title: something to talk about
pairing: will/rachel [will's pov]
summary: this isn't what it was always like.
a/n: I thought I could pretend I was over these two, what even?
Because she is the kind of girl who’d literally tape her mouth shut and carry the metaphor to its illogical conclusion.
“Take that off.”
It’ll take him a week to admit to himself he wasn’t thinking about the tape.
This isn't what it was always like.
“The way you’ve been acting is completely inappropriate.”
He'd meant it. For two seconds short of eternity in that classroom, he'd meant it.
Don't stand so close to me.
She stops then, moves on, fights with him about solos and doesn't try to touch him.
It's different. It's not better or worse, it's just different.
He starts then, fights with her like he never graduated from high school, touches her like it's an accident.
That's different too.
There are only two things to know about Rachel Berry, and she won't let anyone know either.
"I'm a horrible person."
"I thought I could break the status quo, steal the quaterback from the head cheerleader. Break the high school cliche."
"Look where that landed me," she looks down at her shoes, "in your office, crying about my pathetic life and boardway dreams."
"You know you're meant for bigger things" she wasn't made for this town, doesn't belong in his godless city.
"I don't understand. I thought being a part of something special made you special."
"you are special." it's safe. Somewhere along the line he became that guy.
"I know that some days," she shrugs, like it's not important, like it's the only thing that'll ever be important enough, "but some days, I don't."
"She has my nose. Or technically I suppose I have hers. I should hate her for it. I do hate her for it. Good for her she has Beth now, with Quinn's hair and everything. Can't help but think she got the better deal, really. I got the nose." she rambles when she's upset.
I fucked your mother, he doesn't say. She looks a little like you, he doesn't say.
He thinks nobody will ever get under his skin like she does.
"I know you're the director, Mr. Schue, but I'm not sure you're qualified enough in this genre to actually make a decent set list. I don't mean to be offensive but if we're going to win Nat..."
"It might surprise you to know there are other people in the glee club, Rachel, if you ever..."
"I thought we'd already decided on this, you keep changing..."
"These aren't set in stone, Rach, we're a dynamic, ever-growing..."
"I'm wasted in this capacity, my talents..."
"If you feel that way, you're always welcome to..."
"Mr. Schue, I hope you know, I'm serious about leaving if..."
God, Santana will tell her later, not bothering to lower her voice, your hard-on for Schue is painfully obvious, just so you know.
She'll look at him and flush. He won't jerk off to the memory at night.
Sometimes it's not about his fingers inside her or her mouth on his dick. Sometimes it's about the sound of her voice, sometimes it's the arch of her back, sometimes it's about her smile.
Those are the nights he doesn't sleep.
Because there's something at the back of his mind that doesn't belong to her, doesn't want her with every glance, every song, every smile. And he won't lose that, can't lose that.
So he'll step back. Whenever she gets too close, he'll step back. Hold on to his sanity a little while longer.
"I'm not," she'll stop, hurt, "I'm not. Like, in love with you or anything anymore, Mr Schue. You don't have to move away. I'm not going to...it's not like I ever really."
"Don't be ridiculous," he'll say shortly. She'll walk away. He could script a routine with this.
Please don't stand so close to me.
He won't sing again, though.