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.

( ... )

I feel like I opened an impossible door.

This is why you don't write a Glee piece, then start marathoning the first season. Why? Because half-way through you get inspired to do another piece. Although this is just really a snippet. Writing Rachel is easy, since we (sadly) have too much in common, and Finn's such a nice character (even during his occasional bad-boy moments) that I want to hug him. In other words, this is fun fun fun.

Let's see how long I can go before I start writing Glee porn. Woo.

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Rachel’s legs are pressed together so tightly that they’re shaking. She’s wearing a scared, lost little girl look – the one she so faithfully falls back on during times of stress. It matches the egg yolk in her hair, which, coincidentally, almost matches the yellow cotton of her shirt. Every now and then, she lets out a sniffle. A half gasp, half whimper noise. But she isn’t crying, and Finn has to give her credit – she’s holding together decently well, all things considered. He can pretty much see the tension in her shoulders, the strict iron path of her spine, her hands fists on her thighs. It’s not the same type of tension that arises from having to sing and dance for months next to the guy who got your girlfriend pregnant, but – for once – he doesn’t think Rachel’s worried about competing.

The others don’t know (he’s not a boaster, not a bragger) but it’s Finn that takes care of Rachel that day, after Jesse humiliates her in the school parking lot. Practically makes an omelet on top of her head. Being the non-violent vegan that she is, Rachel will have nightmares about those unborn chickens for weeks. She’ll wake up smelling butter and fried souls. For now, she’s just uncomfortable and hurt and broken hearted.

Finn is warm and solid and close to her. He keeps the radio down low and is grateful that, today of all days, his mother let him take the car to school. Grateful that he was the one to find her, stunned and close to tears, while a bunch of Range Rovers spun out of the parking lot. He knows the way to her house, drives the car safely and parks it near the side of the curb so that her fathers won’t ask him to back out of the driveway when they get home. He’s the one that holds her hand, takes her backpack and places it near the door, hangs up her jacket after checking for stains and eggshells.

He could say, I told you so, what did you expect, or you were wrong. He doesn’t. He starts the hot water in the shower and, because it can’t hurt, puts on her favorite Streisand album. Next week, he’ll talk about motivations and how she’s both annoying and strong-willed. He’ll use the type of tone his mother always uses, the serious listen-to-me voice. She’ll lean in and kiss him, suddenly, heavy-lidded dark eyes and the fall of her hair like a ghost across his cheek.