A/N: And... onto part two! Again: I hope you enjoy this as much as you enjoyed part one (if you actually did enjoy part one, that is).

He doesn't know how he gets her to agree, but she tells him she's just got a few more calls to make to the kids' parents she gives vocal lessons to throughout the week, and then she's bringing her luggage on over to his place and going to the airport with him. "I have nowhere else to go," she says. "And, well, it is Fourth of July weekend, after all, so I figured 'why not'?"

"G—good," he says, holding the phone up to his ear using his shoulder, zipping the last of the luggage up, crouching down by his bed. "I told my mom I'd be bringing my best friend home with me, so..."

"So you're positive she and your stepdad won't mind my company?" She worries too much.

"N—not at all," he says. "My stepdad, he's been pretty sick lately and stuff, so the company'll be pretty good for him. He knows you're my best friend, Kurt told him."

"Well I think that's lovely," she says. "Your family really is nice for letting me stay with them and all. I appreciate it, believe me."

He presses his lips together, pats his suitcase with his fist once and says, "Thanks for comin' with me. Y'know, even though we haven't left yet, just... thanks."

"Finn, you're my best friend. You invited me to go to Ohio with you and your family for the Fourth of July. How in the world could I object?"

"Dunno," he says, shifting his eyes a bit as he looks around the room. With a sigh, he grabs his suitcase by the handle, makes his way into the living room and says, "I—I better go. Meet you in twenty, okay?"

"It sounds like a date," she chuckles. "W—wait, I didn't mean it that way. See you in twenty, Finn."

"Y—yeah, it's a date."

He must've missed the first part. Oh well.

The plane lands in Ohio, and yeah, they're a little sleepy, but Finn, Kurt, Blaine and Rachel run into the doorway, Rachel a little more hesitant than the others, her body behind Finn's the entire time.

"Blaine, Kurt!" His mom's always the bubbly lady, her short auburn-grey hair hanging right at her shoulders, a denim jacket on even in July. She runs her hands through both Blaine and Kurt's hair when she hugs them, her cheeks red and her excitement glowing right through every ounce of skin. Finn likes seeing her like that, and honestly, she's like, the happiest, most gracious person he knows. She's really family-oriented and stuff, and as much as he forgets to bring up his mom in general conversation, he loves her — a lot.

"Mom?" Finn tilts his head and grabs onto her shoulder, and automatically, a smile stretches across her face. It's a real smile, though, like one of those, 'I-may-just-be-the-happiest-mom-on-earth-because-I'm-seeing-you-for-the-first-time-in-forever-since-you-decided-to-ditch-me-out-here-in-cowtown-for-New-York' smiles. He feels Rachel's side brush against his arm, then turns back to see her half-smiling, her teeth scraping against her bottom lip. "Mom, hi! Th—this is Rachel. Rachel Berry. She and I are good friends, and I told you I'd bring her about a week back, so again, thank you, and... and I hope this is alright, y'know, with you and dad."

"Finn, sweetheart, any friend of yours is a friend of ours," she says. "As long as you're not bringing back that sour puss Quinn Fabray with her idea of marrying you and making you nothin' but a trophy husband, anyone you bring home is welcome to stay." She winks, and then he watches how Rachel tenses, because, well, Finn's hardly ever mentioned anything about Quinn before, and he's pretty sure now's not a good time to start.

He tugs down on his lip. "This is Carole, my mom, Rach." Rachel nods, smiling at Carole. "Uh, mom, Rachel can stay in the guest room, r—right?"

She nods. "'Course. I've already made up the bed and everything. Rachel, you don't mind, right? I asked Finn if he'd like you to stay in his room, but that was only until I was under the impression you were his girlfriend. Speaking of which: Finn, are you ever going to get a girlfriend, or...?"

Rachel practically like, snorts, then leans into his mom. "It'd be a miracle, Mrs. Huds—"

"Please, sweetie," his mom interrupts, "call me Carole."

"Carole, it'd be a miracle. Finn's a ladies' man — maybe too much of one — but I can never see him settling down."

What the hell is that supposed to mean? He grabs Rachel on the forearm and hisses. "You, me, my room."

"Certainly," Rachel answers with a teasing wink. "I was only kidding." He tugs on her arm even more, and all she can do is look back and shout, "Thank you again, Carole! Your home is lovely!"

He closes the door harshly, and she winces. "What was all of that for, huh? My mom's gonna think I'm like... some asshole."

"But you aren't," she says. "I was just joking around, Finn. Your mom knows what a good guy you are, I'm sure of it."

"Doubt it," he answers, complete with an eye roll and all. "Don't cover up your own intimacy issues by making me look like a jerk, please, Rach."

"Look," she says, making her way to the edge of his bed, her hands in her lap, "you're right. I cover up my own insecurities by pointing out everyone else's, I know. But, Finn, you must know you're a good guy, right? One of the best, actually. I—I couldn't have chosen a better best friend."

He joins her on the bed, his gaze falling to the floor, one hand magically finding its way onto her unsteady kneecap. "Me too," he says. "And hey, I'm glad it's you here with me for the week. Y'know, at my house. I've never brought a girl home to my family before."

"Not a single girlfriend?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. Not one. Maybe it's 'cos they all sucked or something, I don't know. None of them were... you know... you."

She sighs, then takes one hand and runs it through her hair, smiling shyly. "How am I different?"

"Is this another 'Rachel Berry ego boost' session, or...?" he teases jokingly, lifting his hand off of her knee and placing it on his own. "I'm just kiddin'. You're just... you're Rachel. I love Rachel."

"Rachel loves Finn too," she giggles. "I meant it when I said you were my best friend." She nuzzles her nose to his shoulder then, smiling, her lips closed.

"Can I ask you somethin', then? Y'know, if you love me and all..."

She nods lazily. "Mm, 'course."

"Was it any different for you when it stopped? Y'know, the sex." His heart pounds, because yeah, it's a pretty stupid question, but he can't not ask. It's been bugging him way too much lately. It's not that he's asking for it, really, and it's not that he misses it, either. He's just... curious.

She raises a brow. "Our friendship? No. You know why? Because the 'sex' wasn't real sex. Trust me, it couldn't have been. Yes, we can both sit here and argue all day that it was truly sex, because yeah, it was sex, but it wasn't real. It lacked a romantic aspect, any emotional foundation. We were both sleeping together just for the heck of it; it never really meant anything."

"Rachel," he says evenly, "c'mon, you wanted that. We wanted that. We like, agreed to it."

"Yeah, I know," she says, lips pressed together. "I wasn't complaining, simply stating."

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'," she mocks, teasingly swatting him on the forearm. "Hey, Finn?"

"Mhm?"

"I'm tired. I'm gonna sleep, okay?"

He nods, forgetting he's got his own room here for a minute, and she's all the way down the hall in the guest room. Shit. "Mm'k. Sleep tight."

She lifts herself off of his bed, letting out a groan as she gets up. "Trust me, I will. 'Night."

And she leaves.

He knows texting in the same room is kind of lame, and yeah, he'll admit to complaining every time Blaine and Kurt do it back at home, but texting in the same house can't be like, too horrible, right?

He tosses over on his side, looks at his alarm clock, which reads 1:03 AM, and then turns back over, grabbing his phone from its spot underneath his pillow.

Finn: You awake?

Rachel: You're seriously texting me? I'm right down the hall.

Finn: Oh, right, sorry.

He shuts his phone quickly, then tiptoes on over to the guest room, more than careful not to wake Blaine or Kurt or his mom or his stepdad.

"Hey," he says in a whisper, opening the door, trying to prevent it from squeaking.

She does a little head nod and he smiles (sue him, it's kind of cute), stepping over to the edge of the bed, his palms pressing into the comforter.

"You comfy?" he asks, and she only nods, lips pursed. He swallows. "So, uh... I think my mom really likes you. I could tell because she was like, super happy and stuff. I haven't seen her that happy in awhile, not since my stepdad had a round of never-ending heart attacks and, y'know, paying for the hospital bills became her main priority."

"It's unfortunate about your dad, like I think I might've mentioned before," she starts, "but your mom was smiling because you're her son, not because of your bringing me home. I'm a silly twenty-four year old girl with no place in your family. I doubt I made her happy, Finn."

"Y—yeah, maybe you're right."

"Mm, I am," she says, pressing her lips together shyly, lifting the comforter she's covered in up so it covers just over her breasts.

"You make me happy, though," he says.

"Stop it," she barks. "Just... stop it, okay? Don't ruin what could potentially be a perfectly good weekend because you've got some idea the two of us have got something other than a good friendship going on."

"What did I say?" he asks defensively, eyes narrow. "You're a good friend, s'all. And besides, I'm not the one who sent that 'could we ever fall in love?' text message, so..."

She grows almost too quiet, pulling up the comforter so it's basically at the tip of her nose. "Just go, Finn. Please. I—I'm tired."

"You're not, though, so I'll stay in here until you are," he prompts. "It's boring in my room. I'd rather sit and like, watch paint dry than sit in there for hours trying to sleep."

"Mm, okay, fine, you can stay," she says, taking one hand and smoothing out the edges of the comforter. "But don't fall asleep here," she warns flatly. "If anyone walks in and sees us sleeping together, they'll—"

"Say nothing," he finishes, letting his hand rise up and rest on her covered kneecap, ignoring the way she flinches when he does so. "You're my best friend, and best friends can totally sleep in the same bed. And hey, we've had sex before, so..."

"'So' nothing, Finn! We're nothing, okay?"

"Okay, okay, you made that more than clear." He hates that every second he's thrown some constant reminder about how they'll never be together. If he didn't care for her so much, he'd probably call her the biggest pain in the ass right then and there. But he doesn't, because he loves her. She's his best friend, and best friends get past all of that bullshit, right? "Just... go to sleep, Rachel. I'll go."

"No... wait." She tugs at his wrist the moment he tries to get up, so he stays. She smiles, then asks, "Wanna listen to music?"

He nods, lifts himself off of the bed and scrolls down on his iPod until he reaches the 'Journey' section. "Which one?" he offers.

"Mm, any," she says, then changes her answer. "Wait! No! Not any. I specifically like 'Open Arms','Can't Fight This Feeling' and 'Faithfully'. Especially 'Faithfully'. Yeah, why don't you just put that one on loop or something?"

He smiles at that, grin to the floor, an elongated breath once he plays the track. "It's a good song," he says. "My favorite, maybe."

She closes her eyes, pretends to sway to the music for a minute, then asks him to shut it off.

"But why? I just put it on."

"I'm tired," she says, pulling at her shoulder bone and yawning almost like, convincingly. She leans back into the bundle of pillows Finn's mom set up for her before they arrived, then tells him, "You know, you can stay if you want to."

"You say that a lot," he says briskly. "I think it's a key for 'please stay' or somethin', right?" He winks at her, and she giggles, her teeth protruding from her mouth she's laughing so hard. He thinks she's embarrassed. "I'll stay."

"Oh, good," she breathes, taking her hand to her forehead. "I might fall asleep, so don't mind me. Y—you can sleep next to me. Just don't kick me. I hate that, kickers."

He chuckles. "I'll try not to take out any anger because of my sleep depravation on you," he teases. "G'night, Rachel."

"Mm, 'night." She yawns and then she's out, and then it's just him. He looks beside him, though, and it's a reminder that, for once, he's not so alone.

He's got his best friend there with him, which is more than a good feeling.

She wakes him up at exactly 3:34 in the morning, the heels of his hands rising up and viciously rubbing at his eyelids. "Mm, sleepy. What is it?"

"I can't sleep," she says. "Not anymore, at least."

He shrugs, shifting awkwardly in the small space next to her, being sure to leave a bit of space in between the both of them. "Well I can," he laughs. "What's wrong?"

She sinks back into her pillow, her tongue surfacing on her lips, moving left and right a few times before she asks, "Why? Why'd you just get up and leave Ohio?"

"W'do'u mean 'why'? I had to, I had no other choice."

"But you did," she says, rolling over onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "Your house is just so... homey. Your mom obviously does a good job of keeping things tidy, y'know. It's just... cozy. If this were me bringing you over to my place, you'd probably be sleeping on a cot in the living room. My family's not really much about family, not the way yours is."

He looks just a little bit amused, but he hides it pretty well. "I never thought I'd end up in New York," he confesses. "Honestly, I thought after OSU — Ohio State, I went there for four years, y'know — I'd end up back in... well... Ohio. I thought my ass would never get out. But I did. I took a chance and followed Blaine and Kurt up to New York. It took me awhile before finding a suitable job, but I did. Being a firefighter isn't something I really ever pictured myself doing when I was younger, but it works. I like it. I like feeling brave and stuff."

She pauses, then takes one finger and runs it up and down his bicep, creeping up the sleeve of his t-shirt and leaving it there for a minute. "I think you're brave, Finn." Maybe it's the over-tiredness and the denial of it all and stuff. He doesn't exactly know. (He doesn't exactly want to know). "I like that about you. You've always been brave, really outspoken."

He scrunches his nose, breathing heavily and sinking down into his pillow even more. "And what about you? How'd you end up where you are? Y'know, singing and stuff."

"I've been singing since day one, practically," she says. "Broadway's been a dream of mine ever since I knew about it. It just became one of those things where I knew. It's what I wanted to do for my whole life, still do."

"Then why don't you?" he asks.

"I try," she says. "And then some. I mean, like I told you, I've been in my share of off-Broadway shows, played some leads even, but it's just so hard to break into the business now. I just focus on teaching vocal lessons, attend some auditions here and there. It's a pretty quaint life, at least more relaxing than I'd originally planned for it to be. New York's a beautiful place. That's one thing I'll never even think about regretting: moving there."

"I like the way you dream so big," he says, shuffling around so he's propped up on his elbow just the way she is. "I dunno how to do that."

"I just... dream," she says, eyes half-shut. "Like I mentioned before, I'm a fairytale kind of girl. I know the whole 'prince charming' thing'll happen in about, a million years or so, but it doesn't mean I still can't believe in it. I just... I like living life that way. It's—"

"It's easier then getting hurt," he finishes.

"Exactly."

He says nothing, just yawns into his pillow.

"Hey, Finn?"

"Hm?" He answers almost so lazily it aggravates her.

She hits him on the forearm — hard. "Do you think we'll ever have... y'know... sex again?"

"I don't know," he says honestly. "Maybe, maybe not. But like you said, it wasn't really sex. Not real sex, anyways. I'd like to not fake anything anymore, you know? Just... just live one day at a time, stop planning, stop screwing around."

She props herself up against the headboard at his words, and then he joins her. She bites down on her bottom lip, then lets her eyes latch onto his glance for what feels like an hour. "Mm," she says after awhile, "I agree."

And then after that, he's cupping her chin, letting his lips graze hers slowly. It's not like they've never kissed before, but this is different. They're not kissing during sex, they're not roughly attempting to swerve their tongues in and out of each others' mouths and they're definitely not going for the record of 'best hickey' or anything. It's slow, it's soft, and it's kind of romantic, something the both of them agreed they couldn't let happen.

But it is happening, and as it does, Rachel lets out a little moan, then jolts her hands up to cup both of his cheeks, letting her lips swivel onto his, not once allowing her tongue to escape. As she pulls away she only says a small, "Wow", and then he laughs.

"Y—yeah, wow," he says, eyes suddenly. "That definitely wasn't supposed to happen."

"Well it did," she says certainly.

He wrinkles his brow. "Should we have stopped it?"

She shakes her head. "N—no, I don't think so."

She smiles, then rests a hand on his chest, then says he should leave and get some sleep.

"Yeah, I should," he agrees. "S'like, four in the morning. Mm, g'night, Rachel." He contemplates kissing her again, he really does, but that'd totally be crossing the whole 'best friend' barrier (a second time), and he really doesn't feel like sitting down and sorting out feelings with Rachel right now. Not here, not like this.

So he doesn't. He tiptoes out of her room, shuts the door slowly behind him and rubs his hands over his lips, still tasting the stain with the name 'Rachel' written all over it.

"So Rachel's just a friend, huh?"

He blushes, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"I saw you last night," she starts, all mom-like and stuff. "You know, sneaking out of the guest room. Were you with her? With Rachel? You expect me to believe that's just a 'best friend' thing? Your checking on her in the middle of the night?"

He hates it when anyone questions him, really, but he doesn't mind it so much when it's his mom. Maybe because she's more curious than nosy or something, but he finds when she sits down with him, runs her fingertips over his knuckles and whispers all of these questions to him, he actually doesn't mind answering them. So with pressed lips he says, "Mm, kind of," he trails off and picks up a slice of toast she sets out in front of him. "Well, maybe..."

"And by 'maybe' you mean there could be something more but you haven't picked up on it yet, right?" she asks, eyes narrow.

"Well," he starts, mouth full, "she's like... totally awesome and she's probably the best friend I've ever had, so—"

"Best friend you've ever had?" she asks like it's a crime he's saying it, dropping her fork onto her plate and reaching for another slice of toast. "Must be a pretty wonderful girl."

"She... she is," he says. "I tell her everything, y'know. Like, she knows more about me then most people do, which yeah, is totally awesome. I just... I can't figure out exactly why we tell each other so much. I mean, I know everything about her and she knows everything about me. It's kind of cool, having a friend like that."

"Well, you know what they say..." she says, a smile almost too big for her face gracing her lips. "If you don't fall in love with your best friend, it's kind of a rarity."

"Th—they say that?" he asks, eyes narrow.

"Well, similar to it, yes. What I'm saying is, if you find yourself falling for Rachel more and more, you'll rea— Oh! Hi, Rachel dear. Just... just grab a seat. There's eggs and toast and even some bacon. Blaine scarfed most of it down this morning before you or Finn were up, but I could always make more. Just ask. Here, here, let me get up. Sit!" His mom fidgets with a ring of napkins she's holding, plopping them down in front of Rachel as she scoots her body past Carole and down to the table. They're eating outside on the deck, and Rachel, too sleepy for her own good, practically trips on a piece of wood until Carole steadies her with her hand. "Careful there, darling. Sit down, please. And eat, please, eat. Finn, pass her the toast."

"Mom," he hisses, grabbing the plate and handing it over to Rachel. "There you go. If you don't eat up, my mom'll take it into personal offense. She's sensitive about her cooking like that."

Rachel smiles. "Well I'm sure her cooking is delightful."

Finn blushes (it becomes like, freakin' permanent), then waits till his mom leaves to say, "Sorry for last night."

She waves it off, one hand in the air and one gripping her fork, her eyes on her plate as she scrapes the silverware against it. "Nonsense. Don't apologize, okay? It's not like we haven't kissed before."

"Yeah, but that kiss? It was... different. I can't explain it."

"Neither can I," she says, obviously more interested in the forkful of eggs she's about to shove into her mouth. "Hey, did you know I was a vegan for almost three years during high school? I stopped once I realized the only thing it'd be doing to my health was bringing upon depravation from all of the good foods out there, but I was. Mm, I can't tell you how good it feels to be eating eggs."

"Rachel," he says flatly, his index finger and his thumb squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"What?" she asks innocently, eyes big and apologetic. "I just... I can't talk about this now, alright?" she hisses, her whispering hushed.

"Alright." And he looks back down to his breakfast, his plate half empty, his fork shaking in his hands. He wants nothing but to talk about it — to solve it and to stop stalling on it. But he agrees to whatever Rachel says, curses himself for being like, spineless, and then shoves another forkful of eggs in his mouth, practically choking on them when he watches Rachel roll her eyes at him, her nose scrunched and her breath hitched.

"Just... don't," she says.

It becomes his warning to do.

"Oh, and he was so cute!" He hears a squeal, so he walks over to the room just before the porch, turns on the light and stands behind the door for a few minutes, waiting to see if anyone'll notice him standing there.

They don't.

"Look at his hat! Is that Kurt? He looks so little! When did you and Carole marry? It must've been a spectacular wedding, judging by these pictures. Oh, wow, Finn looks adorable!"

He walks out to the porch and sees two shadows coming from the swing. It's Burt and Rachel, a photo album in the both of their hands, resting right in the center of their laps. Rachel's hand is rummaging the page, her fingertip sliding under a corner of an old photo of Finn from high school, his football jersey on and everything.

"You were quarterback, were you not?" she asks, not even bothering to look up from the picture. She kind of just knows he's there, which, yeah, is kind of weird and all.

He nods, hands in his pockets, awkwardly making his way over so he's standing in the front of them. "Sure was," he says. "How can you tell?"

"You just have that... I don't know... that quarterback look about you," she giggles. Then she reaches her arm up, taking his hand and playing with his hair the moment he tries to sit down next to the both of them, plopping down on the right side of Rachel. "You were attractive," she says. "You must've been a big hit with the ladies, am I correct?"

He chuckles, head waned back. "Wrong. I had one steady girlfriend throughout high school, you know that. So cliché, we were; the quarterback and the head cheerleader." He swallows, then says, "I loved that girl", causing Rachel's brows to rise.

"Quinn was somethin' special," Burt adds, "but I'm almost one-hundred percent sure there's someone better out there." He nudges Rachel in the elbow at that. She blushes.

Finn bites down on his lip, exhales a bit and says, "Yeah, I'm sure, too."

Burt flips the page, then pushes the photo album out of his lap and onto Rachel's holding onto both Finn and Rachel's knees as he boosts himself up. "I'll catch you kids later," he says. "I've got your mother's tomato soup callin' my name in the kitchen, and, well, who'd miss that?" He winks, then leaves, and then it's the two of them again. Somehow, it always comes down to that: the two of them.

"So, your stepdad is really fond of you," Rachel starts, her breath shallow, her finger still rummaging the pages. "And these pictures? Wow. I wish my family would've been as close as yours was. You guys did everything together. Me? I'd be lucky if any one of my family members would show up to one of my talent shows. You had a good life, Finn. I can tell through just these pictures."

Without even thinking about it, he puts his hand on top of hers, right on the page she's skimming, and leaves it there for a few.

She blinks a few times, then turns her head so she's facing him, ignoring their hands. "Finn, thank you."

"For...?"

"For bringing me here. It's beautiful."

"Oh, yeah, 'course," he says like it's no problem at all. It isn't, it really isn't. He enjoys her company (as if that hadn't been obvious before), and like, he can't imagine not asking her. It's weird, the whole thing, but it's the truth. "Thanks for coming," he says, taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes, running his large hand up and down her tiny one.

She nods, smiling.

"Rach, wh—what you and I have is special, I hope you know that." Again, he's really not the greatest with words, but he tries because she's... well... Rachel. Biting down onto his lip, he looks to her, the way she sits so comfortably on his porch, the photo album in her lap, her eyes small and kind of curious. It's intriguing; she's intriguing. (She always has been).

"I—I know," she squints a bit despite it being pitch black and nighttime, lifts her hand out from underneath his and brings it to his hair, gripping onto it with a bit of force. "You're my best friend."

"Oh yeah?" he teases. "And just why is that?"

"Because you're going to help me pay for the endless supply of Wicked CD's we're going to throw at that jerk-off. You know, the one who decided it'd be a good idea to take me on five dates and then ditch me when he decided he'd had enough."

His eyes widen. "Five? Rach, c'mon!"

"I was sucked in by his Broadway-esque charm," she admits coyly, her tongue finding its way between her teeth. "He was just so... charming."

Teasingly, Finn asks, "D'you think I'm charming?"

She flicks him on the forearm, sticking her tongue out at him jokingly. "The most charming," she says, giggling. "But, in all seriousness, you're one of the most charming people I know."

"Why's that?" It's really not an ego thing with him, really. He just likes listening to her talk (most of the time).

"You just... are," she starts, replying primly. "There's just something about you. From the moment I met you, I was instantly attracted to you."

He lifts a hand to her forehead, pressing his palm down on her skin. "Is this the right Rachel? The Rachel I know? My best friend? You sure you haven't come down with something? Rachel Berry calling me attractive? The world's over."

She's giggling so hard she loses the photo album in her lap, watching it slide onto the floor in a close-eyed round of hysterics. "F—Finn, stop! Stop it!"

"C'mon, admit it," he teases, poking at her side, just underneath her ribcage. "You think I'm good lookin'."

She laughs, cheeks burning red, a hand on his knee assuringly. "I think you're lovely," she says. "One of the best looking people I know."

"Same here." He nods because he's confident it's true. "You're beautiful."

She blushes, leans her head up and kisses him right on the nose. "Mm, thanks, Finn."

"Yeah, no problem. Just felt like you needed to hear it or somethin'. Y'know, so you'd know that those times we hooked up weren't just... y'know... hookups."

She throws him that 'what-the-fuck-do-you-mean' sort of look, her eyebrows raised and her grin fading fast. "I never asked you to prove anything," she says. "I honestly thought you were telling me that just because."

"Well, yeah, I mean, you're beautiful, Rach," he says. "I'm pretty sure you don't need me to tell you that. B—but this is different. I just... I want you to know that I'd never use you. Not for sex, not for a fake relationship. S'true when I call you my best friend. You are, you're my best friend."

She just leans into his side, her arms brushing against his. "Thank you. I love you."

"I—I love you, too."

He stutters, and it's not like it means anything aside from like, the 'friend' crap she goes on about, but it's kind of worth it, he thinks.

(Even though the next ones'll be better, he's sure).

Blaine, Kurt and Rachel all head to bed after the whole fireworks show is done on the fourth, the three of them claiming to be too tired to stay up long enough for Carole's apple pie.

"More for Finn and I!" she exclaims, waving Finn into the kitchen. "Hey, I'm glad it's just you and me, sweetheart. I wanted to ask you something."

"Y—yeah, yeah, sure," he says, grabbing a seat at the table as his mom sets an entire plate of apple pie down in front of him. "It's kind of late, and I should probably go say goodnight to Rachel before she falls asleep, so could we make this quick?"

"Depends," she says, eyes narrow, her fork digging into the plate she set in front of the both of them, "how quick would you like to make it?"

"I—I don't get it," he admits, his stomach far too tangled to touch any piece of food.

"Finn, let me tell you something," she starts, letting her hand roam his, her fingers grasping his knuckles. "If you really care about someone, like... really care about 'em, you'd be stupid to let 'em go. Eventually, she'll go."

He gulps, because he doesn't even have to ask who she's referring to.

"If you keep denying it, that's even worse. There's no denying you're completely in love with the girl. Now, you've just gotta go after her."

"You don't get it, mom," he starts, shaking his head. "I'm not in love with Rachel. Y—yeah, she's a beautiful girl with a big heart and like, my best friend, but I can't ever see myself being with her, y'know?"

"N—no," she says as if she's disappointed. He wonders how badly her heart breaks, because she's like, way more in love with Rachel than he is, that's for sure. "Finn, I see the way you look at her. The way you sneak in and out of each others' rooms at night. Just last night you practically fell asleep on the front porch together until Blaine came and found you two outside at almost three in the morning. You may not know it, but you love her."

"But I don't," he hisses. "Trust me, I've tried, but it's not easy."

"And why's that?" she asks, fingers gripping the handle of her coffee mug stiffly.

"Because she's... she's complicated," he says. "She's not easy to love. She wants romance; fairytale romance. I can't give that to 'er, look at me! I'm just as big of a mess when it comes to relationships, so I'd be no good for her. She's screwed up. She's not right in the head, something's not right. I mean, she's a beautiful girl and she means well, but we're not good for each other, me and her."

"You'll never know if you don't give it a shot, Finn," she offers. "That's what I did. Do you think I had any idea I'd remarry after your dad passed? Because I sure didn't. But then... then I met Burt. Burt is... he's the most loving man I've got the pleasure of knowing. He's perfect. He knows I'm damaged — who wouldn't be after losing a husband? — and he still treats me like I'm golden after all of those years. He's a beautiful man, Burt, and he gave me a second chance at something I never thought I'd have again: a family."

His heart hurts a bit after listening to her story, and then he grips her hand, her fingers still tangled on the handle of her coffee mug. He places his own hand right over, ignoring the burning of the hot coffee and just rubbing his fingers onto hers. "Mom..."

"Don't feel sorry for me, sweetheart," she says. "It's not a sad story. It's a good one. And you know what I say? Go for it. So what if she's emotional? She... she loves you, I can see it. Take a chance, Finn. You never know what'll happen."

"That's the thing, mom," he says, head ducked, "I've tried, but... but I can't. I love her, but I'm not in love with her."

"Well, I can't change your mind, but..." She leans over, kissing him on the forehead, a hand to his cheek. "Go say goodnight to her, work out whatever needs to be worked out right now. Don't be foolish, Finn. She's a lovely girl. I told you that once and I'll tell you that again. I really like having her around, and I can only assume you do too, right?"

He nods, his face flushed. "Y—yeah, but like I said: it's not easy."

"And nothing ever is. Trust me."

She doesn't open the door after three knocks, so he just walks in, assuming that she fell asleep or something.

She hasn't. Not yet. She's hunched over a suitcase, viciously throwing in shirt after shirt, pants after pants, her knuckles white as she tugs onto a pair of shorts. "Just... get out, okay? I'll be out of your hair in a few hours, tops."

"W—wait... what?" His head's like, spinning in circles, and he feels his breath start to hitch, and then the room goes dark, Rachel just a blur in the corner, harshly throwing articles of clothing into a suitcase like she's being paid to be violent. He watches her teeth clench, her eyes swell. "Rach, talk to me."

She waits until she's a foot away from him, then turns her body so her forehead's almost touching his. "No," she spits harshly. "Give me a few minutes to pack, a few minutes to find a cab and an hour or so to wait for that cab. This is cowtown, after all."

"I—I thought you liked this town!" he shouts, even though he doesn't mean to. He kind of forgets the fact that it's almost two in the morning, so he holds onto the edge of the suitcase, stopping her from closing it. "Rachel, wait. You can't just runaway from here without giving me a reason. C'mon, you owe me a reason!"

She grits her teeth together, and then he watches her eyes swell up, her eyelids shutting tightly. "You want a reason? I'll give you one! How about... I don't know... maybe I'm too screwed up in the head! Something's definitely not right with me, right?"

He feels a pounding in his chest, and then his stomach drops. He ultimately thinks he's either going to throw up or cry or something, but he grabs onto her wrists, says, "Look at me", through clenched teeth and gets her in his hold before he says, "I didn't know you heard me."

"Yeah, well, too late," she spits, forcibly trying to push his hands from off of her wrists. "I heard what you said, and it kind of killed me. Call me insane, call me dramatic, whatever. It kind of killed me inside and running away from you is the only plausible thing to do, I'm sure of it."

"Rach..."

"Don't 'Rach' me, okay? Don't ever 'Rach' me again. As a matter of fact, give me your phone. I'll delete my number for you." She holds out her hand and he objects. "How convenient'll that be, huh? I'll just erase you out of my life, just the way you'd like it to be."

He shakes his head because no, that's not the way he'd like it to be. He puts pressure on the bridge of his nose with his index finger and his thumb, squeezing down hard, his head shaking rapidly, a coherent sentence unable of being formed. Yeah, sure, it's a rarity for him because, well, he's Finn, but at a time like this, he hopes to spark a miracle or something.

He doesn't. "Just, um, Rach, hear me out," he starts. "I'm not the only one who pushed this whole idea of us ever being together aside, okay?"

He knows just how much she hates to be wrong, so she clenches her jaw, throws one hand over her chest and sits down on the edge of his bed. "I can't forgive you," she says. "Not after what I heard you saying."

"Yeah, well, I understand that, but..." he trails off, wanting so badly to just put a hand to her kneecap, call her his best friend and ask her if she'd like to raid the kitchen for an after midnight snack with him. But he doesn't. He sighs, throws back his head and shuts his eyelids tightly. "Rachel, I understand why you're mad at me, okay? But, just... don't push yourself away from me. I'd like to continue being friends with you."

She sits up then, turning away from him, her arms folded at her chest, one hand swiftly moving a piece of hair away from her forehead. He watches the way she moves; how tense she is, how angry she is. It kind of scares him away, but he's not the one running. She is.

"Too late," she says, her lips pressed and her hands on the handle of her suitcase. "I'm leaving and there's nothing you can do about it, alright? D—don't follow me out the door, don't try and hunt down the cab I'm taking, and don't do any crazy things like track my credit card down to see where and when my flight'll be landing, alright? Don't. Have a good time here in Ohio, and when you get back home, don't look for me then either."

"Rachel..."

"Delete my number from your cellphone. Hell, store me as 'the devil', I could care less at this point." He looks at the way she frowns, like she doesn't really want to say these words but kind of has to. (She doesn't have to, but she is, so whatever). "What I'm saying is: don't go looking for me. If I come to you, I come to you. But chances are, I won't. To be honest, this juvenile act of 'is-it-more-than-just-a-sexual-thing-or-not?' is sort of getting old. I enjoyed getting to know you, Finn, I did. I appreciate you inviting me here to Ohio. Y—your family is lovely." Cue the tears. He watches her wipe underneath her eyelids, her voice growing weaker, cracking a bit. He tries not to lay out a sympathy card on the table for her, so he doesn't. He gulps a bit, but he's not sympathetic. It's her choice to leave, not his.

"Have a safe flight, Rachel."

"I will."

And she leaves.

His text conversations starts to make him look insane, because really, he's only talking to himself.

Finn: Did you get home okay?

Finn: Did the plane have good food? They usually never do, but I know you like peanuts, and they've got those.

Finn: Please tell me you got home safe.

Finn: If you hate me, press 'pound'. You know, this thing: #

Finn: Now would be a good time to answer.

He sighs, shuts his phone and tells his mom he's got a seven o'clock flight back to New York.

"But you don't leave until Sunday," she says. "That's three days away."

"I have some business to take care of," is all he says.

She winks then, her lips forming a small 'o', Blaine and Kurt smirking on the couch in the living room. "Well, carry on then."

He will. He so will.

"Hi, you've reached Rachel Berry. I can't get to the phone right now, so leave your name, number and anything else you think'd be essential in a voicemail and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Have a nice day, bye!"

"Yeah, hi, it's Finn. I've got a seven o'clock flight and it'd be nice knowing where to find you. Y'know, I could check at your apartment and stuff, but Lord knows whether you told Brittany and Santana about me at all, so... maybe that's not such a good idea. Anyway, I can only hope your flight went like, swimmingly, right? Yeah, so, uh... see you when I see you."

He goes to her apartment and isn't too shocked when someone else opens the door. This time it's Puck, and he's pretty sure that's Santana's boyfriend or something, so he nods and asks to come on in.

"W—where's, uh—"

"She's not here," Puck says quickly, Santana coming up from behind him shortly after, nodding.

"Last time I saw her was this morning," she says. "She snuck in at four, showered, changed her clothes and then said she'd be back 'whenever'. I'm not so sure what you did to her, but you might wanna like, fix it or somethin'. Pretty sure the girl's claim to fame'll be fainting in front of a Broadway theater due to a broken heart or some shit."

"Jesus," Finn says, head shaking. "Well, uh, thanks. If... if she stops by again, tell her I came by, okay?"

"Will do," Puck nods.

"Yeah, sure thing," Santana agrees. "Want me to tell her how screwed up in the head she is too, or...?"

He feels like punching something. But he doesn't. He just says, "Uh, yeah, sure. While you do that, you could remind her of all the times I called her beautiful and stuff. Oh, and this might come as a shock to you all, but I kind of like, meant it, so..."

Santana winks. "I'm just messin' with you. Lord knows the girl's got enough damage to cover for all of us. It's not your fault you were the only one brave enough to say something."

Puck snorts. "Bitch is crazy, but she really liked you. Not sure how long the whole 'fuck buddies' thing went on for, but once it stopped — it did stop, right? — she went on and on and on and—"

"We get it!" Santana interrupts. "Anyway, go after her. Letting her get away and use her lil' broken heart for the whole world's pity isn't the smartest thing to do, just sayin'."

"Well, yeah, but... do you know where I could find her?"

"Look, I wish I could help you out, but if she isn't hangin' around Broadway trying to land some role or some shit, she's in that... y'know... that 'hiding spot' she likes to bring up from time to time," Santana tells him.

"No one knows where it is or anything, but you could try," Puck finishes.

Finn just nods, his breath growing heavier, more pant-like. "Geez, oh, yeah, thanks so much."

"So you know where it's at?" Santana asks, eyes widening.

"'Course I do," he says.

He makes his way to the rooftop, and yeah, it's hot out and it's really uncomfortable for him to be walking up here when she's all pissed at him and stuff, but if he doesn't do it now, he'll lose so much.

"Rachel?" And she's there. She turns around because she's there. Her hand's on the rail of the building, gripping on tightly. She looks as if she's been crying or like, thinking really deeply. (It's probably the latter, but he considers his options, because she totally cries a lot).

With a gulp in her throat she folds her arms, then whispers, "W—what are you doing?"

"I had to see you," he says, but only because it's the complete truth. "Rachel, promise you'll hear me out? Please?"

This time, she makes a bolder move than the both of them, stepping forward and taking his hands in hers, swiping her fingertips across the bone on his wrist. "'Course," she swallows, "but only because it's been just a week without you and I'm already going insane. You know, more insane then I've always been."

He chuckles, something like relief in his eyes. "You don't know how happy that makes me."

"Really?"

He nods. "Mm, really. It's just... the two of us... we'll never be that couple. We met at singles meetings down at the rec center, for god's sake. I mean, how functional can we be?" He laughs, and for the first time, so does she. "But Rachel, I've never once lied when I called you my best friend. You're my best friend. You know how I know that?"

"Hm?" she asks, head tilted, her hands still roaming his forearm.

"You and I, we told each other everything. I told you so much useless, meaningless shit about my life and yet you took it and laughed, made it into a bigger story. I can't help but go through every day thinking, 'Oh, god, this'll make phone conversation gold, I can't wait to tell Rachel'. And I would. I'd tell you everything about my day — big or small, you'd know it. You and I know a helluva lot about each other, Rach, and neither one of us can deny it. You can like, quiz me on yourself right now, and I'll buy you a new apartment if I score less than a ninety. And it's not just me. You... you showed me things. Like... like this. This is your hiding place, somewhere you go to get away from it all. Why show me?"

She shakes her head, her eyes moist, her lashes batting up and down a bit, still with a tight grip onto his arms.

"The times we don't speak to each other? They're hell, Rachel. I try and talk to Blaine or Kurt about things, but they're no you. They don't listen to me ramble for hours on end and we definitely don't get wrapped up in like, pointless topics and yet still manage to laugh. That's you Rach. You and I."

She nods, still silent, her tongue roaming the outside of her lips.

"I know we played a game. The 'let's-lock-all-of-our-emotions-behind-this-glass-box' kind of game. But I don't want that anymore. And Rachel, I know we've had sex. And I know you said it was meaningless. And yeah, so maybe it was. Maybe it meant nothing. But you? You mean something, okay? Y—you're my best friend, and yeah, I tried to go this long without being romantic, but throughout the entire time we've known each other, you should've just forced me down and stamped the word 'denial' all over my body. It was basically like, impossible for me not to fall in love with you. You call yourself insane? I look for ways it makes you adorable. You tell me about all of your stupid exes? I make scenarios in my head to kill 'em all, Call of Duty style, most times. You tell me you've got a new favorite Broadway show? I look up the soundtrack on the internet because I know you'll be playing it the next day. Point is: you're my best friend and nothing can change that. Except lovin' you. That could change it. But that week we decided not to talk to each other? That changed me. It like... killed me. You know why?"

She speaks for the first time, muttering a small, "Why?", her eyes tearstained and swollen.

"Because I missed my best friend."

She blushes.

"Y'know, 'cos I'm completely in love with her and stuff."

She takes his face in her hands then, squeezing his cheeks with her hands, her tongue between her teeth. "I. Love. You." Her breath is shallow and she's peppering like, a million and one kisses to his jaw, but he can't help but soak it all in. She swirls her tongue in between his lips after that, but it's the opposite of meaningless. "I was waiting for you to say it," she says.

He chuckles, tapping her on the nose. "And why didn't you say something first?"

"Too weak," she says, shaking her head. "Didn't know how. I'm not as good with words as I make myself out to be, you know?"

"Well, yeah, I can relate to that," he says, going in and attempting to deepen the kiss, his hands roaming through the back of her hair, his lips pursed.

"Mm, not so fast," she says, waving her index finger right before his eyes. "You're telling me you aren't good with words? Please, Finn, you practically just recited a speech."

He laughs. "I love you so much."

"Doesn't that feel good to say?"

"It does," he nods. "S'pecially to my best friend."

She smiles a satisfied smile then, lifting his hand up to hers, then taking her pinky and swirling it around his, locking them together. "It's a 'best friend' thing, I think. At least, it's what they do in all of the movies, so..."

"Oh, that's... that's cute," he goes into hysterics, watching the way she fiddles with his fingers.

"Isn't it?" she asks. "Finn Hudson, from here on out, we're best friends for just about forever, correct?" She's using such a sing-song kind of voice, and he can't help but (admittedly) fall in love with it.

"That'd be correct." Then he raises their pinkies, presses his lips down to them and sighs.

"I've never been good at it," she starts, her brown pupils expanding when she speaks. It's almost too dramatic for his taste, but then he remembers he's totally and completely in awe of this girl, so he soaks up all her dramatization with a chuckle, grabbing her hand and intertwining it with his.

"Good at what?" he asks.

"Keeping friends," she says. "Until you."

A/N: So my fingers are aching because I'm stubborn and like to finish projects the night I start 'em (even if it involves crazy, intense all-nighters with zero percent sleep), but it's done! Your thoughts would be more than appreciated. :)