some air would be good for you.
You're not supposed to fall in love with two people at once. At least, that's not what the movies tell you. You're the stunning young ingénue, the idealistic starlet-in-training with a heart of gold (albeit one often obscured by desperation for success and satisfaction) and you're supposed to fall head over heels for your male lead and live happily ever after. You're supposed to have the kind of romance that spurs you to high Fs and impossibly long notes as your voice rises in a tribute to the other half of your heart.
You don't have any of that. (You have more than that, too.)
The funny thing about real life is that you can't plan it out as neatly as you can a game of Life. All your big plans and carefully notated expectations for the future come crashing down the moment you realize you've got as much control of your life as you do the flavors of slushies that greet you every morning. (That is to say, none.)
You think your heart is too big, really, because you're still in love with Finn when you realize that you might love Noah too. You fall out of love with the former as he proves time and time again that it's not your happiness he's concerned with, as he professes love for you while pursuing Quinn, and you realize that while you may love him, you don't have to be in love with him to be happy. And for a while, you're content to be on your own. You watch, almost detachedly, as Noah evades heartbreak by gravitating to someone who treats him terribly (and you want to step in, to say your piece, but it's not your place and you don't have the right, so you're silent and uninvolved for once in life) and as Finn lets Quinn drag him through the motions towards her goals of prom royalty, and you decide you would rather win a thousand trophies than let anyone do that to you. It takes a while, but you eventually remember what it's like to be happy in your solitude. You fall back into songwriting, and you pen a few more original songs that you keep to yourself - they're more explicit, more emotional, and you want to put your own name to them when you're ready to be a showstopper on your own.
And you watch as Sam, someone you've grown to like in that peripheral way you like everyone who doesn't slushie you, suddenly loses a partner in Santana as she comes to terms with her own sexuality. (You still feel a little bad for your Sapphic comment, but there's never a good time for an apology with Santana, so you don't say anything about that either.) You can't help but feel a little bad for him too, especially after watching him lose both his girlfriend and his best friend to each other, so you offer him your extra ticket (the one you usually trade for an icee and a bag of popcorn at the theatre) to see I Am Number Four. You don't expect him to agree, but maybe he's more lonely than you thought because he almost looks abashed when he nods, and you reach out to hug him because he looks more like a little puppy adopted from the pound than your heart can handle.
The movie outing becomes more regular, which is actually a bit of a relief for you, and you find yourself starting to look forward to the Thursday afternoons when he picks you up in his pickup truck and you head across town to the movie theatre that specializes in action blockbusters and cheesy romantic comedies. Apparently your appreciation for a good explosion takes him by surprise, and you wind up missing a movie once while you sit in the parking lot explaining your love of CGI effects and film structure. He doesn't seem to mind, which is nice, and you can't help but feel a sudden rush of kinship in this boy that not only appears to listen but wants to talk with you, even if it is just about Avatar. (Which you didn't particularly like, but you figure that's not really something to mention to someone who admits to seeing it at least six times.)
Your dads invite him over for dinner one Thursday, and you're almost surprised by the disappointment you feel when you realize you won't be able to catch a movie with him that week. There's something comforting about sharing a two hour film with someone in a dark theatre, and it's become a moment you cherish, but you're not one to tell your dads no so you invite him anyway. You're not surprised that he agrees, but you do have to suppress a doubletake when he shows up on your doorstep holding out a plate of what can only be the crispiest cookies you've ever seen.
You laugh when he tells you his mom wouldn't let him leave without his sister's gift, and you cringe when your dads insist that they each eat one as a show of good faith. (You tell him as he's packing up to leave that you'd be happy to teach his sister how to bake.)
He takes you up on the offer, and so you find yourself driving over to his house on a Saturday afternoon, aprons and cookbooks and vegan baking supplies in tow to teach his middle school sister how to bake a proper cookie. It goes well, or at least as well as baking vegan friendly cookies in a house where hunting and rock and roll are the romantic overtures du jour, and you lose track of the time as you try to keep Katie and her friend Hannah (who looks familiar in a way you just can't place) from spilling flour all over everything.
You realize it's a pretty fruitless endeavor as you stand in the kitchen, covered in flour and egg substitute and vanilla extract, and you can't help but feel absolutely horrified as none other than Noah Puckerman walks through the front door. He doesn't spot you at first, but you nearly break a glass in your startled attempt to clean up, and when he catches a glimpse of your flour-covered hair, the sound of his chuckling hits your ears.
You spin around, hands braced against the countertop, as he makes his way over to Hannah (you realize with a start that of course you recognized Hannah from the youth group at temple that you occasionally volunteer at) and wipes the egg substitute off her face.
"Making the rounds, huh, Berry?"
You wonder if that's bitterness or just dry humor that you detect in his voice, but decide it's better not to say anything at all. "I was just teaching Katie how to bake a proper vegan cookie."
"Didn't know you and Bieber were that domestic." Now you know it's bitterness, and you can't help but look at him, soft surprise evident on your face.
"We're hardly domestic. We're friends, Noah. You know that." No matter the way you've noticed your insides warm when he grabs your hand in the movie theatre, or the way you can't seem to tear your eyes away from his when he talks. You're friends, and you're not willing to ruin that.
"And what are we?" You don't have an answer for that, and while you search desperately in your prodigious vocabulary for one, he makes his way over to you (you only realize he's moving when you hear Hannah and Katie's frenzied giggling from the hallway) and brushes your forehead this time.
"I always seem to get stuck with the girls who can't seem to keep the flour in the bowl." You think you should be more irritated that he can't seem to downplay his "sex shark" status, but then his hands are cupping your face and he's looking at you with that kind of quiet intensity that you can only ever associate with him, and you let out a soft breath and tilt your face in his hands up a little.
"We're Rachel and Noah," you murmur, and he apparently accepts the answer, because his lips press to yours and you can taste the Rally's he must have eaten on the way over from the spice at the corner of his mouth. You can hear the giggling get an octave higher, and you notice almost peripherally the way one hand curves along your jaw, thumb brushing back and forth as he pulls away.
"Yeah." The eloquence of the statement makes you grin, unrestrained and unabashed, and you roll your eyes fondly as he grins back, eyebrows raising in what can only be a lewd gesture.
"I've got to get Hannah to dance class." It's a goodbye without being a goodbye, his unmistakable method of not talking about things that should be defined, and you smile and nod before packing up your things. You realize you're not really sure if you ever did fall out of love with him in the first place.
Sam comes home a little while later, while you're fishing the cookies out of the oven, and you can tell by the way he doesn't check the kitchen first that he doesn't expect you to still be there. But you don't like to leave a mess behind, so you've stayed while Katie watched a movie, and the appreciative look on his face as he meanders into the kitchen for a protein shake and spots you sets off those butterflies you've been noticing on so many Thursday afternoons.
"You didn't have to clean too, you know. Like, I could have done it."
You can't help but smile. "It's alright. Would you like a cookie?"
"Can't." He holds his protein shake up as proof and you shake your head at that, quasi-maternal instinct kicking in. "Don't have time to work off the calories, you know."
"Do it for me?"
"What do I get out of it?"
You blink at that. "What do you want?"
You suppose you should have seen it coming, but when you realize that he's taking a step forward, that he's lined up in front of you and leaning forward and that his mouth is pressing gently against the corner of yours, you realize you wouldn't have stopped him anyway. It makes you the slightest bit uneasy, that you've accepted kisses from two boys in the same kitchen on the same day, but you can't seem to find reason to tell him no either.
When he spots the way your lips quirk in the corner, he leans over to grab a cookie off the plate beside you, biting into one before pressing his mouth to yours a little more firmly. You can taste the chocolate and the crumbs on his lips, and you think idly that the cookies turned out much better than you had expected.
It goes on like that for a little while, undefined kisses and spontaneous moments with Noah, who likes to show up late at night for drive-in movies and in hazy weekend afternoons for television marathons and escapes from his little sister, and Thursday afternoon movies and weekday night homework sessions with Sam, and you realize after a few weeks that while you should choose, (you're quite honestly amazed that they're both understanding of your reluctance to get into a proper relationship, and also that they haven't told each other or anyone else yet) you don't want to. You don't know how.
And perhaps it's a side effect of falling asleep to a Big Love marathon on HBO, but when you hear the door to your room open and Noah's startled expletives on a lazy Sunday afternoon while you're draped over Sam, mouth pressed against his neck, you don't do anything but roll over and smile sheepishly.
It takes a lot of talking and a lot of cajoling and even a few tears on demand, but you manage to sit them both down and explain the situation and your heart and your feelings, and while they have every right to be as pissed as they both originally are, you thank your lucky stars that they manage to understand. That they manage to see that you're not trying to hurt either, that you genuinely love them both, too much to decide and too much to go without.
And you realize, as you explain how they both mean so much but fill different parts of your heart, that maybe they need each other too. Maybe not in the same way you need them, but they both need a friend. And when they both nod tentatively to the idea that, while it's not the sanest of things, they do love you enough to trust you, you realize that it's going to work. It's not going to be easy, but you make it a point to always be right.
And nothing is more right than your heart.
You don't have any of that. (You have more than that, too.)
The funny thing about real life is that you can't plan it out as neatly as you can a game of Life. All your big plans and carefully notated expectations for the future come crashing down the moment you realize you've got as much control of your life as you do the flavors of slushies that greet you every morning. (That is to say, none.)
You think your heart is too big, really, because you're still in love with Finn when you realize that you might love Noah too. You fall out of love with the former as he proves time and time again that it's not your happiness he's concerned with, as he professes love for you while pursuing Quinn, and you realize that while you may love him, you don't have to be in love with him to be happy. And for a while, you're content to be on your own. You watch, almost detachedly, as Noah evades heartbreak by gravitating to someone who treats him terribly (and you want to step in, to say your piece, but it's not your place and you don't have the right, so you're silent and uninvolved for once in life) and as Finn lets Quinn drag him through the motions towards her goals of prom royalty, and you decide you would rather win a thousand trophies than let anyone do that to you. It takes a while, but you eventually remember what it's like to be happy in your solitude. You fall back into songwriting, and you pen a few more original songs that you keep to yourself - they're more explicit, more emotional, and you want to put your own name to them when you're ready to be a showstopper on your own.
And you watch as Sam, someone you've grown to like in that peripheral way you like everyone who doesn't slushie you, suddenly loses a partner in Santana as she comes to terms with her own sexuality. (You still feel a little bad for your Sapphic comment, but there's never a good time for an apology with Santana, so you don't say anything about that either.) You can't help but feel a little bad for him too, especially after watching him lose both his girlfriend and his best friend to each other, so you offer him your extra ticket (the one you usually trade for an icee and a bag of popcorn at the theatre) to see I Am Number Four. You don't expect him to agree, but maybe he's more lonely than you thought because he almost looks abashed when he nods, and you reach out to hug him because he looks more like a little puppy adopted from the pound than your heart can handle.
The movie outing becomes more regular, which is actually a bit of a relief for you, and you find yourself starting to look forward to the Thursday afternoons when he picks you up in his pickup truck and you head across town to the movie theatre that specializes in action blockbusters and cheesy romantic comedies. Apparently your appreciation for a good explosion takes him by surprise, and you wind up missing a movie once while you sit in the parking lot explaining your love of CGI effects and film structure. He doesn't seem to mind, which is nice, and you can't help but feel a sudden rush of kinship in this boy that not only appears to listen but wants to talk with you, even if it is just about Avatar. (Which you didn't particularly like, but you figure that's not really something to mention to someone who admits to seeing it at least six times.)
Your dads invite him over for dinner one Thursday, and you're almost surprised by the disappointment you feel when you realize you won't be able to catch a movie with him that week. There's something comforting about sharing a two hour film with someone in a dark theatre, and it's become a moment you cherish, but you're not one to tell your dads no so you invite him anyway. You're not surprised that he agrees, but you do have to suppress a doubletake when he shows up on your doorstep holding out a plate of what can only be the crispiest cookies you've ever seen.
You laugh when he tells you his mom wouldn't let him leave without his sister's gift, and you cringe when your dads insist that they each eat one as a show of good faith. (You tell him as he's packing up to leave that you'd be happy to teach his sister how to bake.)
He takes you up on the offer, and so you find yourself driving over to his house on a Saturday afternoon, aprons and cookbooks and vegan baking supplies in tow to teach his middle school sister how to bake a proper cookie. It goes well, or at least as well as baking vegan friendly cookies in a house where hunting and rock and roll are the romantic overtures du jour, and you lose track of the time as you try to keep Katie and her friend Hannah (who looks familiar in a way you just can't place) from spilling flour all over everything.
You realize it's a pretty fruitless endeavor as you stand in the kitchen, covered in flour and egg substitute and vanilla extract, and you can't help but feel absolutely horrified as none other than Noah Puckerman walks through the front door. He doesn't spot you at first, but you nearly break a glass in your startled attempt to clean up, and when he catches a glimpse of your flour-covered hair, the sound of his chuckling hits your ears.
You spin around, hands braced against the countertop, as he makes his way over to Hannah (you realize with a start that of course you recognized Hannah from the youth group at temple that you occasionally volunteer at) and wipes the egg substitute off her face.
"Making the rounds, huh, Berry?"
You wonder if that's bitterness or just dry humor that you detect in his voice, but decide it's better not to say anything at all. "I was just teaching Katie how to bake a proper vegan cookie."
"Didn't know you and Bieber were that domestic." Now you know it's bitterness, and you can't help but look at him, soft surprise evident on your face.
"We're hardly domestic. We're friends, Noah. You know that." No matter the way you've noticed your insides warm when he grabs your hand in the movie theatre, or the way you can't seem to tear your eyes away from his when he talks. You're friends, and you're not willing to ruin that.
"And what are we?" You don't have an answer for that, and while you search desperately in your prodigious vocabulary for one, he makes his way over to you (you only realize he's moving when you hear Hannah and Katie's frenzied giggling from the hallway) and brushes your forehead this time.
"I always seem to get stuck with the girls who can't seem to keep the flour in the bowl." You think you should be more irritated that he can't seem to downplay his "sex shark" status, but then his hands are cupping your face and he's looking at you with that kind of quiet intensity that you can only ever associate with him, and you let out a soft breath and tilt your face in his hands up a little.
"We're Rachel and Noah," you murmur, and he apparently accepts the answer, because his lips press to yours and you can taste the Rally's he must have eaten on the way over from the spice at the corner of his mouth. You can hear the giggling get an octave higher, and you notice almost peripherally the way one hand curves along your jaw, thumb brushing back and forth as he pulls away.
"Yeah." The eloquence of the statement makes you grin, unrestrained and unabashed, and you roll your eyes fondly as he grins back, eyebrows raising in what can only be a lewd gesture.
"I've got to get Hannah to dance class." It's a goodbye without being a goodbye, his unmistakable method of not talking about things that should be defined, and you smile and nod before packing up your things. You realize you're not really sure if you ever did fall out of love with him in the first place.
Sam comes home a little while later, while you're fishing the cookies out of the oven, and you can tell by the way he doesn't check the kitchen first that he doesn't expect you to still be there. But you don't like to leave a mess behind, so you've stayed while Katie watched a movie, and the appreciative look on his face as he meanders into the kitchen for a protein shake and spots you sets off those butterflies you've been noticing on so many Thursday afternoons.
"You didn't have to clean too, you know. Like, I could have done it."
You can't help but smile. "It's alright. Would you like a cookie?"
"Can't." He holds his protein shake up as proof and you shake your head at that, quasi-maternal instinct kicking in. "Don't have time to work off the calories, you know."
"Do it for me?"
"What do I get out of it?"
You blink at that. "What do you want?"
You suppose you should have seen it coming, but when you realize that he's taking a step forward, that he's lined up in front of you and leaning forward and that his mouth is pressing gently against the corner of yours, you realize you wouldn't have stopped him anyway. It makes you the slightest bit uneasy, that you've accepted kisses from two boys in the same kitchen on the same day, but you can't seem to find reason to tell him no either.
When he spots the way your lips quirk in the corner, he leans over to grab a cookie off the plate beside you, biting into one before pressing his mouth to yours a little more firmly. You can taste the chocolate and the crumbs on his lips, and you think idly that the cookies turned out much better than you had expected.
It goes on like that for a little while, undefined kisses and spontaneous moments with Noah, who likes to show up late at night for drive-in movies and in hazy weekend afternoons for television marathons and escapes from his little sister, and Thursday afternoon movies and weekday night homework sessions with Sam, and you realize after a few weeks that while you should choose, (you're quite honestly amazed that they're both understanding of your reluctance to get into a proper relationship, and also that they haven't told each other or anyone else yet) you don't want to. You don't know how.
And perhaps it's a side effect of falling asleep to a Big Love marathon on HBO, but when you hear the door to your room open and Noah's startled expletives on a lazy Sunday afternoon while you're draped over Sam, mouth pressed against his neck, you don't do anything but roll over and smile sheepishly.
It takes a lot of talking and a lot of cajoling and even a few tears on demand, but you manage to sit them both down and explain the situation and your heart and your feelings, and while they have every right to be as pissed as they both originally are, you thank your lucky stars that they manage to understand. That they manage to see that you're not trying to hurt either, that you genuinely love them both, too much to decide and too much to go without.
And you realize, as you explain how they both mean so much but fill different parts of your heart, that maybe they need each other too. Maybe not in the same way you need them, but they both need a friend. And when they both nod tentatively to the idea that, while it's not the sanest of things, they do love you enough to trust you, you realize that it's going to work. It's not going to be easy, but you make it a point to always be right.
And nothing is more right than your heart.