Fic: Seeing Other People - Part I (Will/Emma, R)
Title: Seeing Other People - Part I
Author: vlegal
Rating: R
Summary: Emma and Will learn about people they didn't know before...
Disclaimer: Glee and its characters belong to Fox and Ryan Murphy. I intend no rights infringement.
Author's Note: I'm back, kids. You guys seriously spoiled me with your feedback on The Graceful Art of Losing It, so I thought I'd give another kick at the can. Turns out the can is a little smutty this time....my bad. Enormous thanks to madeinsekrit for your incredible help and guidance with this. You're my hero in life and I hope my co-dependency doesn't frighten you. Too much.
Emma puttered around the kitchen a bit more, wiping counters and arranging utensils, before finally shutting off the light and heading down the hall. It was a different feeling, going to bed knowing there was someone else in the apartment. Checking that the door was locked felt more like a habit than a necessity for her safety these last few weeks. She didn’t even feel the need to do a final sweep of the front entryway for leftover dirt. Having Will in her home turned out to be more of a comfort than she ever expected.
It hadn’t been their intention to become roommates. Emma had made a point of keeping her distance after her little rant in the lunch room. The flowers had been a nice gesture, but Emma had to seriously reevaluate for herself who exactly Will Schuester was. She came to realize that painting him the superhero who could do no wrong wasn’t just inaccurate, it was unfair. To both of them. His indiscretions had hurt her, no doubt. But she’d blinded herself to the reality that if Will didn’t know who he truly was, she couldn’t claim to know him either. So she stayed away, but remained polite, unwilling to set herself up for more heartache and disappointment.
Until Mrs. McCallister put a can of soup in her microwave and set the power to ‘High’. The tin from the can arched in the small appliance, causing it to explode spectacularly while she was in her living room turning on Jeopardy. The octogenarian called 911 just as her dishtowels caught fire. Scooping up Mr. Whiskerson and running (more like hobbling) out of the apartment as quickly as she could, Mrs. McCallister screamed bloody murder that the world was ending, hoping her neighbours would have the presence of mind to save themselves. She had her hands full with her own life and that of her ornery cat. Will had poked his head out his door when he first heard the sharp bang of the microwave exploding, witnessing the actions and prophecies of his across-the-way neighbour as she fled the scene. It wasn’t until he smelled the smoke and heard the sirens that Will caught onto the situation and began pounding on every door in the hall, making sure everyone was out and accounted for before bolting for the stairs himself.
‘Ever the teacher,’ Emma mused, as she heard Will recount the story to Jim, an English teacher, a few lunch tables over on a Tuesday afternoon. ‘And maybe still a bit of a hero.’ It was his next statement that really caught her attention.
“So, ya, with all the water damage, I’m out on my ass for a while. I’d only been living there a couple months and most of my stuff is in storage, so it’s not that tragic. But I would rather not have to start apartment hunting again quite so soon. And I definitely don’t want to be living with my parents.”
Jim shared his sympathies for Will’s situation and not much else before gathering his leftovers and heading out for a Book Club meeting.
Why she chose to open her mouth at that moment, Emma would never know. What she did know was the words “spare room” and “yours if you want it” spilled out before her brain even had a chance to catch up. Her grey matter was still reeling as she heard his dumbfounded, “That would be great, actually.”
Awkward didn’t begin to describe his first few days in her home. Ever since “the debacle”, as she had started referring to their mutual indiscretions in her head, they had barely spoken. So as she watched him lug several suitcases into her pristine condo, Emma found herself in a completely foreign situation with Will: she had no idea what to say.
Luckily, Will had been the first to break the ice, thanking her profusely for her selfless offer. She’d given him a brief tour and tried to keep her tidiness requirements to a minimum. Her therapy sessions were coming along nicely, but this was her home, and a certain level of cleanliness was still necessary. Of course, she hadn’t divulged all of this to him. Just asked that he keep his shoes on the mat at the front door, hang up his towel and, if he had to have dairy, please don’t drink straight from the carton.
Will had nodded obediently and done his best to comply. They danced around each other, tried to keep out of one another’s way. But after a few days, it was impossible to be on their best behaviour 24/7. She saw how nervous Will looked when she eyed a watermark on the coffee table or a dish left in the sink. He would hurriedly clean it up, but Emma felt bad for putting him on edge like that. She realized that to be functional roommates, they would just have to live their lives.
Emma, with the help of her therapist, started to notice every speck of dust and dirt that trailed behind Will less and less. She no longer fussed over her hair and makeup before daring to exit her bedroom on a Saturday morning. Who cared if Will saw her in something other than her school day finest?
Emma noticed fairly quickly that as she relaxed, so did Will. He remained mindful of keeping things tidy, but his own daily habits began to peek through. He stopped shaving on weekends and slept in. He called back loudly at the refs during whatever game was on tv as he marked papers. She noticed boxes of fruit snacks, alternating weekly between dinosaurs and princesses, next to her organic trail mix in the pantry. Every pencil in the house had an eraser chewed to oblivion (luckily Emma was more particular to pens, so the horror of this discovery was manageable…). She learned to hop in the shower before Will could get to it, or she would have to listen to all the hot water wash away as he gave a half hour musical revue from the closed confines of the bathroom.
Cohabitating and being friends, however, were two different things. Though they were speaking more and more, conversations still did not flow easily.
Until Will caught Emma dancing in the kitchen.
She had the condo to herself for a full Saturday. Will was holding extra Glee rehearsals as Regionals approached and bid Emma good day at 10am with a smile and a wave. She decided to spend the day tidying up and generally being domestic, one of her most favourite and relaxing undertakings. By 4:30, she had tied her hair loosely behind her head, cranked up her computer speakers, and was bopping along to Metric as she stirred a pot of homemade vegetable soup.
She didn’t hear the front door open as she belted her favourite chorus.
“Gimme sympathy! After all this is gone, Who would you rather be? The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?”
It wasn’t until she twirled around the counter that she came to an abrupt halt in front of an astonished-looking Will. Not that she blamed him. The only time he’d seen her dance had been at the bridal parlor and it had been so…proper. And at the moment, she felt anything but proper. She felt young and happy and free. And damn it all if she was going to let a little embarrassment in front of her roommate ruin that.
Allowing a grin to spread across her face and reach her eyes, Emma kept the beat with her hips and reached a hand towards Will, dancing back towards the stove. She turned her back, not totally over the awkwardness of him staring at her like that, but kept on singing. When Will grabbed her elbow, his grin and the level of his voice matched her own. They sang and danced around the kitchen for the better part of an hour, finishing dinner preparations and laughing as they bumped into each other.
As they sat down to eat, their first real conversation in months emerged.
“So, who would you rather be?” Will peered over his soupspoon, eyebrows raised, as he posed the question to Emma.
“What?” Emma laughed back.
“The Beatles or the Rolling Stones. Who would you rather be?”
The single question had led to a 3-hour philosophical exploration of the pros, cons, and evolutions of popular music. And so the game began.
“Who Would You Rather Be?” became a daily occurrence, with pairings thought up by both of them, ranging from the silly (Gonzo or Fozzy Bear?) to the profound (Mother Theresa or the Dalai Lama?) to the absurd (Kim Jong Il or Sue Sylvester?). Sometimes the answer would be short, automatic and unanimous (“Kim Jong Il.”), or could launch them into deep debate and discussion. Either way, those simple five words had acted like a reboot button in Emma’s mind to her relationship with Will.
They became friends. Really and truly friends. They spent evenings together, laughing over shared stories, discussing the day’s events, or sitting in comfortable silence as they worked. The underlying current of sexual tension, long since acknowledged, didn’t overwhelm their relationship like it had for so long. They were attracted to each other. Or at least, Emma knew she was still attracted to Will. But it wasn’t the elephant in the room it once was. The over-analysis of touches and looks no longer plagued Emma’s mind. She wasn’t worried about what Will saw when he looked at her. She was evolving, this she knew as her anxieties lessened by the day, and she felt no shame in him seeing her for what she was: strong, but not always put together. Somehow, she knew Will had changed too. He was as polite and gentle as ever, but not as immaculate and polished as she had once enshrined him to be. And she knew she wasn’t the porcelain doll she used to be in his eyes. A few bouts of hearing her curse like a sailor when she stubbed her toe or hit her funny bone, and she saw the image she’d once portrayed to him start to crumble. He seemed amused by her tendency to drive a little too fast, and patient when she consistently burned the toast in the morning. The more their rough edges showed, the more they seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces.
Finished her nightly rounds, Emma wandered by the open door to Will’s room (when had it stopped being the guestroom?). The light was still on. Poking her head in to say a final ‘Goodnight’, the words caught in her mouth as she took in the image before her. Will was propped against the headboard, head lolled slightly to the side. The novel he’d been engrossed in all weekend lay beside him, held limply by a relaxed hand. One long leg was outstretched, the other slightly bent, the sinew of muscles drawing lines that disappeared under navy boxers. The arm not attached to his book was draped across his bare stomach, rising and falling with his even breaths. His face looked soft and calm, dark eyelashes resting on high cheekbones.
The sight made Emma release a deep breath she didn’t even know she’d taken. He was beautiful, she realized. Not just his body. Anyone with eyes could see he would put most male models to shame. But Will Schuester, this Will Schuester, was beautiful. The person that had moved into her home, messed up her stuff, and saw her messier than anyone outside of her family ever had. The person who listened intently to her thoughts and ideas, but wasn’t afraid to refute or disagree with them and challenge the way she looked at the world. The person who had taken the time to relearn who she was, while she struggled with the same task, and lowered his own guards so she could begin moving towards him again. This person was beautiful.
She wasn’t looking at the first man she’d ever loved and had to walk away from. No, that man was gone. Emma realized she was now looking at the second man she’d ever fallen in love with. The difference? She’d worked so hard to live the fantasy that was the first man, while the reality of the second had her falling so much harder.
Whether this new Will liked what he saw in Emma, though, she couldn’t tell. She had been making a concentrated effort not to micro-analyze every kind gesture he made towards her, every lingered look, every physical contact. But she couldn’t help but wonder if his attraction to her, his deeper feelings for her, had changed along with the rest of him.
Emma softly padded into the room, her sole goal to turn off the bedside lamp. As she reached for the switch, she paused to lean across Will’s chest and remove the novel from his hand. Putting the book on the nightstand, she became aware of how close her face was to his. She smiled as her nose grazed his. The desire to kiss his cheek goodnight wasn’t worth fighting. The brief brush of her lips didn’t affect his sleeping state. But when she leaned forward and allowed her mouth to warmly rest against his, Will startled awake.
Emma smiled sheepishly at Will’s look of alarm. Due to their proximity, all she could see were his eyes, wide with confusion. Emma allowed her own to close as she brought her lips to Will’s again, barely leaving a peck, but hovering so their breaths mingled. She nudged his nose with her own before starting to lean back, and attempted to focus on his face and gauge his reaction. This was, by far, the boldest thing she’d ever done in her life.
She was unable to read him, however, as Will sat up and followed her movements. His hands came up to tangle under her hair, stilling her head from retreating any further. For a moment, Will looked directly in her eyes, but not long enough for Emma to anticipate his next move.
Will’s kiss started off like her own, barely a whisper and more of an experiment in being close to her again. His fingers flexed slightly against the back of her head, pushing deeper under the red waves. When she moved her hands to slide up his ribcage, Will’s restraint broke and he kissed Emma with a passion she couldn’t compare to anything she’d ever experienced.
Heads angled, lips parted, tongues met in a homecoming long overdue. Emma melted into Will’s arms and easily lay back on the bed as he shifted their bodies downward, angled towards the footboard. Emma felt tingles radiate from the middle of her stomach and reach in every direction as Will kissed down her neck and his hands slid under her tank-top to stroke down her sides. She groaned as he nipped at the dip in her collarbone, one of her hands brushing through the curls at the back of his head as the fingernails of the other grazed his bicep. She didn’t notice herself squirm in building anticipation, her hips grinding up into Will’s, until he froze and subsequently sat up.
“Wait. Stop. Please, I……Emma, what is this?”
Emma couldn’t help but laugh lightly. Will looked so startled, she sat up and placed a reassuring hand on top of his.
“I believe they call it sex, Will. It’s okay. I’m ready this time, I swear.” She smiled and moved in to kiss him again, only for Will to pull back sharply.
“No, Emma. Stop. I don’t want to have sex with you.”
Author: vlegal
Rating: R
Summary: Emma and Will learn about people they didn't know before...
Disclaimer: Glee and its characters belong to Fox and Ryan Murphy. I intend no rights infringement.
Author's Note: I'm back, kids. You guys seriously spoiled me with your feedback on The Graceful Art of Losing It, so I thought I'd give another kick at the can. Turns out the can is a little smutty this time....my bad. Enormous thanks to madeinsekrit for your incredible help and guidance with this. You're my hero in life and I hope my co-dependency doesn't frighten you. Too much.
Emma puttered around the kitchen a bit more, wiping counters and arranging utensils, before finally shutting off the light and heading down the hall. It was a different feeling, going to bed knowing there was someone else in the apartment. Checking that the door was locked felt more like a habit than a necessity for her safety these last few weeks. She didn’t even feel the need to do a final sweep of the front entryway for leftover dirt. Having Will in her home turned out to be more of a comfort than she ever expected.
It hadn’t been their intention to become roommates. Emma had made a point of keeping her distance after her little rant in the lunch room. The flowers had been a nice gesture, but Emma had to seriously reevaluate for herself who exactly Will Schuester was. She came to realize that painting him the superhero who could do no wrong wasn’t just inaccurate, it was unfair. To both of them. His indiscretions had hurt her, no doubt. But she’d blinded herself to the reality that if Will didn’t know who he truly was, she couldn’t claim to know him either. So she stayed away, but remained polite, unwilling to set herself up for more heartache and disappointment.
Until Mrs. McCallister put a can of soup in her microwave and set the power to ‘High’. The tin from the can arched in the small appliance, causing it to explode spectacularly while she was in her living room turning on Jeopardy. The octogenarian called 911 just as her dishtowels caught fire. Scooping up Mr. Whiskerson and running (more like hobbling) out of the apartment as quickly as she could, Mrs. McCallister screamed bloody murder that the world was ending, hoping her neighbours would have the presence of mind to save themselves. She had her hands full with her own life and that of her ornery cat. Will had poked his head out his door when he first heard the sharp bang of the microwave exploding, witnessing the actions and prophecies of his across-the-way neighbour as she fled the scene. It wasn’t until he smelled the smoke and heard the sirens that Will caught onto the situation and began pounding on every door in the hall, making sure everyone was out and accounted for before bolting for the stairs himself.
‘Ever the teacher,’ Emma mused, as she heard Will recount the story to Jim, an English teacher, a few lunch tables over on a Tuesday afternoon. ‘And maybe still a bit of a hero.’ It was his next statement that really caught her attention.
“So, ya, with all the water damage, I’m out on my ass for a while. I’d only been living there a couple months and most of my stuff is in storage, so it’s not that tragic. But I would rather not have to start apartment hunting again quite so soon. And I definitely don’t want to be living with my parents.”
Jim shared his sympathies for Will’s situation and not much else before gathering his leftovers and heading out for a Book Club meeting.
Why she chose to open her mouth at that moment, Emma would never know. What she did know was the words “spare room” and “yours if you want it” spilled out before her brain even had a chance to catch up. Her grey matter was still reeling as she heard his dumbfounded, “That would be great, actually.”
Awkward didn’t begin to describe his first few days in her home. Ever since “the debacle”, as she had started referring to their mutual indiscretions in her head, they had barely spoken. So as she watched him lug several suitcases into her pristine condo, Emma found herself in a completely foreign situation with Will: she had no idea what to say.
Luckily, Will had been the first to break the ice, thanking her profusely for her selfless offer. She’d given him a brief tour and tried to keep her tidiness requirements to a minimum. Her therapy sessions were coming along nicely, but this was her home, and a certain level of cleanliness was still necessary. Of course, she hadn’t divulged all of this to him. Just asked that he keep his shoes on the mat at the front door, hang up his towel and, if he had to have dairy, please don’t drink straight from the carton.
Will had nodded obediently and done his best to comply. They danced around each other, tried to keep out of one another’s way. But after a few days, it was impossible to be on their best behaviour 24/7. She saw how nervous Will looked when she eyed a watermark on the coffee table or a dish left in the sink. He would hurriedly clean it up, but Emma felt bad for putting him on edge like that. She realized that to be functional roommates, they would just have to live their lives.
Emma, with the help of her therapist, started to notice every speck of dust and dirt that trailed behind Will less and less. She no longer fussed over her hair and makeup before daring to exit her bedroom on a Saturday morning. Who cared if Will saw her in something other than her school day finest?
Emma noticed fairly quickly that as she relaxed, so did Will. He remained mindful of keeping things tidy, but his own daily habits began to peek through. He stopped shaving on weekends and slept in. He called back loudly at the refs during whatever game was on tv as he marked papers. She noticed boxes of fruit snacks, alternating weekly between dinosaurs and princesses, next to her organic trail mix in the pantry. Every pencil in the house had an eraser chewed to oblivion (luckily Emma was more particular to pens, so the horror of this discovery was manageable…). She learned to hop in the shower before Will could get to it, or she would have to listen to all the hot water wash away as he gave a half hour musical revue from the closed confines of the bathroom.
Cohabitating and being friends, however, were two different things. Though they were speaking more and more, conversations still did not flow easily.
Until Will caught Emma dancing in the kitchen.
She had the condo to herself for a full Saturday. Will was holding extra Glee rehearsals as Regionals approached and bid Emma good day at 10am with a smile and a wave. She decided to spend the day tidying up and generally being domestic, one of her most favourite and relaxing undertakings. By 4:30, she had tied her hair loosely behind her head, cranked up her computer speakers, and was bopping along to Metric as she stirred a pot of homemade vegetable soup.
She didn’t hear the front door open as she belted her favourite chorus.
“Gimme sympathy! After all this is gone, Who would you rather be? The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?”
It wasn’t until she twirled around the counter that she came to an abrupt halt in front of an astonished-looking Will. Not that she blamed him. The only time he’d seen her dance had been at the bridal parlor and it had been so…proper. And at the moment, she felt anything but proper. She felt young and happy and free. And damn it all if she was going to let a little embarrassment in front of her roommate ruin that.
Allowing a grin to spread across her face and reach her eyes, Emma kept the beat with her hips and reached a hand towards Will, dancing back towards the stove. She turned her back, not totally over the awkwardness of him staring at her like that, but kept on singing. When Will grabbed her elbow, his grin and the level of his voice matched her own. They sang and danced around the kitchen for the better part of an hour, finishing dinner preparations and laughing as they bumped into each other.
As they sat down to eat, their first real conversation in months emerged.
“So, who would you rather be?” Will peered over his soupspoon, eyebrows raised, as he posed the question to Emma.
“What?” Emma laughed back.
“The Beatles or the Rolling Stones. Who would you rather be?”
The single question had led to a 3-hour philosophical exploration of the pros, cons, and evolutions of popular music. And so the game began.
“Who Would You Rather Be?” became a daily occurrence, with pairings thought up by both of them, ranging from the silly (Gonzo or Fozzy Bear?) to the profound (Mother Theresa or the Dalai Lama?) to the absurd (Kim Jong Il or Sue Sylvester?). Sometimes the answer would be short, automatic and unanimous (“Kim Jong Il.”), or could launch them into deep debate and discussion. Either way, those simple five words had acted like a reboot button in Emma’s mind to her relationship with Will.
They became friends. Really and truly friends. They spent evenings together, laughing over shared stories, discussing the day’s events, or sitting in comfortable silence as they worked. The underlying current of sexual tension, long since acknowledged, didn’t overwhelm their relationship like it had for so long. They were attracted to each other. Or at least, Emma knew she was still attracted to Will. But it wasn’t the elephant in the room it once was. The over-analysis of touches and looks no longer plagued Emma’s mind. She wasn’t worried about what Will saw when he looked at her. She was evolving, this she knew as her anxieties lessened by the day, and she felt no shame in him seeing her for what she was: strong, but not always put together. Somehow, she knew Will had changed too. He was as polite and gentle as ever, but not as immaculate and polished as she had once enshrined him to be. And she knew she wasn’t the porcelain doll she used to be in his eyes. A few bouts of hearing her curse like a sailor when she stubbed her toe or hit her funny bone, and she saw the image she’d once portrayed to him start to crumble. He seemed amused by her tendency to drive a little too fast, and patient when she consistently burned the toast in the morning. The more their rough edges showed, the more they seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces.
Finished her nightly rounds, Emma wandered by the open door to Will’s room (when had it stopped being the guestroom?). The light was still on. Poking her head in to say a final ‘Goodnight’, the words caught in her mouth as she took in the image before her. Will was propped against the headboard, head lolled slightly to the side. The novel he’d been engrossed in all weekend lay beside him, held limply by a relaxed hand. One long leg was outstretched, the other slightly bent, the sinew of muscles drawing lines that disappeared under navy boxers. The arm not attached to his book was draped across his bare stomach, rising and falling with his even breaths. His face looked soft and calm, dark eyelashes resting on high cheekbones.
The sight made Emma release a deep breath she didn’t even know she’d taken. He was beautiful, she realized. Not just his body. Anyone with eyes could see he would put most male models to shame. But Will Schuester, this Will Schuester, was beautiful. The person that had moved into her home, messed up her stuff, and saw her messier than anyone outside of her family ever had. The person who listened intently to her thoughts and ideas, but wasn’t afraid to refute or disagree with them and challenge the way she looked at the world. The person who had taken the time to relearn who she was, while she struggled with the same task, and lowered his own guards so she could begin moving towards him again. This person was beautiful.
She wasn’t looking at the first man she’d ever loved and had to walk away from. No, that man was gone. Emma realized she was now looking at the second man she’d ever fallen in love with. The difference? She’d worked so hard to live the fantasy that was the first man, while the reality of the second had her falling so much harder.
Whether this new Will liked what he saw in Emma, though, she couldn’t tell. She had been making a concentrated effort not to micro-analyze every kind gesture he made towards her, every lingered look, every physical contact. But she couldn’t help but wonder if his attraction to her, his deeper feelings for her, had changed along with the rest of him.
Emma softly padded into the room, her sole goal to turn off the bedside lamp. As she reached for the switch, she paused to lean across Will’s chest and remove the novel from his hand. Putting the book on the nightstand, she became aware of how close her face was to his. She smiled as her nose grazed his. The desire to kiss his cheek goodnight wasn’t worth fighting. The brief brush of her lips didn’t affect his sleeping state. But when she leaned forward and allowed her mouth to warmly rest against his, Will startled awake.
Emma smiled sheepishly at Will’s look of alarm. Due to their proximity, all she could see were his eyes, wide with confusion. Emma allowed her own to close as she brought her lips to Will’s again, barely leaving a peck, but hovering so their breaths mingled. She nudged his nose with her own before starting to lean back, and attempted to focus on his face and gauge his reaction. This was, by far, the boldest thing she’d ever done in her life.
She was unable to read him, however, as Will sat up and followed her movements. His hands came up to tangle under her hair, stilling her head from retreating any further. For a moment, Will looked directly in her eyes, but not long enough for Emma to anticipate his next move.
Will’s kiss started off like her own, barely a whisper and more of an experiment in being close to her again. His fingers flexed slightly against the back of her head, pushing deeper under the red waves. When she moved her hands to slide up his ribcage, Will’s restraint broke and he kissed Emma with a passion she couldn’t compare to anything she’d ever experienced.
Heads angled, lips parted, tongues met in a homecoming long overdue. Emma melted into Will’s arms and easily lay back on the bed as he shifted their bodies downward, angled towards the footboard. Emma felt tingles radiate from the middle of her stomach and reach in every direction as Will kissed down her neck and his hands slid under her tank-top to stroke down her sides. She groaned as he nipped at the dip in her collarbone, one of her hands brushing through the curls at the back of his head as the fingernails of the other grazed his bicep. She didn’t notice herself squirm in building anticipation, her hips grinding up into Will’s, until he froze and subsequently sat up.
“Wait. Stop. Please, I……Emma, what is this?”
Emma couldn’t help but laugh lightly. Will looked so startled, she sat up and placed a reassuring hand on top of his.
“I believe they call it sex, Will. It’s okay. I’m ready this time, I swear.” She smiled and moved in to kiss him again, only for Will to pull back sharply.
“No, Emma. Stop. I don’t want to have sex with you.”