like he knew he had won. "You really thought this would change anything?"
That was when Finn stopped. Just like that, everything went still.
Jesse knew. He had won.
Rachel grabbed Jesse's arm, urging him away, her touch gentle but firm as she pulled him toward the car. Finn stood there, fists still clenched, chest heaving, his mind reeling. The adrenaline was leaving his body now, replaced with a deep, hollow ache.
The drive back to Quinn's house felt suffocating, thick with tension and unspoken words that hung heavily between them. Finn's hands were locked around the steering wheel, his grip so tight his fingers ached with the strain. His knuckles were as white as the headlights slicing through the darkness, the car's engine humming low and steady, almost mocking the storm of thoughts swirling in his head. He stared straight ahead, as if the road could somehow absorb the chaos brewing inside him.
Quinn sat beside him, her posture straight, her arms crossed so tightly that it seemed like she was physically holding in her anger, trying to suppress the fury that was bubbling just beneath the surface. But even that control didn't last. The silence stretched on, unbearable and oppressive, broken only by the occasional hiss of the streetlights flickering by outside, each one seeming to stretch the quiet even further.
Finally, the dam broke. Quinn's voice shattered the silence, sharp and biting, like the crack of a whip. "What the hell was that, Finn?"
Finn's breath came out in a frustrated exhale, his jaw tight as he kept his eyes on the road, unwilling to meet her gaze. His grip on the wheel tightened even more, as if holding onto it was the only thing keeping him from spiraling. "I don't know," he muttered, his voice low, almost apologetic, but not quite.
Quinn let out a bitter laugh, her words dripping with disbelief. "Yeah? 'Cause it sure looked like you just lost your mind in front of half the town." Her voice was sharp, like a slap, every word digging deeper into the already painful moment.
Finn didn't respond right away, the weight of her words sinking in. His hands were starting to tremble around the wheel, but he wouldn't let go. He couldn't. "Can we not do this right now?" he bit out, his teeth clenched, but it only seemed to make things worse.
"Oh, we're doing this," Quinn shot back, her tone cold and unforgiving. "You just attacked a guy in a damn parking lot, Finn. Do you even realize how insane that is? What were you thinking?"
The words stung, but Finn couldn't keep the floodgates from opening. He slammed his palm against the wheel, the force of it rattling the car, his voice thick with frustration. "I don't know!" he yelled, the rawness of it catching him off guard. "He was just—he was being a smug ass, okay? He was rubbing it in my face, and I couldn't take it anymore."
Quinn's laugh was harsh, laced with a bitter disbelief. "Rubbing what in your face? That he's dating Rachel? That he's a better singer than you? That he's everything you hate about Glee but somehow still cooler than you?" Each word was a dagger, sharp and unforgiving, and Finn flinched, pressing his foot harder on the gas as if the road could take him far away from this conversation.
"Screw you, Quinn," he muttered under his breath, trying to block out the sound of her words.
"No, screw you, Finn," she shot back, her voice rising. She turned in her seat to face him, her glare so intense it felt like it could burn through him. "Because from where I was standing, that wasn't just about Jesse being an ass. That was about Rachel."
Finn's heart skipped a beat, and he had to fight the urge to swerve. "It wasn't," he said quickly, but the words felt weak, even to him. He could feel the walls closing in, his chest tightening.
Quinn let out a short, bitter laugh. "Oh my God, you can't even say it with a straight face. You're jealous, Finn." There was a harsh truth in her voice, an accusation that hung heavy in the air.
The car rolled to a stop at a red light, the harsh glow of the signal reflecting off the windshield like a cruel reminder of how trapped he felt. Finn shifted in his seat, the weight of her words pressing down on him, his mind racing for some way to defend himself. "Look, I don't know why I did it, alright?" he said, his voice quieter now, a hint of exhaustion creeping in. "He was just—he was there, acting like he owned the place, like he—" His words trailed off, the knot in his chest growing tighter, and for a moment, he couldn't bring himself to finish the thought.
Quinn's breath was a slow, exasperated release, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Like he owned Rachel?"
Finn's head snapped toward her, his eyes wide. "What?" The shock in his voice was genuine, but the way she said it made something in him tighten, like he knew exactly what she meant.
Quinn didn't look at him, her gaze fixed out the window as she let out another sharp exhale. "In case you haven't noticed yet, Finn," she said, her voice calm but carrying an undeniable edge, "you have a girlfriend. Me. Not that mentally deranged toddler, but me." Her words felt like a stake driven into the ground, a quiet declaration of ownership, of reality.
Finn's throat went dry, his chest tightening painfully at the quiet intensity of her tone. He wanted to argue, wanted to deny it, but something in her words held him still, rooted in place. She wasn't finished.
And then, with a finality that seemed to settle between them like a wall, Quinn added, in a voice so soft it almost felt like a promise, "So no matter what happens, Finn, I'm not going anywhere. Not now, not ever. Whether you like it or not, we're in this together."
Her words lingered in the air long after she'd spoken them, hanging between them like a truth neither of them could escape. The rest of the drive passed in silence, a silence so thick it felt suffocating. Neither of them spoke, neither of them knew what to say anymore.
When they pulled into her driveway, the tension was unbearable. Quinn didn't say goodbye. She didn't even glance his way. Without another word, she threw open the door, stepping out with a sharp "See you at school," her voice colder than it had been the entire drive.
Finn sat there for what felt like forever, his hands still gripping the wheel, every part of him frozen in place. The car sat still, the engine barely purring, as he tried to process everything. He didn't move right away, his mind a tangled mess.
Later that night, Finn lay sprawled across his bed, his eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling. The room was still, the kind of stillness that wrapped around him like a heavy blanket, pressing down on him with a weight that had nothing to do with the mattress. His mind wouldn't shut off, thoughts swirling like storm clouds, each one darker and heavier than the last. His fist, the one he'd thrown at Jesse earlier, still tingled with the echo of the punch—an act of frustration, but also something else. He didn't know what.
He was still wearing his jeans, faded and frayed at the cuffs, the fabric clinging a little too tight around his thighs. His gray hoodie, once loose and comfortable, now felt like it was swallowing him, the sleeves hanging past his wrists as if he had outgrown it. His sneakers, scuffed and worn from hours of standing, still carried a trace of the cold pavement he'd walked earlier. He didn't feel like changing. Didn't feel like doing much of anything.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking the silence. He didn't even need to glance at the screen to know who it was. Rachel.
He let it ring twice, the buzzing vibrating against the wood, the sound louder than it should have been in the quiet of his room. He stared at the screen for another moment, his thumb hovering over the button. A part of him didn't want to answer. A part of him wanted to keep avoiding the mess he'd made. But another part, the part that had been carrying a weight for weeks now, sighed and pressed the button, the sound of his breath escaping his lungs almost too loud in his own ears. "What?" he asked, his tone flat, drained of all energy.
There was a brief pause on the other end, and then Rachel's voice cut through the air—sharp, seething with anger. "What the hell is wrong with you, Finn?"
His chest tightened at her words, but he held his ground. "Not in the mood, Rachel."
"Well, I'm sorry, but I don't really care what mood you're in!" Her voice rose, biting and harsh. "I just spent two hours trying to convince Jesse not to press charges for assault. Do you know how serious this is? You just punched him in the middle of a parking lot like you've completely lost your mind!"
Finn rubbed his face, feeling the roughness of his skin there. It was all too much—the heat in Rachel's voice, the realization of what he'd done. But there was a part of him that just couldn't let her guilt-trip him. "I didn't mean to—"
"That's not good enough, Finn!" Rachel snapped, cutting him off. "You don't just 'lose it' and start hitting people. What exactly made you think that was okay?"
He exhaled a sharp, frustrated breath, squeezing his eyes shut. "I don't know, okay? It just… happened. Jesse's a jerk. He's always acting like he's better than everyone, like he's the only one who matters. And I just—" He swallowed, frustration bubbling in his chest. "I couldn't take it anymore."
Rachel's voice softened for a second, but it didn't soften enough. "Is this about Glee? About Vocal Adrenaline?"
"No," Finn muttered quickly, but even as he said it, the words felt hollow. There was more to it, something darker that he didn't have the words for. "I don't know," he added, his voice trailing off.
A heavy silence filled the line, and Finn could almost hear Rachel grinding her teeth. "You're telling me that all of this—everything—is just because Jesse's 'fake'?"
"Yes!" Finn practically shouted, his voice cracking with the weight of it. "He's fake! He pretends to be this charming, cool guy, but I don't buy it. And I don't get why you don't see it. He's not real, Rachel. None of it is."
There was a long pause, and Finn felt the knot in his stomach tighten even more. He didn't know why he couldn't just explain it better—why he couldn't make her see what he saw.
Rachel's voice came through again, softer but still firm. "You don't have to trust him, Finn. But I do."
The words hit him like a punch to the gut, sharper than anything he'd felt that night. His heart lurched, something bitter rising in his throat. She trusted Jesse. And suddenly, everything felt like it was slipping through his fingers.
"Don't you see, Rachel?" he snapped, his words coming out harsher than he intended. "You're just letting him walk all over you. You're blind to it."
"I'm blind?" Her voice was incredulous, but there was a wounded edge to it now. "You're the one acting like a child, throwing punches because you can't handle a little mockery. I don't even know who you are right now, Finn."
Finn's chest tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "You think I'm the one who's messed up? You're the one defending him. You don't get it. You—"
"Enough!" Rachel's voice cracked like a whip. "I don't want to keep doing this, Finn. I'm done trying to make sense of your tantrums. So let me ask you this—are we friends, or not?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with expectation. Finn didn't know how to answer. Are they friends? The thought made his head spin. Yeah, they sit next to each other in Glee, and he talks to her when no one else is around. They've spent hours in the back of the auditorium, talking about their days. He liked being around her. He even liked the way she could make him laugh, even if she was always talking a little too much or being way too intense about some random thing.
But was that enough? Was that what it meant to be friends? He wasn't sure.
Half the time, Rachel annoyed the hell out of him—her obsession with Barbra Streisand, the way she'd blurt out her feelings without warning, the way she sometimes didn't seem to care that she was making everyone else uncomfortable. But then she'd do something small—smile at him in that way, like she understood him better than anyone else, like she wasn't judging him—and it would all slip away. Suddenly, she wasn't so bad. She wasn't just the girl who annoyed him in Glee. She was something more.
But friends? He guessed so. But the word felt… wrong, somehow. It didn't fit.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He stared at the ceiling, his fingers digging into the bedsheets.
"We're friends, right?" Rachel repeated, her voice steady but lined with a certain finality.
"Yeah," Finn forced the word out, but it felt like it was choking him, slipping from his lips like an empty promise. He couldn't even look at the phone as he said it, like somehow the words wouldn't have any weight if he didn't acknowledge them. "Friends."
Rachel sighed, the sound one of quiet, frustrated resignation. "Good. Then for the sake of our friendship, Finn, please—stop fighting with my boyfriend."
The words stung. His pulse thudded in his ears, and his hand clenched the phone tighter. "Sure," he muttered, the word bitter in his mouth. It didn't matter anyway.
Rachel, seeming satisfied, hung up without another word. The line went dead with a soft click, and Finn stared at his phone, the weight of silence crushing in on him. He tossed the device onto the nightstand with a frustrated grunt, the clatter against the wood loud in the oppressive quiet of his room.
They were friends. That was good, right? That was what he wanted. He should feel relieved. But as he lay there in the dark, the emptiness in his chest told him otherwise. The word "friends" seemed to weigh more than he expected. It felt like something lost, like a door closed before he could walk in.