AN: Hello! Once again, thank you for all the kind reviews. Before you start reading, I wanted to give a quick heads-up. If this chapter's writing style feels a bit different from the previous ones, it's because I'm adjusting the tone. I'm gradually shifting away from Finn's cocky, teenage-boy mindset and moving him toward something closer to Season 1 Finn—more tolerant but still confused. Let me know if you enjoy this chapter's writing style or if you preferred the old one!

Enough about my incompetence though, read and enjoy!

I do not own Glee, nor Moulin Rouge.

Finn slumped on his bed, the dim light of his computer screen casting soft shadows across his cluttered room. The silence was only broken by the soft hum of his computer and the occasional creak of the old house settling. Then, the familiar chime of an incoming IM notification pierced the stillness. Without much thought, he glanced at the blinking message box on the screen. He wasn't sure why, but something about the notification felt… significant, like a thread pulling at him from the past, something that might lead to a place he didn't expect.

It was strange, really, that he even had Rachel's IM.

He'd gotten it from one of her ridiculously over-the-top, self-promotional business cards that she'd handed him ages ago. The memory of that moment stood out vividly, even now. She'd practically shoved the card into his hand, her excitement so overflowing that it almost bordered on absurd. She'd been grinning ear to ear, trying her hardest to make him take it seriously, the card practically a badge of honor. Finn had shrugged it off back then, a simple exchange that hadn't seemed significant at the time.

It had survived the mess of his desk, wedged between crumpled homework assignments, an old CD case, and the remnants of a half-eaten snack. Somehow, it had stayed there, tucked away, hidden but always present. And now, here he was, staring at her screen name.

RachelBarbraBerry: Did you get an invite to the Glee Club hangout?

Finn frowned, his fingers hovering over the keys, half of a forgotten snack still scattered across his desk. He had no idea what she was talking about, but something about the message felt like it was gnawing at him, as if it had weight he wasn't quite ready to acknowledge. Curiosity won out, and he typed back, his fingers moving instinctively.

SharkFinn5: Wait, there's a hangout?

RachelBarbraBerry: Oh. So that's a no.

Finn exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. Typical Rachel—always so quick to pounce on any slip-up, real or imagined.

SharkFinn5: Lemme guess. You didn't get one either.

RachelBarbraBerry: You have presumed correctly. And yet, Brittany, Santana, and even Quinn were invited. Funny, isn't it?

Finn could almost hear the edge in her voice through the screen, despite the lack of tone. She was trying to play it off, pretending she didn't care, but he could feel the frustration slipping out from the words, just beneath the surface. There was a weird, almost automatic pang of sympathy. Rachel, always trying so desperately to be at the center of everything, yet always on the outskirts, somehow always left out, even when she least expected it. It didn't seem right.

SharkFinn5: Wait, why them though?

RachelBarbraBerry: Brittany and Santana are actually well-liked among the group. And Quinn… well, I assume she probably just tagged along.

There it was—the familiar bitterness in Rachel's words that she worked so hard to conceal. It wasn't just about the hangout; it was about something deeper, a quiet frustration she usually kept hidden behind her bright eyes and overly confident attitude. Finn leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping absently against the desk. He let the words linger on the screen, his mind drifting for a second. He didn't rush to respond. He didn't quite know how to put into words what he was feeling, but he knew that something about this felt wrong. It didn't sit right with him that Rachel was left out.

He finally typed again, his voice softer than before.

SharkFinn5: Kinda sucks, huh?

RachelBarbraBerry: It's fine. I don't need to be included in their social gatherings. Besides, I have quite the schedule myself. I have to prepare my MySpace video for my viewers.

Finn wasn't sure if she was trying to convince him or if she was attempting to convince herself. He knew how much she cared about being included, being part of the group, but she always acted like it didn't matter. She'd never admit how badly she wanted to fit in.

SharkFinn5: Yeah, but still. Wanna go get food or something? Since we're both losers and all.

There was a slight pause before Rachel's reply popped up, and Finn could almost picture her eyeing her phone with that mix of skepticism and curiosity, maybe even a hint of wariness.

RachelBarbraBerry: Fine. But only if the food selection has vegan and kosher options.

Finn grinned to himself, despite how strange the request was. Rachel was nothing if not demanding, but there was something endearing about it.

SharkFinn5: You got it.

The diner parking lot was nearly empty when Finn pulled in, the neon sign buzzing faintly above them. It was one of those places that always seemed a little too quiet, a little too small, but familiar in an odd way. Rachel was already standing outside, her arms crossed as though she was bracing herself for whatever was about to come next. As Finn brought the car to a stop, she slid into the passenger seat without a word, adjusting her skirt and buckling her seatbelt with practiced ease. It was like she'd mentally prepared for this strange, impromptu dinner before even leaving the house.

Rachel wore a black-and-white striped top tucked into a high-waisted skirt, paired with knee-high boots that Finn usually found over-the-top but somehow worked on her. Her hair was down in soft waves, giving her a very cutesy look. In contrast, Finn's outfit was a laid-back hoodie, faded jeans, and worn sneakers—nothing special. He felt out of place next to her, but somehow, their mismatched styles still seemed to fit together.

"Alright, Hudson," she said, her voice light but feigning seriousness, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Let's make this the most extravagant meal two exiled Glee members have ever had."

Finn smirked, starting the car again. "That's a lot of pressure, Berry."

They ended up in a booth near the window, a basket of fries untouched between them, almost ignored in the moment. Finn dunked one into ketchup, popping it into his mouth, glancing at Rachel as she absentmindedly swirled her straw through her soda. She was talking again, as usual. Her voice was a steady stream of words that filled the space between them, like she was so used to filling every silence with her thoughts. Finn didn't mind. He didn't mind listening to her; it was the least he could do. But every so often, his attention would wander.

Her eyes were warm, expressive—darting between thoughts, always so full of energy and conviction. Her lips, slightly parted as she spoke, the words almost tumbling out too fast. She recounted some trivial drama from Glee Club. Something about Mariah Carey versus Idina Menzel. Her voice had that familiar, lilting tone that carried more weight than the words themselves, as though everything she said had more significance than it actually did. The way she fidgeted with her napkin, her fingers tapping absentmindedly against the table.

There was something magnetic about it all, the way she seemed to pull him in without meaning to, like he couldn't help but notice every small detail. Finn realized, with a jolt, that he was just sitting there, staring at her, lost in thought. He hadn't expected it, hadn't anticipated how captivating Rachel could be in that moment.

Rachel didn't seem to notice. She was too wrapped up in her own words, her own world. But Finn couldn't pull his gaze away. He couldn't shake the feeling that, for a moment, the world had quieted down, and all that mattered was the woman sitting across from him.

"…and then Jesse just sent me this message, like, 'Sorry, I'm busy,' and I'm like, busy doing what? Watching a movie? As if watching Moulin Rouge is something so superior as opposed to hanging out with your girlfriend…" Rachel babbled on, unaware of Finn's softened gaze, of the way he couldn't help but admire how effortlessly beautiful she was.

Her voice cut through his thoughts, and Finn blinked, snapping back to the present. "Wait, what?"

Rachel shot him an exasperated look. "I said, why would he choose Moulin Rouge over spending time with me? I mean, it's practically a betrayal." She shook her head, clearly upset, her shoulders tense with frustration.

Finn grinned, trying to keep his voice light. "Wow. Devastating."

Rachel stared at him, clearly unimpressed. "It's inconsiderate, Finn."

"No, yeah, totally," Finn said, struggling to keep the smugness from creeping into his tone. "Sounds rough."

Rachel narrowed her eyes at him, clearly suspecting something. "Why do I feel like you're enjoying this?"

Finn took a long sip of his soda, trying to hide his grin. "No idea."

Rachel rolled her eyes but didn't press the issue. She grabbed a fry and poked it at him as if to emphasize her next words. "You know, despite my general distaste for your existence most days, I will admit this is marginally preferable to sitting alone in my room."

Finn put a hand to his chest dramatically. "Wow. That almost sounded like a compliment."

"Don't get used to it."

Finn chuckled, flicking a fry at her. She gasped in mock surprise before retaliating, and soon they were laughing, tossing fries at each other like a couple of unsupervised kids.

The laughter eventually faded, leaving behind a comfortable silence. Finn wiped the last of the ketchup off his fingers, his mind drifting back to something he had been building the courage to ask.

"So," Finn began, leaning forward a little, trying to look casual, "I was thinking… you should totally come to one of my football games."

Rachel blinked at him, narrowing her eyes slightly, as if trying to figure out if he was serious. "A football game?" Her tone was skeptical, but there was amusement in it. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, I'm pretty sure you're setting me up for some sort of social experiment, and I'm not entirely sure I'm ready to be your guinea pig."

Finn laughed, caught off guard by her response. He shrugged, trying to cover his nervousness with a grin. "What? You can't tell me you wouldn't want to see me in action." He put on a grin, trying to sound confident.

Rachel's eyebrows shot up, her curiosity piqued. "I'm not sure what you mean by 'action,' Finn. Watching you wear a helmet and awkwardly stumble around doesn't exactly scream 'spectacle.'"

"Hey, it's not that bad," Finn shot back quickly, feeling defensive. "The team's good. At least… better than we used to be."

Rachel smirked, lips curling into a playful grin. "I'd hope so, for your sake." She studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she shifted into that signature Rachel Berry curiosity. "But, alright, what's the real reason you want me there? I know you're not trying to convert me into a football fan."

Finn scratched the back of his head, unsure of how to phrase it. "I don't know… I just thought it'd be cool. It's not like you have anything else planned, right? And, I don't know, I figured it might be fun to have someone to wave to in the crowd, y'know? Just someone who actually gets it."

Rachel tilted her head, giving him an appraising look. "You're asking me to watch you and a bunch of other guys run into each other while wearing matching outfits. I'm not sure 'getting it' is going to be the issue here."

Finn chuckled awkwardly, the weight of the conversation starting to settle. "I'm serious, though. You don't have to pretend to care about the game. I just thought it'd be fun to have you there. No big deal."

Rachel studied him for a long beat, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the table as she processed what he was saying. Finally, she spoke again, her voice a little quieter. "Well, I suppose it could be a change of pace. I'm not exactly lined up for an eventful night at home anyway." She shrugged, tapping her fingers again. "But don't expect me to start chanting your name like I'm a superfan."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Finn said, grinning at the idea. "But I'm sure I'll find a way to entertain you. Maybe there'll be a spectacular fall or something to really wow you."

Rachel smiled, the expression a mix of exasperation and fondness. "You really are something else." She paused for a moment, her lips curling into that mischievous grin again before adding, "I'm not promising to enjoy it, but I'll be there. But only if the snack selection is acceptable, of course."

Finn snapped a mock salute. "You got it. I'll make sure the food's up to your standards."

Rachel leaned back in her seat, a smirk tugging at her lips again. "If I end up surrounded by guys in body armor yelling about touchdowns, you're explaining this to my therapist."

"I'll take full responsibility," Finn said, trying to look serious but failing miserably, his grin slipping out. "Besides, I'm sure you'll be too busy judging my form to care about anything else."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," she replied, laughing dryly. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around the idea of watching you, of all people, perform athletic feats."

"Hey, I'm performing, okay?" Finn said, leaning forward, his grin widening. "It's just… a different kind of performance. Like an art form, but with more running and less singing."

Rachel rolled her eyes, clearly amused by his antics. "Sure, Finn. I'll try to keep my expectations reasonable."

Finn leaned back in his seat, feeling lighter now that the idea was out in the open. "Great. You'll be the most critical fan in the stands."

"Someone has to keep you humble," Rachel shot back, her smile full of mischief.

They both laughed, the tension of the moment fading, and for a second, it felt like they were just two people—no expectations, no history—just two people who, for whatever reason, found each other kind of easy to be around. Finn hadn't expected Rachel to agree to come to his game, but here they were. The thought of seeing her in the stands—critically judging, probably, but still there—made him feel a little more excited than he had a right to.

As they finished off their fries, the conversation slid back into its usual rhythm, comfortable and easy. Finn was looking forward to the game, sure, but more than that, he was looking forward to seeing Rachel there, even if she'd only agreed to be a reluctant observer.

The radio hummed softly in the background, but neither of them seemed particularly focused on it. Finn tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, sneaking a glance at Rachel, who sat curled up in the passenger seat, arms wrapped around herself as she stared out the window. She wasn't upset—at least, he didn't think she was. But there was something different in the air between them, something unspoken but undeniably present.

Before he could break the silence, Rachel suddenly perked up and reached into her pink polka dot bag. "Oh! I almost forgot." She pulled out a CD case, its cover decorated with a glittery, hand-drawn star next to her name in bold, elegant cursive. "I brought this for the drive home. I think you'll find it far superior to whatever generic rock station you usually listen to."

Finn smirked, side-eyeing her as she eagerly popped the disc into the truck's CD player. "You carry your own CDs around? What, just in case of a music emergency?"

Rachel lifted her chin, looking completely unbothered. "One must always be prepared to combat auditory mediocrity."

A moment later, the car filled with the dramatic opening notes of an old Broadway classic. Finn sighed, shaking his head with a small grin, but he didn't turn it off. Rachel, satisfied, sat back in her seat, softly mouthing along to the lyrics.

Finn didn't mind. It was weirdly fitting—her, in his car, filling the space with something so unapologetically her.

"So, you had fun, right?" Finn asked, breaking the silence, his voice lighter than he felt.

Rachel turned to him, her lips curving into a small smirk. "Marginally. You're surprisingly tolerable company when you're not being a complete Neanderthal."

Finn chuckled. "Wow, I feel so appreciated."

Rachel hummed in acknowledgment, tapping her fingers against her knee in rhythm with the song. The night had been unexpectedly easy, like they'd both settled into something familiar without even realizing it.

Finn, lost in his thoughts, glanced at her briefly. "So... you're actually gonna show up to my game, huh?" he asked, his voice playful but with a hint of curiosity.

Rachel smirked, her eyes narrowing in that familiar, teasing way. "I'm still not sure what I've signed up for, but sure, I'll be there. Maybe I'll even take notes on your technique." Her smile softened, then her fingers twitched slightly as she adjusted her seat belt. "And, well… I suppose if you're being so generous as to come support me… I could invite you to one of my ballet recitals."

Finn blinked, surprised. "Wait, you want me to watch you dance?" His voice had a mix of surprise and amusement. He wasn't sure if she was serious, and a part of him couldn't picture Rachel—of all people—doing something so graceful.

Rachel hesitated, her cheeks flushing a bit as she looked away, staring out the window. "It's not a big deal," she muttered, almost shyly. "But, you know, if you want to. It's not exactly a football game, but... I think you'd find it interesting. It's a different kind of performance, too." She glanced back at him briefly, a faint, shy smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Finn grinned, leaning back in his seat. "Hey, I'm all about supporting you, so if you think I can handle a ballet recital, I'm in. I could use a little culture in my life."

Rachel raised an eyebrow, her expression softening as she relaxed into her seat. "You know, you might just enjoy it more than you think. It's... art, Finn. You should try it sometime."

Finn chuckled, teasing her, "Alright, alright. I'll come to your recital if you come to my game. I can't promise I'll be wearing a tutu, though."

Rachel rolled her eyes but didn't argue. They fell into another casual silence as Finn turned onto her street. He pulled up in front of her house, letting the engine idle. Rachel unbuckled her seatbelt but hesitated before opening the door.

"Well," she said, glancing at him, "thank you for the extravagant evening of fries and philosophical football discussions. I'll try not to let it inflate your ego too much."

Finn grinned. "Yeah, wouldn't want that." He watched as she stepped out, lingering by the car for a second before finally shutting the door. As she made her way up the path, Finn waited until she disappeared inside before pulling away.

Finn didn't notice the forgotten CD case on the passenger seat until he was halfway home.

It was still early Monday morning when Finn pulled into his usual spot on the street near school. He was barely out of his car before he saw him—Puck, standing near the curb like some kind of sentinel, arms crossed, the streetlight casting a long shadow across his face. The dim light did little to soften the anger that radiated off of him. Finn barely had time to throw the car in park before the door was being yanked open, Puck's dark eyes locked onto him like a predator.

"The hell was that, man?" Puck's voice was a low growl, his jaw tense. Finn flinched, caught completely off guard. "You and Rachel Berry, on a little date? You think Quinn deserves this crap?"

"What? How do you even know about that?" Finn asked in a surprised and high voice.

"I was standing outside 7/11, looking depressed and waiting until someone bought me beer. I didn't know I was gonna spot you and Berry at a diner practically dry humping."

Finn blinked, confusion spreading over him like a cloud. "We just got food. Chill out."

"Right. Just food," Puck scoffed, his voice dripping with disbelief. "You think that makes it better? Making out with Rachel like Quinn isn't at home, probably crying over your dumb ass?"

Finn felt his stomach twist. "It's not like that," he muttered, feeling the irritation begin to stir in his chest.

"Then what is it?" Puck demanded, stepping closer, his tone dropping into something darker, more dangerous. "I saw you, Finn. Laughing, flirting—acting like you actually want to be around her. What the hell are you doing?"

Finn's fingers clenched around the steering wheel, trying to control his rising anger. "We're just friends, okay? There's nothing more to it."

Puck let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, right. Just friends. That's the story you're gonna sell yourself? I've been there, man. I've seen it before. You think you're in control, but you're already down that road. Don't start lying to yourself now." His eyes flickered with something—something raw, something Finn couldn't place. "You don't get to play the victim here. Not when you're the one who's messing around."

Finn's throat tightened, his heart pounding as Puck's words hit harder than he expected. But there was something else in Puck's tone—something personal. Something Finn didn't want to deal with. "Why do you even care so much?" he asked, voice strained.

For the briefest moment, there was a shift in Puck's expression. A flicker of something—regret, maybe, or frustration—before it was gone, replaced by the usual hardened look. He backed away from the car, shaking his head. "Just don't be an idiot, Finn. For your own damn sake." And then, as quickly as he came, Puck turned and walked away, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet of the morning.

Finn sat there for a few seconds, hands still on the wheel, his mind spinning. He didn't know what was worse—Puck's anger or whatever the hell had been underneath it. He could still feel the weight of it, pressing down on him.

The next day, at school, Finn had barely stepped through the doors when he was greeted by Quinn. He was at his locker, mind still half-on Puck's words, when she appeared out of nowhere, her usual cool smile softening into something almost... sweet? She slid her arm around his, the touch casual, but warm. Too warm.

"Morning, babe," Quinn murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. The scent of her perfume lingered in the air—a little too strong, a little too sweet for the early morning hours. "Sleep okay?"

Finn blinked, still stunned by the sudden shift in her mood. This wasn't like Quinn. She was always reserved with her affection, always cautious, keeping up that perfect image. This—this was different.

"Uh, yeah," Finn mumbled, caught off guard. "Slept great."

She smiled at him, her grip on his arm tightening, leading him away from his locker like they were in some kind of world where no one else mattered. Finn was still trying to process what had just happened when his gaze shifted and landed on Rachel. She was standing by the water fountain, looking a little lost in thought. Without thinking, Finn lifted a hand, offering a small, casual wave.

Rachel blinked, obviously surprised, before giving a small wave back, her expression unsure. Finn half expected Quinn to explode right there—some sharp remark about "the loser" or a biting glare. But instead, Quinn didn't even look at Rachel. She just tugged him along, her pace unwavering.

"Are you coming over after practice?" Quinn asked, her voice lighter than usual, like she was trying too hard to be casual.

Finn felt a strange sense of unease settle in his stomach. He almost missed her question, still caught in his interaction with Rachel. "Uh, yeah, sure," he answered, his voice a little distant.

"Good," she said, her smile bright. "We should spend more time together."

As they walked down the hall, Quinn continued chatting like everything was normal, but Finn couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. It was like she was pretending. Acting like she didn't care about him waving to Rachel. But that didn't make sense. Quinn had always been so territorial, so careful about how people saw her. This sudden... calmness, this easygoing affection—it didn't fit. It unsettled him more than her usual biting remarks ever did.

AN #2: Glee Fun Fact: SharkFinn5 is actually Finn's canon MySpace username! I discovered this while reading the first Glee novel and decided to use it for his IM username. :) Unfortunately, the book didn't include Rachel's, so I just went with what felt fitting.