A/N: Death-related angst warning. Disconnected Finchel blurbs, canon up to season 4.

Shine

He used to move through life zombie-eyed and empty-headed. Days would bleed into one another seamlessly until he couldn't tell them apart. Life was simple, he was simple, and everything was always just the samesamesame. He told himself he was content, taught himself to ignore that pressing feeling that always lingered in the back of his mind, the weight of everything he could be missing, the worry that life should be more than what his future holds for him.

He was always grey, playing the part of a small town boy blending into the background of a small town life. Until he met her, until she pulled him (literally) out of the monotony of his world, with her wide eyes and her strong grip and her beautiful, beautiful voice. She sticks out like a sore thumb in his grey universe, shining bright as the sun, and it's impossible to look away. If Lima was a black and white film, then Rachel is a movie in technicolor, and Finn realizes that he wants his world to shine.

Laugh

He thinks he's figured out this love thing. Seriously. He was just sitting in the choir room, you know, 'cause he was early and he thought he could get some work in with his vocals. He's not like a great piano player or whatever, but Rachel taught him how to do those scales thing once, and now that Jesse is here, he needs to step up, you know? But anyway, Rachel came in when he was in the middle of it, and of course she totally took over and turned into the vocal Nazi. Not that he minds, he kinda misses her a lot these days. She's always with Jesse, and he's always watching her with Jesse, and he knows he screwed up with her, but he really, really likes her and it sucks watching her be happy with someone else.

Anyway, it's in the middle of his vocal run, when he just started goofing off and started making funny voices because she was getting really intense. He kind of got the feeling that maybe she was upset about something (he doesn't care if it makes him an asshole, he still kind of hopes that it was Jesse), and even though she got mad at him in the beginning, he totally got her to cave and crack up. Rachel has a super cute laugh, not like the quiet, polite kind like Quinn's, or like, Santana's evil cackle. It's just this small, musical sound she makes when her eyes light up and her head is thrown back. And he figures maybe that's what love is all about, you know, doing stupid things just to hear that person laugh and make her smile.

Fluff

She giggles uncontrollably when Finn tries to squeeze his giant body through the make-shift entrance of their bedsheet-dungeon. They're in the living room, and princess Rachel has been trapped in the bedsheet-dungeon all her life, and as expected, Prince Hudson comes to the rescue by accidentally snagging his 'sword' (read: plastic hanger) against the soft walls. The sheets collapse unceremoniously on top of their laughing bodies as he falls on top of her.

"We might be too old for this," he murmurs into her neck, and she grins, kicking away the pillow-rubble at her heels, before her hands move to wrap around his waist.

"Never."

Itch

She catches his eye, and he feels it. Quinn's nails bite into his skin sharply, but it's easy to disregard her when another, familiar, feeling seems to overwhelm him whenever Rachel Berry is around. He feels it just underneath his skin every time he looks at her, the brief memories of what they had, just a few months, before they both found their ways to damage it. She always has this look reserved just for him. Back when they were still together, it was an unrestrained beam, wide and blinding, as infectious as she is. And now, now there's longing in her gaze, a sadness that seems to weave into her smile every time she looks at him.

It bothers him, gets underneath his skin until his whole body burns with an itch he just can't seem to scratch away.

Adore

I love you. Three simple words in the English language that is supposed to contain the multitude of mixed emotions between them. I love you means Finn and Rachel, together or apart. It's the fights and the reconciliatons, the truths and the lies. I love you is them, always changing, always evolving, but together just the same.

I love you.

Three simple words in the English language, and they will never be enough.

First Time

Her heart is racing, hammering against her ribs when his shaky fingers trace the outline of her panties. His calloused skin feels good against her soft skin, and her stomach caves in when he pulls her underwear, slowly, down her legs. Finn lets out a heavy breath and looks up, his eyes tracing the body he had spent an hour undressing, and when his eyes finally catches hers, his darkened gaze takes her breath away.

Opposite

They're opposites, like oil and water. Where she was loud, he was quiet. She was dramatic, full of dream and ambition, her talent giving her wings to fly. He was, well he was lost, firmly rooted to the grounds of Lima by his insecurity, his talent hidden beneath all his doubts. She was the geek who will make it big, and he was the jock going nowhere. Completely, utterly, polar opposites. They could never make it, he used to tell himself, they were too different, too utterly wrong for each other.

But he's learned over time, that her wings can be strong enough to lift him. And his roots? They give her something to hold on to.

Stories

They'll tell stories about them, she tells him, when they're both rich and famous. Stories about a boy and a girl, two star-crossed lovers who found each other against all odds. The world will know about their great love, the geek and the jock, soulmates who are destined to spend the rest of their lives loving each other. Her eyes shine as she tells him this, sitting on his bed with her legs crossed, her white knee highs a glaring contrast against his dark blue sheets.

"We'll be Finchel," she says with a beam, "One of those great celebrity couples like-like-"

"Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee?"

She gives him a withering look and he grins, pulling her close. Rachel leans closer, shuffling toward where he's sitting at the edge of his bed, and crawls into his lap.

"You're an idiot," she tells him affectionately as she leans up to kiss him.

"I don't wanna be a celebrity couple," he tells her.

"Why not?" she asks with a pout.

" 'Cause they always get the stories wrong anyway. And nothing's gonna come close to the real story, you know?"

"And what story is that?" she asks teasingly. He grins.

"You know, the one with the hot male lead and the stunning young ingenue."

Degree

Love happens by degrees. It starts with finding someone who makes you happy, that's the first degree. The second degree is figuring out that making her happy is just as important. This can last for a while, that bubble of happiness that comes with finding that person you love who loves you back just as much. But love happens by degrees, and the third degree is realizing that her happiness matters more than anything in the world, even if that means living in a world without her in it. Sacrifice comes last, and that's when you realize that nothing could ever hurt as bad as love.

Star

It's Christmas, and he's spending it alone. He looks up at the sky and he remembers senior year in high school, a pig named Barbra, and a conversation that took place next to her locker. There are a hundred millions stars up in the sky, and a wry smile touches his lips before he knows it. Only an idiot would name a star after himself, and only an idiot would think that she would need a Finn Hudson to make her feel less lonely. She doesn't need his star, she doesn't need him. He's surrounded by a hundred million stars in the sky (and Finn Hudson too), and it truly hits him, how lonely life can be.

Crumble

She's making her famous apple crumble for date night. She may be a terrible cook, but she's a great baker, just ask- well, she just is. It's New York's fault, really. Everything she tries to make here just seems to fall apart, but she'll be damned if Brody doesn't get a taste of her apple crumble tonight.

Brody calls just as she starts crumbling up the flour, telling her that he'll be late tonight, and if her face falls, she doesn't let it fall for long. She keeps crumbling up the flour with butter, pinching the mix until it turns into fine little grains, until it turns into a useless mix she can no longer use.

(Everything she tries to make here just never seems to work out for her, and it never crosses her mind that maybe it's because Finn's not here. Not once.)

3 a.m.

Rachel butt dials him a lot. At least, that's what she tells him, but they both know that's not true. He doesn't say anything though, because saying anything would be the opposite of what he's supposed to be doing, which is to not talk to her. He tells himself that she's moving on. She's with Brody now, that's what her Facebook tells him, and she's in New York now, and things are just not as easy as they were before, you know? That's what he tells himself. This is for the best. She's better off without him, clearly. And Finn, well he needs to find himself, figure out what he wants to do with his life.

But still.

It's hard sometimes, to remember all of that. It's three a.m., and he's wide awake because his brain is too busy thinkingthinkingthinking about Rachel, and her eyes and her hair and how much he misses it all, everything about her. It's three a.m., and he finds himself reaching for the phone, his finger pressing on her name and his ear pressing against the screen. It rings three times before she finally picks up, and her voice is groggy, "Finn" coming out in a slightly hesitant whisper. He hangs up immediately at the sound of her voice, slides his phone under his pillow and forces himself to go to sleep.

At six, after three hours of being awake with his eyes closed, he reaches under the pillow for his phone again, staring at it for a long time before he finally composes his message.

(Sorry. That was a butt dial)

UST

He watches from the end of the room when Mike takes her by the hand and spins her on to the dance floor. Her dress is gloriously pink, and it clings to her like second skin. She's not the greatest dancer, but she moves good, and she illuminates the entire room with the light in her laugh as she pulls away from their friend.

"She's coming for you," Puck says, nudging Finn's shoulder before he leaves. Their eyes meet once she's six feet away, a determined (stubborn) look on her face.

"Having fun?" he asks, raising an eyebrow when she reaches him. She doesn't say a word, but takes his hand, wraps it around her waist, before she pulls him close. She leans up and stands on the tip of her heels.

"Let's go to your room," she whispers, her breath hot against his ear, and the fingers around her waist tighten imperceptibly.

Pet

Finn's been in New York for close to a month before she finds the courage to visit him. She knocks on his door and frowns when she hears barking on the other end. She waits for a few seconds, and checks the address he had written down, thinking that she has the wrong house, but the door opens ten seconds later and there's Finn, standing in the doorway in his shirt and jeans, looking perfect as always.

"Rachel," he breathes when he sees her, but she's distracted by the puppy jumping excitedly behind him.

"You got a dog?" she asks, bemused, and his surprised expression melts into a grin.

"It's a mutt," he tells her, throwing the door open and letting her in. "He followed me home like a week ago, and it's been raining like a bitch all week, you know? Down Dragon, down boy."

"You're calling him Dragon?" she asks in amusement, her attention diverted away from the puppy at her heels for a second. He shrugs.

"It's a tiny little thing, but he's spunky, kinda like you."

She grins at that Finn-compliment, kneeling down to let Dragon climb onto her lap.

Finn Hudson walks back into her life with a puppy in tow.

Of course.

Smut

They fall back together seamlessly. There wasn't a plan, or a discussion, or any sort of reconfirmation, really, that they're back together again as a couple.

It's just one rainy afternoon spent on his couch, his fingers buried deep inside her in that way that he knows so well, lips against hers to cover her moans, and when her fingers are rooted deep into his hair, pulling hard as she comes, well, that's when they know.

Murmur

She traces the scar on his skin, holding her breath when he fidgets. She looks up gingerly to find him still fast asleep, and her attention moves back to the discolored space just above his thigh, the bullet wound he's still too embarrassed to talk about. Sometimes she thinks about what could have been, what it would have been if the bullet that went through thigh came from a different source, in a different situation. The thoughts are like whispers in the back of her head, vague murmurs reminding her that if this were a different life, they might not be here now, the way that they are. She thanks destiny then, or fate, whatever higher power that determined the fact that Finn and her? Well they're meant to be.

His thigh fidgets away from her roaming finger again, a small noise of discontent leaving his mouth. She chuckles at the frown on his sleeping face, leaning forward to replace her finger with her lips.

"I love you," she murmurs.

Death

He's not afraid of dying, you know? Sure, he never really thought about it before this, because who thinks about stuff like that? But he is. He's dying, and it doesn't scare him.

But leaving her to face it all alone? The thought of it terrifies him.

Tragedy

When she was younger, she dreamed of living. Really living, the kind of life with love and heartbreak and happiness and tragedies. She was always a dramatic child, daydreaming about the most preposterous things, like coming down with a fatal disease, falling madly in love with with some handsome, debonair foreigner and running away to elope against her parents wishes. She fantasized a great life for herself, imagined herself as a famous Broadway star, Rachel Berry with her name in lights and an adoring crowd.

In reality, love came in the form of an awkward boy, riddled with foolish mistakes and good intentions. In reality, her heart wasn't stolen, it was freely given to that small town boy who gave his heart back to her. Happiness was the feeling of their hands interlocked, his dimpled smiles and his I love yous. Happiness was in his earnest kisses, and their voices woven together, and if her heart was a drummer, then his was a songbird.

In reality, heartbreak came in the form of that awkward boy who grew into a young man, still riddled with foolish mistakes and good intentions. Tragedy was him letting go of her hand, of them making the same stupid mistakes together over and over again, of hurting him and him hurting her. Tragedy was their lies, of pretending to care less than they did, less than she always will. Tragedy is in losing him just when they were making their way back again.

When she was younger, she dreamed of living. And perhaps her biggest tragedy, is that now when she's on her way to be that Broadway star, Rachel Berry with her name in lights and an adoring crowd; she'll trade it all away, gladly lose everything, just to get him back.

Linger

He always lingers, just within her periphery. Finn is always there, no matter what she's doing. He's there when she does her vocal runs, sitting quietly on the bed with that small smile he used to save just for her. He's there when she's in class, sitting in the place of the girl next to her, glancing around the room in boredom as her lecturer rattles off a list of iconic Broadway shows. He's there in dance class, sitting in that corner he used to sit once, watching her every move in that blue and grey striped sweater and that frown on his face. When she walks home from school he's walking next to her, with his hands in the pocket of his jeans, his body hovering close to hers protectively in the way that it used to. When she sings, she sees him sitting right in front of her with that look she knows so well, where he looks at her like she just hung the moon, like she's exactly the star he'd never doubted she will be.

And when she cries, when it's late at night and she's clutching his picture to her chest, her body wracked with her sobs, she sees him next to her, his arms locked tight around her shaking mass. Sometimes she almost feels his warmth, his breath on her skin, his words like whispers she can't make out.

Finn is gone, but his presence lingers. Always.

Metaphor

He used to tell her that she was a big gold star, his North star, his beacon of light, guiding him through the darkness. She was a star in his eyes, he believed that long before she really did. She was his star, his.

But he was a star too, and she can never be sure if he really understood that. He was the star in every single one of her dreams, the leading man in every fantasy. He was Finn Hudson, and he was hershining North star, gleaming in the night sky to always remind her that she's never alone, to always remind her of home.

They're a binary star, she figures, two stars orbiting around the same center of gravity, and no matter how far away he is, and he's so, so far away now, she knows he's always looking down on her. She's determined to shine brightly, as bright as she can for him to see, and she hopes that wherever he is, he knows that she shines for him.