It doesn't take long for him to realize how much he regrets everything: not hearing her out about Sawyer, accusing her of making him feel like second best, and not giving their night together enough due.

She loves him, he knows. And he's never been surer of anything than of the way he feels about her.

But he is used to being Jesse St. James, star of Vocal Adrenaline, and for a few short days after he rocked his performance of Romeo, he had had that back: - the applause of an adoring audience, the respect of his peers and teachers, and BMOC status. Every guy had wanted to be him, even the jocks, and every girl had wanted to be Rachel.

So can he really blame Sawyer for trying?

And he believes her completely that it had stopped at kissing, that Rachel chose to meet him that night, to share his bed, and to be with him in every way that matters.

They had only dated for a few weeks the first time around; she had been a naive sophomore, he the older senior with his destiny outside of Lima already set. It had been too little time for her to get to know more than Jesse St. James, superstar, especially since that was who she wanted him to be: Finn's ultimate foil.

He doesn't think either of them had planned on falling in love.

At 17, he certainly hadn't been looking for it. He had accepted Shelby's assignment as a way to bide time until graduation. Bored of bedding the girls in Vocal Adrenaline, Rachel had presented an interesting challenge in more ways than one.

It hadn't been real for him until it was. And he could sense the same fear in her - having to choose between he and Finn was never something that should have required even the slightest hesitation, much less the torment she was putting herself through.

He had saved them both, he thinks, by following the script. The egg on her forehead offered a clean break, punnily enough, unmistakeable in its cruelty and finality. He was the enthralling villain and she could retreat into the arms of the dashing, undeserving "hero."

The persona of Jesse St. James had drawn her to him again at NYU, but settling back into old routines of hanging out, singalongs, and sharing plans, and goals, and dream costars had reforged their profound connection. He had put aside the bravado and so had she, and they had come to know each other in the way that all the great love songs and movie musicals profess. This time he was ready; in a few short months she had become the most important relationship in his life.

But his ego is still bruised and he spends the first few days of the holiday break working double shifts and moping around the city, trying to figure out what to say and how to say it. Two days after Christmas, he gets some good news in the mail and inspiration hits. He gives his manager notice, returns the bracelet Rachel had thrown back at him, and books a ticket to Lima.

Leroy Berry answers the door with a glare and doesn't greet him. "Hiram," Leroy calls tentatively, "He's here." He looks quizzically at Jesse but says nothing before walking back into the house, leaving the door open.

Jesse doesn't dare enter the house with that less than warm greeting and waits uncertainly until Hiram, drying his hands on a dishtowel, approaches the front door.

Hiram seems to have a hard time finding his words, and keeps glancing back and forth, presumably to the study where Jesse assumes Leroy retreated to.

"Mr. Berry," Jesse attempts. "Is Rachel home?"

"She is, Jesse, but I'm afraid she may not feel much like talking right now…" There's a pause after which Jesse hears Leroy shout from somewhere within the house "to you!"

"I understand that, Mr. Berry. Can you give her these for me please?" He holds up an envelope filled with cash and the gold star pillow Rachel had bought for him at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. "I'm staying with my parents for a few days. Please tell Rachel that, if she wants, I'd really like to talk to her … and apologize," he adds for emphasis.

Hiram looks confused but accepts the items, eyes widening at the amount of money in the envelope.

"I thought you weren't talking to your parents," Rachel's voice asks from the vicinity of the stairs.

"I spoke to them yesterday," Jesse shouts cautiously. "NYU is giving me another scholarship to help administer part of their new theater program. I'm moving back into the dorms in January and I wanted to let my folks know that I was actually achieving something on my own."

"And…?" Rachel asks.

"I wouldn't say they're proud," Jesse admits with a reluctant chuckle, "but my dad has been pretty sick lately, and it sounds as if he's willing to bury the hatchet."

Hiram has been watching this back and forth cautiously from his vantage point, and he looks at his daughter, not at Jesse, when he asks "Would Jesse like to come in?"

"Yes," Rachel says.

"No," comes a booming voice from Leroy.

"He would, Dad," Rachel yells back. "We're going to go up to my room for a while to talk."

Hiram steps aside to let Jesse in with a nod. "We'll be here," Hiram says, both as a threat and reassurance, turning to Rachel "if you need us."

There's a formal dress hanging from the top of the door frame of her bathroom when he walks into the room.

"What did you tell them?" Jesse asks, when the door is closed.

She shrugs. "Not everything," Rachel admits, looking down, "Far from it, but your name did come up a few times."

"They must hate me," he states, hoping for a rebuttal.

When she looks up, there are tears in her eyes. "I don't really understand what happened, Jesse, so I don't know what I'm supposed to say … to them or to you."

He throws the items Hiram had given back to him onto the bed and envelopes her in a hug.

"I'm sorry," he says, gripping her tight. "Sometimes I feel like I don't know who I am anymore. I love being Jesse St. James, the successful, theater prodigy who feels electricity when I'm on stage with you, but I don't want to be some superficial character in your romance novels, Rachel. I don't want to be Jesse St. James, the rich, shallow asshole who stands in when you want him and leaves when you're done with him."

"Which one do you want, Rach? Because I want to be with you, no games, no lies, no pretense. Just us, from day one." He trails off, looking for the perfect phrasing, "I want to be the guy that you bring home to your dads. I want to be everything for you, not just a stand in."

"You're not just a stand in!" Rachel shouts, then lowers her voice, because she knows that her dads are listening somewhere nearby. "I know who you are, Jesse St. James. You're the most committed, caring, and loving man I've ever known and the person I want to be with. All I want is to make dinner with you, and rush shows with you, and have study dates with you. Can't you see that? This may have started as being about everybody else, but that could never be us. When we're together, we just … we just fade into each other. Nothing else matters. Everything else is the charade."

"Good," he responds after a while, "Because I'm Jesse, the guy who is nuts about you, the guy who will try his absolute best to never hurt you again, and the guy who wants you in his life more than anything."

"So here's all your money back. I returned the bracelet. I love every minute of being your boyfriend, Berry, and you never needed to pay me."

"And you never needed to buy me diamonds," Rachel agrees, "We don't need to prove anything to each other or to anyone else… Except…."

He looks at her inquiringly, curious about the exception, and she grins sheepishly, "I was dreading going to Finn & Quinn's wedding alone. Will you be my date?"

They skip most of the reception and end up lying next to each other on her bed with a plate of cake and two forks in between them.

"Thank you for coming with me," Rachel says quietly.

Jesse laughs. "We may have to rethink this no games thing. I could make Finn jealous all day, every day." He shifts the cake to her night table.

"Every kiss," he brushes his lips against her temple, "every touch," he traces his finger along her clavicle and dips his pinky finger into the valley between her breasts, "I think he was watching you more than his wife."

"Don't," Rachel warns. "This … we have nothing to do with him."

"I know," Jesse reassures her. "It's just my imagination on overdrive. I haven't been able to concentrate on anything tonight other than getting you out of that dress."

"My dads," she cautions, motioning to the open door. "We can't."

He grins lecherously at her. "But we can. Why have such voluminous skirts if we can't use them?"

He grabs a book from her floor and hands it to her, positioning so that it looks like they're both reading in bed side by side, providing a generous front for his right hand to roam freely underneath her skirts.

"Now, I'm going to be a tad bit distracted while I do this," he whispers conspiratorially, "so make sure to keep an ear out and think of an excuse in case we get caught."

"Jesse…" but the complaint dies with his first move and her eyes close of their own volition.

"Thinking hard?" Jesse chides, and her eyes snap open. "No!" She whines. "No more plans, no more audiences. Let's just lock the damn door!"