a/n: So, part two… I know it's kind of long, but hand me my four favorite Glee characters and throw in a whole entire senior year to work with and well… I hope you enjoy!

... ... ...

Santana Lopez has never felt lonely before – not once in her entire life. But she does today, and it's pretty much the worst fucking feeling in the world, so she doesn't strut down the hallway, letting her ponytail swing as it brushes her shoulder blades, a smirk glued to her face. She's totally alone and it's all his fault – it's all his fucking fault and she's pretty sure he's not even sorry because he strolls down the hall with – with that thing and doesn't look half as broken as she does.

"Hi!" She wants to slap the enthusiasm right off of Rachel's face, but she holds herself back as she nods her head and just pulls a half-ass grin.

"Hey San," he won't look her in the eyes, so she doesn't look him in the eyes either. "You look ticked off."

All she can say is, "oh", because well, of course she's ticked off – he's not supposed to be walking Berry to class. He's not supposed to be walking Berry anywhere at all.

"D'you wanna talk about it?" She does, but she's not so sure that he really does, so she kicks her heel a little farther into the floor and all she can do is huff.

"Noah," Rachel's tugging on his shoulder and really, it takes all of her will power not to reach her hand out and slap her arm right off of his. "You promised…"

"Right," he tells her.

Wrong, she feels like screaming out to the both of them, who are paying attention to anything but her as she stands beside them, huffing while she crosses her arms just beneath her breasts.

"We'll catch you later," he nods and looks in her direction for only a minute.

If the word we'll is not enough to break her, the way Rachel clutches onto his forearm as they stroll down the hall without one glance back just might.

... ... ...

He hates the first day of school because it's just so hard and there's like, way too many textbooks to lug around when all he wants to do is carry a football.

He's pretty relieved it's last period, even if he's got calculus and he's got no idea what calculus even is anyway.

He's not sure why Rachel's sitting in the back of the room – she never sits in the back of the room. ("I couldn't imagine being seated anywhere but up in the front, even in a classroom – think of it being like sitting in a theatre, Finn. Who wants to be trapped in the back during a wondrous show, like, well…Evita?")

"Hey," he nods, slamming his textbook and that stupid calculator he's pretty sure he doesn't even know how to turn on right on top of the desk next to hers.

She turns her head to him for just a second, painting a small grin with her lips.

"Y'know," he looks around the room before he leans his face in closer to hers, whispering. "I can walk you to class, but – but only if you want me to. I know the plan was for Puck to follow you around like a cat, but I'm totally –"

"Like a dog, Finn," she tells him. "Cats don't follow you around; they're hardly indoor animals."

As his eyes drop to the desk, his face a little red with embarrassment, he clears his throat, "We just don't want to see you hurting yourself again."

She's quiet and it's awkward – it's so fucking awkward and he silently declares himself the king of word vomit.

"Rach?"

"Hm?" She's pressing her pen into the paper – almost so hard he cringes just a little – as she scribbles down number after number after number.

"Will we ever go back to normal?" He blames it on the word vomit again.

"We weren't ever normal to begin with," she tells him.

If there's one thing he learns in that gruesome period of calculus – aside from the fact that numbers will never be his friends – it's that he's pretty damn sure there'll never be a time Rachel Berry isn't right. She's right, right, right and maybe she has been all along; he thinks maybe he should've started listening to her a long time ago.

... ... ...

She's so little and he's so big – so big and so horrifying that Santana can't help but race over and see what the fuck is going on. No, they're not friends – no matter how many times Rachel tries to declare the both of them acquaintances at the least – but it's big ol' Dave Karofsky and little ol' Rachel Berry and well, if Rachel won't kick some ass, she certainly will.

"The fuck, Karofsky?" Santana struts front and center, pushing and shoving the people who stand blankly beside the lockers with pride, looking on as Rachel holds her hands just in front of her eyes.

Before she can reach her hand out and swat his hand away from Rachel, she jumps when another one does.

"Let go, dick," Puck shouts from behind. "The fuck are you doing touching a girl anyway, huh?"

"The bitch started with me!" She knows the both of their faces totally drop because, well, Dave Karofsky did not just call Rachel Berry a bitch. "She should keep her mouth shut and maybe then I'd leave her alone."

"S'not what matters," Puck's hands are clenched into two fists now, his gaze sharp on Karofsky as his eyes meet Rachel's, frightened and panicked. "Let her go before I rip –"

"Not so fast," Miss Pillsbury's running down the hall, her heels clicking and clacking as she hurriedly walks toward Karofsky, who's still got a grip on the collar of Rachel's sweater. "Dave, put her down this instant! And Rachel, Rachel are you – "

"Save it," Rachel tells her. "I'll just go back to class."

Most everyone walks away because well, if there isn't going to be any action, why stay?

"No," Puck grips her wrist just as she's ready to turn the corner of the hallway, jerking his glance toward her sternly. "We're going to the principal – you, me and S. We've gotta report this shit."

"Report it?" Santana furrows her brow. "They won't do shit, Puckerman."

"We can try," Rachel chimes in confidently, reaching her hand out for Santana's arm as she tugs her by the wrist. "Please, Santana. You – you witnessed it; you tried to help me."

Santana nods and then shrugs because, well, she's got to shut Rachel up somehow, right?

"Wait," Puck holds his hand out just before they walk toward the door to the office. "You tried to help her?"

"She did," Rachel answers before Santana can utter a word. "Last year she wouldn't have even acknowledged my existence, but –"

"A lot can change in a year, Berry," only she's not looking to Rachel when she says those words, and he knows why.

He knows exactly why.

... ... ...

She's sick the first week of October so he visits her house with chicken noodle soup only to realize she's a vegan as he sits on her doorstep, the fall rain leaving a trail of water on the tip of his head.

"Come in," she's in a robe, her hair messed and her face pale, but she lets him in anyway and it's cool because well, she feels pretty comfortable around him even when she's not all dolled up and that must say something, right?

"Hey," he takes off his jacket and she snatches it from him and just throws it to the sofa. "I picked up some of your schoolwork and I brought you chicken noodle soup, but not before I realized you were a vegan. Now I just feel stupid."

"That's alright," she shrugs as she grabs the container of soup along with the stack of papers and books he holds in his hands. "It was still sweet of you to bring everything over to me."

"Cool," he watches as she sits down on the sofa, tossing a throw blanket over her body as she grabs the remote control from the coffee table. "Should – should I sit?"

"Stay with me."

"Aren't your dads –"

"Business trip," she tells him.

"Oh," he looks down at the fidgeting hands that sit in his pockets.

"Please, Finn. Please just stay with me."

He sits down on the sofa next to her, his hands still in his pockets as he lets out a huff.

"Do you love me?" She blurts out bluntly.

"Why does everything have to be so complicated, Rachel? I can't just sit down on a damn sofa without being asked all of these like, unbelievably stupid questions anymore?" His voice is scratchy and his hands tremble in his pockets and he just can't answer her – he can't fucking answer her because he's got no clue himself. You don't love her, stupid. You love her, stupid. They're the only words that actually stay in his head, and all he wishes is for them to go away – he wants them to go away and never ever come back because he's afraid he'll never have an answer.

"Well I love you," she tells him with doubtful eyes.

"You should rest," he answers after a moment of pure silence, pulling the throw blanket completely over her body and lifting her pillow so her head lies flat on it.

"Please," is all she can say.

She falls asleep by seven-thirty so he tells himself he'll stay until she wakes up because really, what kind of person would he be if he just walked out on her? Finn Hudson, that's who, he curses himself in his head no matter how many times he tells himself he'll stay – he has to stay, he has to.

She fidgets a little and he swears he hears her mumble, so he walks from the chair he's sitting in over to the couch where she lies, her tiny body mounded under the even tinier blanket. He brushes his index finger over the small piece of hair that blocks her forehead, but only before she can fidget some more.

"I love you too," he whispers when he knows she can't hear him.

"I know you do," she answers, her eyes droopy as she looks onto him for only a second before turning her head back over and planting it deep in her pillow.

She knows and he knows and Puck knows and Santana knows and the whole damn world knows.

... ... ...

Halloween parties aren't his thing, but hey, if Mike Chang's throwing one, it'd be pretty damn rude not to show, right?

It's already seven-thirty and Puck hasn't seen her once – she told him she'd be there but she fucking isn't and if it isn't for the six-pack Finn manages to sneak over for the both of them, he'd totally be losing his cool right about now.

"If it helps, I'm not sure where the hell Rachel is," Finn tells him as he lifts the bottle to his mouth, sipping slowly.

"S'not what matters. I need to talk to S like, now," Puck grunts, pounding his fists onto the tabletop.

"It's cool if you love her," Finn's glance doesn't meet his because Puck's going to kill him – he's going to fucking kill him because Noah Puckerman doesn't love anyone; he doesn't even love himself.

"Oh," is all Puck can respond.

"I think I love Rachel," Finn blurts out before Puck can turn his glance back to the bottle he's gripping in his hands. "Like, a lot."

"Shit's crazy," Puck snickers. "But it's not we didn't see it comin', y'know?" He takes another swig of his beer and just nods.

"We had sex," he sounds guilty, but Puck can only laugh. "It's not funny, man. We did it the night of Nationals because she was crying like a baby and I was like, so vulnerable. I wanted her."

"You still do," Puck tells him.

"Mhm," Finn answers with a nod. "Real question is do you still want her?"

Puck snickers, "Never wanted her to begin with."

"Thought so."

... ... ...

They find the girls sitting on the porch when Finn and Puck finally get up from the kitchen because Puck just needs to find her – he's gotta fucking find her even if all she does is refuse to hear him out; push him away like the scared little girl that's inside of her.

"Hey," Finn speaks and only Rachel turns around.

She stands up from the end of the bench she's sitting on, her hands in her pockets as she takes a small breath. "Let's go inside."

"Because of Puck and Santana?" He whispers.

"Because of us," she's already headed toward the door and he turns around to Puck one last time before following behind. Puck's standing above Santana, who doesn't even look at him for a second. He grunts and huffs before she finally looks his way.

"What?" Santana asks harshly, her arms crossed beneath her breasts.

"You're gonna try and avoid me forever, huh?" He laughs a little, taking another swig of beer as he runs his hand over his forehead. "Newsflash – you can't."

"I thought you said you'd back off of her," Santana rolls her eyes. "Can't you just accept the fact that she's in love with Hudson and move on?"

"No," he tells her honestly. "And when'll you understand that I don't want her in the way you think I do? Damn, Lopez."

"You mean you don't want to fuck her senseless? Because, damn, that's not the vibe –"

"I wanna be her fucking friend," and he does. He wants to be her friend and he hopes she'll let him, because really, she's actually pretty cool and sure, when she's ranting to him endlessly about topics he couldn't give a damn about or deeming him Noah ("The name on your birth certificate is Noah, therefore I'll forever call you Noah. Who's 'Puck'?") it's a little irritating, but nonetheless, there's just something about her.

"That's a lie," Santana's laughing now, unfolding her arms as she slaps Puck in the shoulder, causing some beer to spill out of the bottle he's holding.

"S'not," he tells her. "And besides, even if we were just friends and all of that junk, who the hell says she has to go back to Hudson?"

"It's bound to happen," she snickers.

"It's like you said," he says. "A lot can change in a year."

She presses her lips together and looks onto him, a fire in her eyes, "Are we still talking about Finn and Rachel?"

"Do you want to still be talking about Finn and Rachel?"

She shrugs and can't help it when a small giggle slips from her mouth.

"Thought so."

... ... ...

It's November third the morning she calls him, panic striking every bone in her body.

"'Sup?" He's rubbing his eyes because, hello, it's only eight-thirty in the morning and it'll take him all he has not to chant the word psychopath six times before letting her speak.

"I did it again, Noah. I did it again and a whole line of blood is just trailing – it's trailing down my arm and I'm scared. What if I've provoked my own death? God, Noah –"

"Rachel, slow down," he shushes her. "Start from the beginning. What the fuck happened?"

"Language!" So she's most definitely not experiencing death if she has a second to remind him to tone down his swearing. ("That's no way to hold a proper conversation, Noah. Think of it like reading a novel – would you really enjoy something containing swears in between every other word?")

"C'mon, what happened?" He snickers, running his hands over the small beads of sweat that roll down his forehead as he lifts the mountain of covers that are draped over his body.

"Well," she starts. "After the party a few nights ago, do you remember how I asked Finn if he could drive me home?"

"Mhm."

"I tried to do it again," she says guiltily. "I tried to have sex with him, Noah."

"So you're a rapist now?" He asks.

"Noah," she grunts.

"I'm sorry," he chuckles. "Continue."

"He wanted to have sex with me too, Noah," she tells him. "Only he didn't – he told me he couldn't because it'd be just like returning back to square one. He flat out rejected me."

"Maybe he –"

"Maybe nothing," she lets out a huff. "His constant rejection is slowly going to kill me, Noah. I – I know I may not show it, but I'm scared. I'm so, so scared of –"

"Of Finn?" He cuts her off.

"Of everything," she grumbles. "I'm scared of no one ever wanting me; of growing old and being alone for the rest of my life. I'm scared of never getting married or never having children; I'm scared of dying alone and –"

"Rachel," he may not say it to her, but right about now, all he does is feel guilty – guilty and so damn sorry. "You won't be alone."

"Who says?" He thinks she's crying now, so he gulps and shuts his eyes for a minute. "I have not one friend, no one would even consider being in a relationship with me, and well, I've been told I'm too insane for my own good and I'm slowly starting to believe it."

"Who the fuck told you that?" He sits up in his bed now, ignoring his pounding head as he presses the phone closer to his ear.

"Santana, but – but it doesn't matter," she tells him. "I'm sorry I even called – you were probably asleep and here I am bothering you…"

"You could never bother me," he says. "I mean, sure, your never-ending rants about YouTube wannabe's covering Barbra Streisand songs in all the wrong ways may get pretty annoying, but you're cool Berry."

"I am?" She sounds surprised and he laughs.

"Totally," he tells her. "So stop hurting your pretty little self – emotionally, physically, all of that shit – because you've got one friend, y'know."

She's Rachel Berry so of course one friend won't cut it for her, he knows it all too well. But he doesn't have forever, so it's worth a shot, right?

... ... ...

She's crying in the bathroom by the sinks and she doesn't even have time to wipe her tears before Rachel approaches her with a small grin, reaching her arm out and handing her a crumbled up tissue.

"I know it isn't easy for you, Santana," she whispers, tempted to reach her hand out and place it on Santana's shoulder because really, she needs some kind of comfort, even if she'll forever deny it. "Take it from me. I've got no friends; half of the school hates me…"

"I don't hate you," she turns around quickly, not even bothering to wipe the mascara marks that trickle down her cheeks.

"You don't?" Rachel furrows her brow.

"I was just pretending," she confesses.

"For almost three years?"

"Being jealous makes you do awful things sometimes," she walks out of the bathroom before Rachel can utter a single word.

But it's not like she knows what to say anyway.

… … …

Sectionals are a breeze – they've got to be a breeze because Rachel Berry is center stage belting Cinderella's A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes as the rest of New Directions pour onstage, backing her up with small hums.

A Whole New World starts and they know – they know they're winning this thing because there's no reason for them not to.

Santana opens her mouth to sing and hell, he can't stop staring. Sure, she avoided him the whole bus ride, then again backstage, but he still can't help himself. She's a combination of beauty and fierceness all in one and it's really fucking turning him on.

The urge is gone once they're finished and backstage and her arms are wrapped in Finn's because she was just 'so great out there' and because they 'totally got this thing'. Puck knows he could've told her the same thing and that could've been him standing there, so he tries his hardest to ignore that fucking pounding in his chest – the pounding telling him to man the fuck up and go and get that girl before someone else does.

"Hey," he's shocked she's decided to not be a stubborn bitch and totally avoid him, so he nods his head a bit, his hands deep in his pockets as his eyes meet hers. "Tell me how fucking shaky I was."

"Shouldn't Finn be telling you?" He's jealous – he's so fucking jealous and he couldn't give a fuck less if she figures it out.

"We're friends, remember?" She snickers. "Just like you and Berry have decided to be friends, Hudson and I are doing the same."

"Right," he nods.

"Just like us, too," she tells him.

"Right," he nods again.

That part was a lie, and the both of them couldn't know it any better.

… … …

Rachel's cried herself to sleep lots of times before. Once when she was ten because she completely screwed up her audition for Fiddler on the Roof and blew any chance of ever being Tzeitel, another time when she was twelve and grew tired of the constant taunting she received for having two gay dads, another time after that when she just turned fourteen and couldn't look in the mirror without scanning every inch of her skin and deeming it not good enough. She remembers reading somewhere whenever you cry yourself to sleep, it guarantees you bad dreams. She's still waiting for the proof.

She's crying tonight, only she's not so sure why – she figures it's just one of those days so she curls her body up and throws herself under a wad of blankets, letting the tears that fall from her eyes drip onto her pillow.

She has to check her phone because she's sure Finn's supposed to text her – he always texts around ten o'clock whether it's a hi or a goodnight or a stupid message about how Kurt's yelling at him for knocking over a vase again, it's always waiting for her.

She flips her body over and opens the cover of her phone, sighing as she lies back down on her bed and sinks her head farther into her pillow. So there's a text message waiting, but it's definitely not from him.

Don't do anything stupid, Berry.

There's another one right after that one, too.

If you need to talk, don't be afraid to shoot me a text. Like I said, we're friends. Sleep easy, OK?

So Noah Puckerman's her friend – he's really her friend. And she never thought she'd like it, but she guesses people can prove themselves wrong sometimes.

… … …

Rachel sits down with Finn at the table in his kitchen because she's going to help him – she's going to help him apply for college in early January even though he sighs the moment she picks up the first application and clicks her pen repeatedly, "It's better you get a head start, Finn."

"I'm not gonna get in," he says doubtfully. "You'll be at some kickass school like – like Julliard, and I'll be stuck here in Lima like, mowing lawns or some garbage."

"That's not true," she doesn't look up from the sheet of paper she's scribbling on. "If I can believe in you, why can't you believe in you, hm?"

"You don't – anymore," he takes his hand and places it over her wrist, stopping her from writing any more down on that stupid sheet of paper. "Just don't fill any more of those out, Rach."

"Beg all you want," she laughs. "At least let me fill out one application – it's Ohio State and there's no way they wouldn't accept you, Finn."

"It's not like I'll get into like, a New York school or anything fancy like that," he says.

"New York? I – I never knew you were interested in going to New York for college."

"I wasn't," he says after awhile. "Not before I knew you'd be going there."

Rachel knows what that means – she thinks she knows what that means.

"I – I just had this picture in my head – this stupid, stupid picture," he mumbles.

"And that picture would be…?"

"Me," he starts. "And you – me and you in New York City, you studying theatre and me studying, well, whatever. We'd have this super rad loft apartment with those awesome spiral stairs and a mini-fridge in the bathroom and two cats because I know even though you've always wanted a dog and I've always wanted a dog, you're like, super allergic so we'd have to settle with cats and –"

"Wow," is all she can manage to say before his lips are against hers and she can't feel anything so she totally drops that stupid pen he doesn't want her to be holding in the first place.

"You – you can hit me now," he tells her when they pull apart not three seconds later.

"Hit you?" She says quietly. "Why would I hit you? Finn, that – that was almost perfect. Almost."

"What would've made it perfect? Did – did I kiss you wrong?"

Rachel shakes her head. "We can't have a mini-fridge in the damn bathroom," she giggles.

Okay, so they aren't perfect, but they'll get there – he knows it and he thinks she knows it too.

… … …

Puck doesn't even remember the last time he's had sex with Santana – six or seven or maybe eight months ago.

But they're having sex tonight – rather, they had sex and she's still in his bed, which is pretty much a good sign, right?

"I've gotta hit the road in like, five," she tells him, hoisting her body from the pillow she's leaned up against and to the floor in search for her shoes and her keys and everything else of hers that's lying around his room.

"Wait," he grabs her wrist before she can get up. "I've gotta ask you one question."

"Shoot," she says.

"Where do you see yourself in five years?"

She snickers, "C'mon, I don't have time for this shit!" Santana swats his hand away from hers as she stomps out of the bed, bending down and throwing her shoes and her keys and all of her other shit right into her hands, not once looking over at him.

"You just fucked me senseless for like, an hour," he smirks. "I think you can stay for like, two more minutes. Just – just hear me out." She's pretty sure he's begging and even though she blames him for like, half of the things that are wrong with her, it's kind of hot and needy and all of the other emotions thrown into one – how can she leave?

"Fine," is all she says as she sits on his bed once again, folding one leg over the other and crossing her arms before letting out a huff.

"So…?"

"'So' what, Puck?" She yells.

"Let's just do this," he tells her, reaching for her wrist before she swats it away in disgust.

"Do what?"

"Please," he breathes heavily, her eyes rolling as she looks onto him because really, she doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. "We both know you wanna go out with me – whether the feelings were there two months ago, two years ago, you wanna go out with me."

She purses her lips together, "You're scaring me."

"Santana Lopez is never scared," he says coyly. "Like, ever."

"Not true," she shakes her head and looks up with those eyes that break his fucking heart – those once-in-a-blue-moon eyes he remembers her pulling only once before; only that night in the hotel just before Nationals junior year the moment they both realized just where Finn and Rachel ran off to. "Freshman year," she gulps.

"What?" He narrows his eyes and she drops her head, looking away from him and down at her lap.

"After I joined the Cheerios, I just – I just lost my head," she says quietly. "I let it get the best of me; I let it totally take over. I was sick."

For some reason, he still can't picture it – her scared – it just doesn't match up in his head.

"I starved myself," she says guiltily, looking up at him now as she bites her bottom lip. "I was scared – I was scared I'd never be able to stop."

"But you did," he says.

"Only because of you."

All he can think to himself is, well, 'what the hell' because he sure as hell doesn't know about any of this – not until today, of course.

"You started showing me how hot you thought I was at the end of freshman year, 'member?"

He gulps because yeah, he remembers. He remembers taking her virginity and fucking her senseless and turning her into what everyone still claims her to be – a slut. Only, she isn't really a slut; she isn't a slut at all. She's scared and he knows if he'd taken the chance to learn that before – that she's pretty much just one of those scared, vulnerable girls with that thick shell – things might've been different.

"I don't regret any of it, y'know," she nods. "I'm glad we got to know each other, even if it was only sexually."

"Lies," he laughs. "We were pretty kickass video gaming partners, too."

She giggles, biting her lip down as she clears her throat. "Let's get to know each other, Puck," she's grabbing his hands now and even though he should pull away – tell her to let go; to stop before she gets herself into something she can't back – he just doesn't.

"So is that a yes?" He asks her.

"You never asked me a question."

Fuck. "Fine," he moans. "Go out with me, San."

"That wasn't a question," she snickers.

"Santana," he grips her wrist with his fingers. "Would you stop being a stubborn bitch and go out with me?"

"No," is all she can say, and really, it takes him all he has not to lunge toward her and completely pound his fist into that stupid ass smirk she wears with a gallon of pride. "Ask me again after high school's over," she sighs.

"And why would you want that?" He furrows his brow and tries to keep his cool, even if he's fucking raged inside because, well, Santana Lopez is a total fucking tease and he just wants to hit anything and everything and sight and maybe even run his truck into the lake too.

So he deems her crazy, "We've gotta put the past behind us, Puck."

He groans.

"Ask me again graduation night and I'll say yes," she promises him. "That's if you actually graduate."

Sure, he's gotta work his ass off three times as harder now to guarantee himself a spot at graduation, but he'll do it. "See you in college, sucker."

So she tangles her lips in his before she dashes out of his house, her shirt buttoned in all the wrong places, her hair teased and her shoes on the wrong feet.

And they're back.

… … …

They study from four o'clock in the afternoon to around eight o'clock in the evening, and that's totally enough for Puck. Sure, the Berry's have a lovely home – good food, comfy chairs, all of that good shit – but he's had enough because he's pretty sure if Rachel jots down one more stupid note on those stupid sticky notes, he might just lose it.

"You must focus, Noah," she demands. "Your chances of receiving a letter of admittance to Ohio State are slim to none."

She pauses so he pauses along with her and begins indifferently flipping through the pages of the calculus textbook she sits in front of him.

"I know why you chose it," she says.

"You – you do?" No, she can't know – she doesn't have any fucking clue because he hasn't told her a thing.

"There'll be other Santana's," she tells him.

"There won't be other Finn's, will there?"

She's quiet.

He's right.

For once, he's right, right, right and Rachel's just wrong, wrong, wrong.

He's just going to embrace that.

… … …

Finn totally scores a B on his calculus exam, and he's not even sure how he does it, but his mom is like, super proud – so proud she even hangs his test up on the fridge.

His mom's invited Rachel to stay over for dinner because she's been helping him study since like, three o'clock so she must be starving, no?

Rachel can't help but nudge the bottom of Finn's leg with her foot every time his mom mentions something about him – her 'NYU boy', she calls him. "She's so proud," Rachel even whispers once his mom's gone into the kitchen to get more mashed potatoes off of the stove.

"I'm happy for you, Finn," Kurt speaks for the first time since dinner's began, which is pretty much a rarity for him. "I mean, even if you're only working your ass off to get into NYU for her." He looks over at Rachel and she's confused because, wait, they're supposed to be friends – they're supposed to be really good friends and from the look he's shooting toward her, she couldn't imagine him to detest her more.

"I'm –"

"You're what, Finn?" Something inside of her drops, but she's not sure whether to feel bad or good about this whole entire mess. "I thought NYU was your dream school."

"Funny," Kurt interrupts. "We all thought he'd just end up fixing cars in some auto shop downtown."

"Kurt!" His mom's back just in time, placing the mashed potatoes down on the table before shooting a furious glance in Kurt's direction. "Finn's worked his butt off for this – for NYU and for himself. Please, Kurt, keep your comments to yourself – whatever it is, keep it to yourself."

Finn chimes in, "Mom, I –"

"And, Kurt, if he did it for her," she emphasizes on the 'her', shooting her head to where a nervous Rachel sits. "Then so be it."

"Did you do this to impress me, Finn?" Rachel whispers, nudging his arm with her elbow.

"Sweetheart," his mom chimes in before Finn can utter a single word. "NYU or not, there's not a doubt in my mind I'll be at yours and Finn's wedding someday."

She tells herself to remind Finn to listen to his mom more – it's a must.

… … …

Puck's never had a solo – not one that mattered, anyway. Sure, he's covered everything from like, Billy Joel to Neil Diamond, and he tells himself that sure, that's pretty cool and all, but he's at Regionals and he's pretty sure the thousands of people in the audience are really close to making him want to piss his pants.

"Good luck," Quinn Fabray, of all people, places her hand to his back just before he turns the corner to the stage. "You and Santana'll kill the hell out of it."

"You think so?" Santana – he forgets they've gotta sing together, so his breaths become even heavier, beads of sweat peering down his body at every angle.

She nods, "I'm really happy for you both."

"Are we still talkin' about the song here or…?"

"Santana told me about everything at practice the other day – graduation, college, you," she smiles so he has to smile too, even if it's a just a little smile. "She's pretty pumped for graduation night."

He nods and gets ready to walk to the side door leading to the stage, but not before she grabs his forearm gently.

"I think it's fate," she tells him and all he can do is lift his brow because he's really got no idea what she's saying, but if she's tying Beth or any part of their history together into it, he can't hear it – he can't. "I know after sophomore year, I was kind of hoping we'd be together – and I think you were, too – but I think I can speak for both of us when I say things didn't turn out so badly after all, right?"

"Yeah," he nods after a moment of pure silence.

"C'mon!" Santana grabs him from behind, her nails digging into the skin on his wrist. "Let's do this!"

He runs to the side door, Santana's hand still to his arm as she fidgets beside him, but he can't help but look back to Quinn one last time.

He's pretty sure she mouths the words 'told you', but the lights fade and Santana's still on his arm, so he can't ask her whatever it is she said because he's rushed out onto the stage, the audience's faces blurred and dizzy as he listens to Santana let out the first note of the song.

But maybe he's not supposed to know – maybe that's part of the whole 'fate' business in the first place.

… … …

"Sleepy?" Finn asks her as they stand in the parking lot of Carmel High, his eyes still in admiration toward the four foot tall trophy that stands on the ground close to him. "Here, lean."

"Mm," Rachel mumbles. "We did it."

"We did," he beams proudly.

Rachel brushes her fingers up and down the sleeve of his shirt, smiling a little smile before leaning her head to his forearm. "One step closer to getting out of here," she tells him.

He nods.

"Hey," Santana walks toward them, her hands on her hips as she speaks quietly. "We sure kicked ass, huh?"

"Yeah," Finn nods his head. "You – you did great."

Santana smiles and looks down to his arm – down to a restless Rachel, her head nestled there as she closes her eyes for a moment. "Cute," she tells him. "You and Rachel, I mean."

"I know what you meant," he nods. "Hey, listen, can I uh – can I tell you something?"

"Mhm," Santana presses her lips together, nodding. "'Sup?"

He looks down to Rachel once before opening his mouth because he's gotta make sure she can't like, read his thoughts and blurt something out before he has the chance to. "I – I cheated on you junior year," he tells her guiltily. "It was a pretty crappy thing to do. I'm so sorry, Santana, I am. And I –"

"Stop. I know. S'okay," he knew she wouldn't be horrified – not angrily upset or anything like that – but she shrugs and just nods, a small, understanding grin still shining across her lips, so he finds it weird that she's like, ultimately cool with it all.

"It is?"

"Hey," she shrugs once more. "You do some crazy things for the people you love, huh? Look, if I don't get a wedding invite from either one of you within the next ten years, some serious shit'll go down, you hear me?"

He laughs for a second and then nods because, well, the thing he loves is still leaning far into his arm, and it'd be pretty crazy just to let it all go, wouldn't it?

Totally.

… … …

Santana Lopez doesn't do dates – never has, never will. Not until Noah Puckerman practically pleads for her to join him for coffee at that shitty little café down the street from his house, that is.

She's not sure why, but after practice she rushes home to shower, and she even tells herself she'll let her hair down, so she loosens it from the tight ponytail it's in and lets it sway just past her shoulder, because he totally digs her hair when it's down – he's told her like, once before and sober or not, she totally remembers.

She walks into the café fifteen minutes past five and he's already there, sitting at the farthest table in the back with a book, from what she can see.

"So you do read." She peers her head from behind his shoulder and taps her nails on the cover of the book, letting out a chuckle.

"Studyin'," he tells her. "I gotta get into Ohio State like it's nobody's business, y'know?"

"I've gotta keep up my shit so I can stay in Ohio State," she spats. "Since when are you taking interest in college anyway?"

"Screw you for even asking," he snickers. "Have a seat; there aren't two chairs there for nothin'."

She sits without a word, her eyes rolling as they meet the textbook he's ever so focused on.

"You look pretty," he looks up from the textbook for just a minute, arching his brow. "You do something different with your hair?"

"My God," she hisses. "You just know how to set me off, don't you?"

"In the bedroom and out," he props his head up and just looks at her as she sits unamused, her arms folded beneath her chest. "Can't you take a damn joke?"

"Following me to college isn't a joke," she says. "College is supposed to be my time to start over; to forget about Lima and about everyone and everything here – that includes you."

"That's just the thing," he shakes his head. "I wanna be the one thing you don't forget in college."

"Are you a dumbass?"

"Can dumbasses love someone?" He asks her.

She's still for a long moment; her cheeks flush pink as she nervously runs her hands through her hair.

"Is that a yes?"

She's still quiet, fidgeting and fiddling in every which way possible.

"I love you, you crazy bitch," he says bluntly, her eyes wide in shock.

"What –"

"I'm not takin' it back," he tells her, shrugging. "Graduation or no graduation, I just told you I love you and you better write it down – write the date, the time, everything – because it happened."

She reaches her arm across the table, wiping her shaky hand over his. "I take my coffee light, two sugars. It's on you, right?"

"The fuck I look like Lopez?" He snickers. "I'm over here like, pourin' my heart out to you and you have the nerve to ask me for coffee? Damn you to all hell and back, you –"

"Graduation night means graduation night," she nods. "I didn't just say that for nothin'."

He wants to tell her forget – I'm sorry, but since you're such a stubborn bitch, I'm gonna move on now – but there's no way in hell he can do that because she's Santana Lopez and he's Noah Puckerman and no matter how long it takes him to prove it to her, they're the best when they're being Santana Lopez and Noah Puckerman together.

So he sighs, places his hands in the pockets of his jeans and walks over to the counter, making sure to grab two sugars, just the way she likes it. He looks back for only a second to see her half-facing the window, a sly grin planted on her face.

(Damn that Lopez. Damn her, damn her, damn her.)

… … …

Finn comes over most every day after school because if they're not practicing for Nationals, they're studying their asses off. It's not that he minds, because she kisses him some days – they even make out on her bed once or twice when she's sure her dads won't be home 'till like, super late – but it's just so much work.

But today, he's totally running late because his car won't start, but he'll be there – he will. He leaves his phone deep inside the pocket of his jeans because she's probably called him like, forty times and he just can't talk right now.

He gets to her house by six o'clock and pulls out his phone as he closes his car door and walks up to her front steps – no missed calls or unread messages. He dials her three times and just gets her answering machine, so his first instinct is to lift up the doormat and grab the spare key – the one she's told him about for those 'just in case' moments that never happen but are cool to know about anyway.

The house is quiet and her dads are obviously at work or something because everything's like, totally dark and empty, so he just trails on upstairs and sighs before opening her room door. Empty.

He paces down the hall until he comes to the bathroom because there's definitely a light on in there, so he quickly starts to open the door until he hears a bang.

"Oh God," Rachel cries. "Go!"

"Rachel?" He breathes. "Let me come in, c'mon." So he opens the door a little bit more because, well, he's just gotta know what's going on.

"Finn, go," she immediately demands. "Please, go."

But for him, that only means push harder. He grabs the handle of the door and flings it open, only before he sees Rachel hunched over the sink, long black streaks of mascara dripping down her cheeks. "You're crying," he says.

"No shit," she hisses and he gasps because Rachel Berry doesn't believe in swearing – ever. "You're not going to be of any help, Finn, so go."

"That's not true," he grabs her chin with his index finger and his thumb, because really, he has all night – he'll wait all night with her in this stupid bathroom until she looks him in the eye at least once; just once. She jerks her head back before her eyes meet his, taking small breaths as she looks down into the sink. "Is that – Rachel, tell me you didn't do that crap again. I – I thought you stopped!"

"I thought I stopped too, Finn," she whimpers guiltily, throwing her hands up to her forehead and running them through her hair.

He wants to cry because he's looking at her and she's totally on the verge, and he's not sure how or why she even did this, but part of him wants to smack her silly for it. The blood inside of the sink ultimately stops any of those feelings, though.

"I'll clean it up myself," she offers, kneeling down to the floor as she reaches for a cloth in the bottom cabinet of the counters beneath the sink. "You can go home, really."

"Wait," he stops her before she can try to rush him out of the bathroom – rush him out of doing anything at all to help her. "Why'd you do it, Rach?"

"College," she whines. "Stupid NYU – stupid, stupid NYU."

His stomach drops because even though he's not sure what in hell he did, a wave of guilt builds over him like a tsunami and all he can do is reach out his arm and tug her close to his chest, even though he probably shouldn't be doing anything like that at all. "I won't go," he assures her.

She jerks her head up to his as she pulls herself out of his grip, "Okay."

"What do you mean 'okay'?"

"I mean 'okay'," says Rachel. "Just 'okay'."

He's quiet for a moment before he finally looks at her, his eyes dizzy and his stomach weak. "I was kinda hoping you'd say something other than 'okay," he breathes. "Telling me to go wouldn't have been so bad."

"We both know it's not what you want," she tells him. So maybe she's right – maybe the only reason he's taken any interest in a school like NYU is because she'll be there in New York, too; Rachel Berry'll be there in New York so it's only fair he try too, right? "You want to coach football in a small town like Lima, get married and maybe have a kid or two – I don't want anything like that at all. Finn, I want Broadway – I want fortune and fame and a small apartment on the Upper East Side, maybe a cat or two. Face it, we're not the same."

"But that's what makes us so cool, Rachel," he smiles a little bit. "I mean, we're not supposed to want the same things, right? We're supposed to like, find all of the things we like and somehow make them work."

She raises her eyebrow a bit as she scrubs the interior of the sink – the stains he can't bring himself to look at.

"You want two cats and Broadway? You'll get two cats and Broadway," he promises. "I want two kids and football? I can get that along with the two cats and Broadway."

He doesn't remember much else of their conversation – or much else at all, for that matter – because he's sitting on the edge of her bed as she sits in between his legs, his fingers fiddling with the zipper on her sweater because it just won't come off. "Mm," he presses his lips together. "Stay still."

"Wait – Finn, wait," she presses her hand to his chest and lunges her body forward, shimmying so the sleeves of her sweater rise up her arm once more, covering her bra strap. "Talk first," she breathes heavily.

So he doesn't remember how it happens by the time they're awakened by the sound of one angry Mr. Berry pounding on the door to her bedroom at six thirty in the morning, but he's pretty sure they've got their whole future mapped out and it only took one night, a couple of tears and a few kisses to do so.

Score one for Finn Hudson.

(And he can't wait to make a touchdown.)

… … …

Santana hasn't had an actual conversation with Rachel in like, weeks. Usually, she'd shrug because well, what the hell ever, you don't actually like her anyway. But today she's window shopping in the mall all by herself after Cheerios practice because she feels like being anywhere but home, and she can't help but think of Rachel when she passes by the dress store and pauses, looking onto the hundreds of dresses all lined up, untouched and like, super perfect.

"Hey," she greets. "I'm at the mall and I just passed by the dress store and there's like, hundreds of 'em – I just thought of you because on the bus on the way to Regionals, you totally told me how much you dreamed of going to prom and like –"

"Slow down," Rachel laughs. "Is this an invite for an afternoon in the mall with you, lady?"

"I'd be like, totally offended if you didn't show up," Santana tells her.

"I'll see you there in twenty," Rachel says.

She shuts her phone and stops herself from smiling because, well, she doesn't actually like Rachel Berry anyway – nope.

(But Rachel Berry's going to look like, totally stunning in that purple ensemble Santana sees from the window of the store – yup.)

… … …

Finn walks out of the guidance counselor's office just as Rachel's walking down the hall on her way to rehearsal and he's totally stoked and she's totally stoked too.

"I have a 3.2 GPA!" "I got my letter!" They both yell out at once.

"You first," Rachel says.

"I've got a 3.2 GPA," he says, almost glowing. "You know what that means?"

"The Upper East Side apartment and Broadway and football and two cats and two kids – which I'm naming Liesl and Gretl after The Sound of Music, of course – I'm guessing?"

"First off, those names are like, totally ugly, but…" Rachel smacks his forearm with her hand. "The rest is spot on."

She's silent and he isn't sure if it's because he just like, totally insulted those Von Trapp kids or because really, she'd rather not have him join her in New York after all.

"Well say something," he begs.

"I just really like being Finn Hudson's girlfriend," she giggles.

"So we're back to that now?" He jokes.

"Let's just pretend we never left it," she says.

One step closer to a touchdown – sweet.

… … …

He hates the idea of prom and she hates the idea of prom, so why not go together, right?

Wrong.

Puck spends prom night scrubbing Santana Lopez's vomit off of the seats of his car. And sure, he thinks that he like, loves her and shit so he'd do it for her regardless, but he'd like to see anyone else try and do it – it's no party, that's for sure.

"S'all good," he tells her after the hundredth time she chants out an 'I'm sorry!' to him as she sits in the passenger seat.

"It's not, really," she leans her head back into the seat, moaning.

"S, stop apologizing," he says. "But next time Mike Chang throws a pre-party, y'might wanna count the amount of liquor you drink, really."

"Oh, you're one to talk," she snickers. "You run around town getting drunk whenever the fuck you feel like it and you're telling me to control my liquor."

"S –"

"No," she holds up her index finger and hisses. "You're jealous of Mike Chang. I – I kissed him y'know. I kissed him tonight in the kitchen at his pre-party and I'm not saying sorry."

So the liquor's still in her system, he knows that much.

"Cool," is all he can say without feeling the urge to punch something; anything.

"But I don't love him," she says quickly.

"You don't love me either," Puck tells her.

"I thought so too," she says. "I really thought so – and up until tonight, I'm not sure I did."

"What changed?"

"I did, Puck," she tells him. "I'm not – I'm not that stupid little bitch who's gonna expect you to be everything you're not; I don't expect you to want to go to college and be like, a lawyer or some shit. You wanna mow lawns? You go right ahead!"

He grins now because if he didn't know it before, he knows it now. Santana Lopez is undoubtedly the coolest bitch alive. "And you'd still love me?"

"I'll still love you," she exclaims.

"'Gotcha," he points his index finger to her and snickers.

"I don't – I don't get it."

"You just admitted that you love me, Santana Lopez," he tells her. "And you can't take it back, either."

"God knows I won't," she sighs.

... ... ...

The day he gets his letter from NYU, he's not even sure he wants to open it, so he tosses it on the coffee table with all of the other mail – credit card bills (ala Kurt), phone bill, all of that useless junk.

"No!" Rachel's sitting on the couch in his living room waiting for the soccer game she was forced into watching with him to start when she reaches out her arm to the coffee table and picks up the letter herself. "I won't let you ignore it."

"Oh, the perks of being Rachel Berry's boyfriend," he says sarcastically.

"You'll thank me in the future," she tells him. "If you're not opening it, I am. Now sit."

Even as he fights her by tugging on her wrists and blowing a huge, wet kiss onto her neck to like, totally distract her, she still manages to tear it open and read it before he even has the chance to stop her.

"Oh," is all she says as she scans the letter, so it totally makes him nervous, because either she's being a complete tease or he's been rejected, which isn't only bad for him, but like, completely embarrassing too.

"Well…?" He's fiddling with his fingers as he nervously looks on.

She just looks up at him and smiles – not a 'Congratulations, you got in!' kind of smile, but like, a 'Broadway, football, two cats, two kids, Upper East Side apartment' kind of smile. "New York's going to be some adventure."

"Oh," he's still for a minute. "Oh! Are you kidding?" He just wants to squeeze her – he wants to wrap his arms around her tiny frame and just squeeze every inch of her because he's totally going to NYU and she's totally going to Julliard and together he's pretty sure they're totally gonna kick ass in New York City.

"C'mere, coach," she opens her arms for a hug and that's when he knows he's like, the luckiest guy ever with like, the best girlfriend ever. "I'm so proud of you!"

"I'll keep making you proud," he promises her. "And I'll make Gretl and Liesl proud, too."

"Oh goodness," she slams her palm into her forehead and giggles. "You even remembered the names."

"I remember lots of things," he says. "One of them being you thinking we'd never make it."

"I guess I can be wrong," she says. "But – but only sometimes!"

... ... ...

He doesn't know who the girl pacing around the dressing room, her hands at her hips and she worriedly rushes back and forth claiming her pitch is 'completely off' is, but he asks her what she did with his girlfriend, because Rachel Berry is never nervous.

"But it's Nationals," is her excuse.

He can tell – he can tell how much she wants to burst into tears at that very moment and he can't blame her because, well, it's the end. It's the last time they'll ever be exiting those doors backstage and onto that stage as a team; as New Directions.

"I'll miss it," she tells him after a good moment of silence. "All of it."

"You'll have Broadway," he says. "Once you have Broadway, all of this'll seem like nothing."

"Not true," she says. "I'll never forget any of this."

It's showtime, he's pretty sure, because the lights totally just blinked twice and Santana's totally pushing his body and Rachel's body and yelling at them to get out there; to go on stage and kick ass for them – for all of them.

"Break a leg," Finn whispers as they stand behind the curtain, taking note of Rachel's shaky limbs.

"I love you," is all she has time to say before the music begins.

... ... ...

So they win Nationals senior year and it's over and done with quicker than any other competition before. It's their last, yes, but by far the best. By the time they're off the stage and behind it, everyone's hands are meshed with everyones', a pool of tears drowning out much of everything around them.

"Hi," Santana nudges Puck as she finally finds his arm in the crowd that is New Directions; their glee club meshed together in a circle, leaning on one another as the tears fall from their faces. "We did good out there."

"We did," she thinks he's crying but she says nothing because she's like, super close to crying too, so she just gulps and takes his hand with hers. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"This," he says. "And that." He's looking down at his hand and her hand and he strokes his thumb over her knuckles for like, half of a second, which she thinks is pretty sweet.

"I love you, Puck," she whispers.

"What was that for?"

"Just felt like it," she says.

"I can get used to that," he laughs.

... ... ...

Everyone's congratulated one another and they're tired – Mr. Schuester wraps up his speech in the lobby of the hotel pretty quickly and tells them they should go off and enjoy themselves; it is only the prettiest hotel in California. Finn holds Rachel's hand all the way up to his hotel room, and it's cool, even if she stops in her tracks every five seconds to comment on the judges' unfair scoring method or the way the judge all the way to the left stared her down (and not in a good way) as she belted the notes to Hairspray's Without Love, the song she'd been most excited to perform.

"But we won, babe," he says.

"But the judges were cruel, Finn," she tells him as they walk toward the elevator.

"But we did it," he turns his head to her and kisses her – he just kisses her because, well, he can.

"Here's to New York," she smiles.

He nods, "To New York. And Gretl and Liesl."

She gives him a quick kiss on the lips because she knows he'll never let that one go – ever.

"Hey Finn," Puck steps out of the elevator just as they're walking in, Santana's hand in his. "'Sup Rachel? You two headed somewhere?"

"My room," Finn tells Puck as he just raises his brow and nudges Finn on the elbow. He's pretty sure that's code for like, getting some.

"Have fun, kids," Puck teases. "San and I are gonna head down to get something to eat, so we'll see you whenever."

"See you whenever," Rachel answers, grabbing Finn's hand and tugging him into the elevator just before it closes.

"Did you see that?" Finn turns to her and manages to get the words out just before she can; he knows she's going to ask the same thing, too.

"They're happy," she says. "It's refreshing."

"We're happy too," he grabs her fingers and loops his through them.

"Yeah," she tells him. "We're happy, too."

... ... ...

Graduation day isn't supposed to be sad, right? Finn swears to himself he'll get out of there before he has the chance to witness any tears because, well, who wants to be surrounded by like, a million crying people when all you should be excited for is getting the hell out of high school, right?

Wrong.

He feels himself cry right as they call up the 'B's'. Rachel Berry flutters to the back of the line of people waiting to get their diplomas, the blue and gold gown draping over her body. She does a little wave to Finn because he's in one of the front rows – the 'H' section – and he nods and blows a kiss back to her. Once she turns around, he turns to that random guy with the awful imitation of Puck's mohawk and just says, "That was my girlfriend." Not that the random guy with the awful imitation of Puck's mohawk cares – really, he doesn't – but he's just so damn proud and she's just there and all his and he's just got to share.

"Cool, dude," is all the random guy with the awful imitation of Puck's mohawk manages to say.

"She is cool," Finn answers.

So the ceremony's over in like, two hours, and he's seen about enough people cry that he swears he's in a war zone. He's gotta get out, really, so he makes a plan to find Rachel as quick as he can in the mess of people scattered across the football field, take a few pictures or whatever, and totally get out.

"Finn!" It's not Rachel, but Santana, and sure, any other day he'd be kind of happy to talk to Santana, but not now – definitely not now. "Congratulations." She holds out her arms to give him a hug so he's got to hug her back.

"You see Rachel anywhere?" He asks her.

"Nope," she presses her lips together and scans the field once or twice before shaking her head. "But once you find her, bring her over to me and Puck."

"Why?" He's confused and cluttered and he's pretty sure he's claustrophobic because he's heard his mom claim herself it once or twice during her Black Friday shopping, and he totally feels the same way.

"I was thinking about plans for later," she says. "Just the four of us."

"Cool," he says and manages to smile, even though the only plans he thinks of are the ones he's made with Rachel – sex, sex and more sex, because they totally haven't done that in like, God knows how long.

"Santana!" Rachel skips over to Santana, enveloping her in a huge hug that makes Finn kind of jealous because, well, he could use a huge hug right now too – he totally just graduated high school; he thinks that's pretty deserving.

"Don't forget about later, Berry," Santana doesn't even have to specify and Rachel nods her head 'yes' about three times.

"I won't!" She tells her just before Santana runs off, probably to find Brittany or Puck or her parents or someone.

"Hi," Rachel turns to Finn, which makes him kind of happy because for a second there, he was pretty sure she completely forgot of his existence. "So, we're graduates."

"That we are," he says, his hands in his pocket as he huffs a little.

"I'm happy," she tells him. "Like, really happy."

"I know you are," he breathes. "Don't look back from here, okay?"

"What – w'do'u mean?"

"Do I have to say it?" He asks.

"No," Rachel looks down at the ground, scraping the heel of her ballet flat in the grass. "I promise – from now on it'll just get better, okay?"

"Cool," he says. "I'm looking forward to every minute of it."

... ... ...

It's midnight the time they actually all meet up – Finn, Puck, Rachel, Santana all together.

They're sprawled out across the Berry's lawn, and Rachel tells them that if they ignore the feeling of the mosquitoes eating at their legs, they could make the night a little fun.

"Julliard, huh?" Puck asks her as he cracks open one more beer. "Pretty sweet accomplishment if you ask me."

"Why thank you, Noah," Rachel lies across a sheet she spreads across the grass. "It's truly an honor to know I'll be attending one of the greatest schools for theatrical studies of all time, really."

"Must be," he says. "Must be pretty awesome draggin' along this one with you." He points to Finn, who's sitting with his legs folded just beside Rachel's sheet.

"I wanted to go," Finn chimes in. "New York'll be awesome."

"So will paying for rent and all of that good shit," Puck says sarcastically. "But really, I am happy for you two."

"Me too," Santana adds. "Like I said, I better get an invite to that wedding; I don't care which one of you it's from, but I better be getting one."

"We haven't actually planned our wedding," Rachel tells her. "Just our children – Gretl and Liesl who'll be named in honor of only the greatest family of all musical history."

"You gonna have cats, too?" Puck snickers.

"Two." Finn adds, smiling into his beer bottle.

"I've gotta say," Santana says. "We've come a long way since junior year."

"Who would've thought we'd all be sittin' on Berry's front lawn sharing beers and actually like, talking?" Puck adds.

"Not me," Rachel says.

"Me either," Finn says in between sips.

They all sit for a moment – Santana seated in between Puck's legs and Rachel's hand tapping on Finn's knee as he sits beside her. They're not sure it was meant to be like this – Finn and Rachel, Puck and Santana – but they're not so sure that they changed destiny either. Perhaps letting things settle – letting things fall into place – worked.

"You excited for OSU, you two?" Finn asks after a moment of silence, only the chirps of the crickets that totally like, creep him out able to be heard.

"Not goin'," Puck tells him as Rachel's jaw practically falls in shock.

"The fuck?" Finn asks. "Why wouldn't you go? You had a plan, asshole."

"Wasn't my original plan," Puck tells him. "San's gonna go to OSU, kick some ass, all of that good shit. I'm gonna study a little more and just go to community for a year or two; figure out what I wanna do with my life before I rush into things."

"We'll still see each other," Santana's talking more towards Puck than she is explaining to a confused Finn and Rachel. "I mean, I'll still be in Ohio so we'll – we'll make time."

"Mm," Puck kisses the top of her hair before she squirms out of his lap and onto the lawn to fetch another beer.

"Who would've thought?" Puck whispers to Finn when he's sure Rachel and Santana are too wrapped up in their own conversation about these really good wine coolers Santana's tried and the Von Trapp's, who are only Rachel's idols (after the one and only extraordinary Barbra Streisand, of course.)

"W'do'u mean, dude?"

"We came pretty far," Puck nods proudly. "We've got girlfriends, college ahead of us, you're going to New York. I mean, it didn't turn out so bad after all, right?"

"Dude," Finn chuckles, clinking his bottle to Puck's. "This is only the beginning."

It's the beginning alright, and they're in for one hell of a ride.

... ... ...

fin.

a/n: Well, that's all! I hope it wasn't too disappointing. Feedback is most definitely welcomed! I hope you'll continue to read other works of writing I'll most likely establish in the future, as well. :)