you're too young & eager to love

Glee is god damn addicting. I sat down to write a piece on Inception, because at least that's considered more adult, and wham! Out came Jesse, Rachel, and Finn. I've entered a whole new realm of nerdom.

I'm not used to writing teenagers. Especially relatively light and fluffy teenagers. So, I didn't think my usual writing style of intended fancy metaphors fit. I sacrificed that for hopefully accurate characterization.

There's ... not really an ending. Because some things never change. There is, however, 3 pages worth under the cut.




For her, it’s really always been about Finn - until it isn’t.



Jesse is bright and brilliant with a vocal range that, most of the time, is astonishing (even if he does betray her, leaving her to feel like Webber’s Phantom - except that has Jesse as the female lead, and that seems more like Kurt’s style). Rachel had been waiting for him, she thinks. Waiting for a worthy heart and a strong jaw line. Rachel, with her carousal sweaters and patterned tights, her sort of quiet indignation and affinity for self-martyring. Not the type of girl accustomed (or expecting) to get The Big One (because this was a boy, far less attainable for her than New York City) – the Dream Boat type of Catch. It’s more than okay that she gets the leads in Glee club because, really, who else is going to hit that high note in Defying Gravity? Who else would appreciate each show tune showstopper enough to tear up at every rendition?

But she wasn’t expecting this.



She’s far above asking her peers for permission, but their mixed responses (anger, annoyance, a little bit of envy) leaves her feeling ruffled at the edges. She stares for a long time at the piano, her hands delicate on her lap, reserved except for the way she swallows hard. Jesse sees it, and he sees that Finn notices it too, is following the ripple of her throat. Jesse also knows what’s about to happen. Knows that Rachel is – like always – planning the words in her head, getting them right, before speaking aloud.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, breaking up the bits of conversation and even getting Mr. Schue’s attention. This isn’t about being a diva or having some ridiculous sing-off. This is Rachel’s entitlement and determination. “I’m sorry that it’s so impossible to imagine anyone wanting to date me. And I’m sorry – “ she isn’t, she so isn’t, but every apology comes as a resonating slap. “ – that I have friends who can’t just be supportive and happy for me.” She stands up, grabs a pile of her belongings and keeps them clutched to her chest as she marches out of the rehearsal room, pace quick and head held high.

Rachel has dramatic exits mastered in the way Jesse has down cinematic entrances.

When he goes after her a few seconds later, he has to sidestep Finn. He nudges him in the shoulder while passing, for good measure. “Not your problem.” The jock, despite his two left feet and limited vocal control, is a better friend to Rachel than the rest – Jesse has to admit that. But this here is boyfriend territory, and he’s not above giving Finn a reminder.



They find a spot at the left wing’s stairwell. She’s already called one of her dads to come pick her up, and that will take at least fifteen minutes. She’s sad so, naturally, she’s a little thirsty and grateful for packing a bottled water in her purse this morning. Jesse puts a hand on her leg, close to the hem of her skirt. His fingers are doing that brushing intimate motion that makes Rachel blush. She gives him a full five seconds before, as politely as possible, moving his hand away. It was starting to inch up her thigh.

Jesse means well, she thinks, but sometimes he doesn’t understand the melancholia that goes into the serious devotion for this kind of wallowing.



From the start, Finn doesn’t trust Jesse. There’s the whole Vocal Adrenaline back-story, sure, but it’s more than that. Deeper. He wonders if it’s a territorial thing, even though him and Rachel are broken up, even though he was the one who had called it off, even though he has to remind himself once a week that they’re not a couple anymore.

Also, Jesse’s a douche. There’s that too.

It’s annoying. Jesse (sometimes) catches Finn staring (accidentally) at Rachel during practices, and he’ll do something like touch her hip or run his fingers down her arm. Then, although they’re doing warm ups and Rachel is intent on not making any mistake, she still gives Jesse one of those hopeful, adoring looks from the corners of her eyes. He’s not sure whether to vomit or strangle Jesse with his own scarf (which, to Finn, looks like it came from Kurt’s closet. So maybe that’s why Rachel can like it?).

The thing is, he doesn’t mean to look at Rachel. It just happens. Like a tornado or a fever.

He’s trying to figure it out. Besides, everyone else is starting to accept Jesse. For his voice and charisma. It’s a clever disguise, but Jesse is just like the monsters that hid in the shadows when Finn was six and couldn’t sleep. He’s all talons and teeth and smoke. Nobody else sees it, and the trouble is that Finn can’t figure out how to turn on the light.



Jesse does something like ignoring him in the hallway. It’s not like they do much talking, but Finn can’t stand to be blatantly ignored. It’s rude, and his mother raised him to expect more than that from people. Or maybe it’s just hot and football practice was grueling. Either way, it’s the cherry on top of his bad day sundae. “Hey!” Like any given afternoon in high school, the hallway is crowded, but Jesse hears him, stops, and turns halfway around impatiently. “Can you, like, not do that?”

“What?”

“Walk away when I’m trying to talk to you.”

Jesse doesn’t even attempt to look bothered. This is especially infuriating because it’s almost as if he can’t tell (or worse, doesn’t care) that Finn is taller and stronger. He raises an eyebrow and makes a smug, lopsided smirk before deliberately showing his back. He walks always then, a confident and unhurried gait.

Finn starts planning how many times someone could, plausibly, be shoved against the lockers a day.



It bothers him how Rachel acts around Jesse. Actually, to be honest, he’s never cared for how Rachel acts in a group setting. She gets that annoying holier-than-thou superiority complex and a need to surpass everyone. One on one though, Rachel makes him laugh. She’s more fun, and he likes the way she wraps pieces of her dark hair around her fingers.

Not that her hair fidgeting is the reason he ends up on her couch. It’s a Wednesday night, and he was going to do the right thing, the friendly thing, and lecture her about how dating Jesse is one of her worst decisions ever (and she’s had a lot, like wearing a yellow sundress with penny-loafers, as Santana pointed out). It’s a hard thing for Finn to do, because he’s always admired how fearless Rachel is, how she is unafraid of being different, and how, once her mind is made up, she cannot be held back. He doesn’t expect the conversation to be an easy one, but he doesn’t even get to start it because she answered the door with her customary wide-mouthed smile, told her him her dads were out of town, and then the next thing Finn knew he was listening to her gush about Debbie Reynolds and Gene Kelly.

Five minutes later, he’s finally able to get a word in. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s fine.” He thinks that’s that but isn’t too surprised when she puts on a DVD of Singing in the Rain and asks if he’d like popcorn.

It should feel weird, because her feet end up on his lap and he’s noticing, for the first time, the toe ring she wears. It’s a gold star, which makes him want to laugh. But he doesn’t, and it isn’t. It’s just Rachel. It’s familiar. But halfway through the movie, he gets a sinking feeling inside his gut. It doesn’t have anything to do with the popcorn he’s been eating (to keep his hands busy). It feels a little like regret, a little like what he felt when he would kiss Quinn in her expensive bed. It might have something to do with Rachel – Finn’s pretty sure that’s true – and for thinking she was too smart and too crazy for him.



Jesse calls Finn a few nights later. He’s in the middle of pretending to watch a TV show, and he does the stupid thing of answering.

“I was thinking,” and his voice still sounds arrogant even through a cellular device, “because Rachel told me about your movie night, that unless you’re planning to stand outside her window with a stereo blasting the soundtrack to Tim Rice’s Aida–“

“You know what,” Finn cuts him off, relying on a sudden surge of anger. “I understand what you’re doing. You might have everyone else fooled, but I’m not. You’re going to hurt her. And I care about her, okay? That counts for something.”

He hangs up when Jesse starts laughing.



The next time he sees Rachel in school, she looks flushed. Not exactly pressed up against the locker but definitely trying to lean further into the unyielding metal. Jesse is looming over her, looking like he was born to be in that position, grinning while his fingers play with the ends of Rachel’s hair.

Finn gnaws on his bottom lip. He used to love the closeness of her breath and the feel of her forehead against his. He still would. He’s also used to Rachel knowing exactly what she wants, but her body language makes her seem uncertain, so that has him feeling uncomfortable. Like a witness or voyeur. Like maybe he should barrel on over there and play hero, but she wraps an arm around Jesse’s neck and timidly leans in to kiss him before Finn even gets the chance.