It's been one day. She hasn't taken a shower and comes to school with jean clad legs and a baggy grey sweatshirt (for one short moment, she allows herself the wish of the sweatshirt being his and not her dad's, then maybe she would be able to inhale his scent one last time).

She can't physically allow the thought of putting on her animal sweaters and leg warmers (the memory of him telling her he liked the way she dresses is etched into her mind).

She never looks up during English class, rolls her pencil across the desk and fights the burning sting of tears that threaten to spill at any given breath. (she has let herself cry her way to sleep for the past two nights and has been taken by surprise at how many times her heart clenches)

It takes her a good twenty minutes to walk the short three minute distance to the choir room. She looks through the window and holds her breath. She doesn't want to step foot in this room. She had thought, that maybe, just maybe, these 11 people were finally her true friends. She stifles a sob as she realizes Santana was right, everyone was only pretending to like her.

See I thought love was black and white

That it was wrong or it was right

But you ain't leaving without a fight

And I think I I am just as torn inside

It's been five days. She misses him something fierce. She is lying in bed when she notices his hat for the first time. It's a ratty old thing. She hates it when he wears it. Now, she would get on her knees to see him wear it.

The burning feeling that overwhelms her propels her out of the bed to grasp the hat. She balls the hat up into her fist, taking the steps towards the trash can, hurls into the container and stands silently with flashing eyes and a pulsing heart. Without a word, she bends to pick up faded grey hat.

She falls asleep, hat tucked under her chin, the smell and touch of him lingering in the air.

It's been eight days. Eight hellish days. She wonders if she will ever get through two hours without crying.

She's not sure how the phone ended up in her hands. Even more surprised at the fact that her fingers punched in his numbers.

"Finn-hi, it's me, I know I shouldn't be calling. I'm sor-sorry to call you. But, I was missing you and thinking back to your mom's wedding reception a few weeks ago. Remember how you only had two glasses of champagne and you ended up slipping on the front steps and you in your tipsy stupor almost pulled me down with you? I still am amazed at little amount of alcohol consumption and its strong effect on you, I mean, with your body mass index and height and all. Anyway, what I meant to say is, remember how we just sat on the steps, laughing and not being able to catch our breaths? You are my friend, Finn, my best friend, and I need my best friend. Will-will you come over? Just, come over? Please?"

She swears while hitting the end button on the call. She stares at the phone in her hands, already shuffling through explanations in her head in case he calls back after hearing her pathetic ramblings.

Twenty minutes later, she's greeted with a knock on the door. He stands before her, eyes wild and nearly doubling over, trying to catch his breath.

"You came."

He stares at her, incredulously, still gasping for air.

"Of course, I came, you asked me too. You sounded terrible. I was worried."

She hangs her head. She didn't think it was possible to feel more shame than what she felt about her actions with Puck, but here she was, the shamefulness of her phone call bearing down on her.

"I know, I'm so sorry. Of course you'd come, I'm sorry for causing you to worry and run over here. I can't believe it, I'm that girl! The girl who can't stop crying and bemoaning the fact about her break-up. I'm sorry, Finn, it won't happen again, I swear."

His gaze is enough to break her down once more and the words that flow from his mouth pierce her heart.

"You can't stop crying?"

Something inside her snaps. This is it. She's done wallowing in her self-loathing pity. She's Rachel doesn't give up Berry and while, yes, she does still feel like her heart has been smashed to a million little pieces. She's picking up the pieces and she will try her damnedest to put them back together.

"I'll be fine. I promise. I won't bother you again."

She walks up the porch stairs and reaches for the doorknob, yet, is still drawn to turn around one last time (she wonders if he's still there). He's still there. Standing at the bottom step, peering up at her. Silently, she walks down a few steps and uses the height advantage to softly touch his cheek. She kisses the spot where her fingers were. She doesn't see him blink away tears.

They both almost miss her parting words of "I'm sorry, Finn."

She does miss his parting words which are lost in the wind "You can bother me again."

You'll never be what is in your heart

Weep Little Lion Man,

You're not as brave you were at the start

It's been twelve days. She has made it four days without shedding a tear. Victory. She even manages a smile at practice when Artie starts rapping and pretending to be MC Hammer and starts inching his wheelchair towards her seductively while everyone else laughs and joins Artie in his rendition of "Can't Touch This". For a whole glorious three minutes, she feels relief and even a glimmer of hope.

The song dies away and he walks in. She has seen him every day since and every time, she swears her heart crumbles a bit, but in spite of it all, she presses on and looks at him, even attempts a soft smile. He looks back and all she sees is a pool of chocolate brown, rimmed in red.

Take all the courage you have left

Wasted on fixing all the problems

That you made in your own head

It's been twenty-three days. She's slowly but surely finding a routine. She's back on her work-out schedule, even adding a spinning class that provides a major endorphin high. She's back to wearing to wearing her animal sweaters and loafers (the leg warmers will take some more time, but she's getting there).

As she walks the short two blocks back to her house, still perspiring from the vigorous work-out, she reaches into her sequined bag (retail therapy was so much more healing than Ms. Pillsbury) and gropes around for her keys.

"Haven't your dads taught you that you always have your keys out and ready? You never know you may be lurking around."

She nearly wets herself right then and there and her slight scream causes him to stand quickly and apologize for almost giving her a heart attack.

"No, but they did teach me to carry around mace and a rape whistle."

She passes by him and focuses her eyes ahead, walking up her steps and unlocking and opening the front door. She stops in the doorway and drops her bags to the ground with a loud thud. She always was dramatic.

She turns around, ready for a full-fledged speech, complete with hands on her hips and several instances of hair flipping.

He gives her no chance to speak a word. He's pulling her towards him, barely hearing his mumble of a sentence.

"I needed to bother you."

His last word falls on her lips and in one swift motion, he pushes their bodies inside and gives the door a resounding kick closed.

She's hanging on for dear life, her arms thrown around his neck. He's bruising her lips and the fire within her threatens to swallow her whole.

Somehow, they back into the carpeted stairs, limbs and hearts tangled. Her breath hitches as he pulls away and buries his head in her shoulder, she's gasping for air and trying to wrap her cloudy mind about what was actually taking place.

What leaves her completely breathless is the wetness seeping into the shoulder of her t-shirt.

She made Finn Hudson cry? Seriously? How many times has he made her cry? She untangles her hand, ready to push it against his chest, removing his head from his home on valley between her neck and shoulder. He can't just come into her house and kiss her like this.

Chocolate, red-rimmed eyes. His bottom lip barely trembling. That was it. She was done.

She pulls him back to her fiercely. She was done living without him.

It's been twenty-four days.

Her t-shirt and yoga pants are hanging on the railing, his jeans and belt littered across the hallway.

He watches her sleep, mesmerized by the early morning sunlight streaming through and leaving bronzed patterns across her cheeks, eyes and hair. He trails a finger starting at her lips and ending at the dip between her breasts. She stirs and opens one eye. Seeing and remembering all at once, she opens both eyes and stares back at him, her look questioning.

They both don't say a word.

But it was not your fault but mine

And it was your heart on the line

I really fucked it up this time

Didn't I, my dear?

Didn't I, my...

A/N:

I own nothing. Songs are "Where I Stood" by Missy Higgins and "Little Lion Man" by Mumford and Sons. Review as you see fit!