Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rachel’s POV

It was the start of a new school year, but everything felt heavier.

The bell rang, echoing through the halls of McKinley like a warning siren. Students scattered to class, already buzzing about who was dating who, what parties were happening, and which teachers would let them get away with murder this semester. But Rachel Berry wasn’t paying attention to any of it.

She kept her head down, fingers clenched tightly around the strap of her bag, her posture as perfect as ever—but only because it had to be. Not because she wanted it to be.

This year was supposed to be different. It was supposed to be her comeback. But instead, it felt like she was dragging herself uphill, barefoot, over shattered glass. Every hallway whispered with pieces of the truth that no one knew. That only she knew.

People thought she and Finn broke up because it “didn’t work.” That maybe she was “too intense” or “too clingy.” That Finn just “couldn’t handle her.” No one knew that he’d used her like a pawn. That he only dated her to get Quinn back. That he cheated. That she saw him kissing Quinn behind the bleachers and he didn’t even try to deny it—he just looked at her like she should’ve known all along.

She hadn’t told anyone.

Not because she wanted to protect him. But because she couldn’t stand the idea of being pitied.

Rachel Berry did not get pitied. She got solos. She got standing ovations. She got into NYADA and made it big and left this town behind.

At least, that was the plan.

She stepped into the choir room with her chin raised and her heart locked behind polished armor. Her outfit was pristine, as always—a white sweater tucked into a navy pleated skirt, ankle socks folded just so above her Mary Janes. Her hair was curled to perfection, lips tinted a soft pink.

Everything about her said fine.

Inside, she was a house on fire.

“Alright, guys!” Mr. Schuester clapped his hands at the front of the room, smiling that overly excited smile that meant something stupid was about to happen. “New year, new assignment!”

Rachel took her seat quietly. Mercedes shot her a small smile. Tina waved. Kurt gave her a nod of acknowledgement. None of them knew. And she wasn’t about to tell them.

“This week,” Mr. Schue continued, “you’re all going to be paired up for our ‘Get to Know the Music’ duet challenge. It’s about connection. Chemistry. Understanding someone different from you and finding a common voice.”

Rachel straightened in her seat, lips pursed. A duet? Excellent. This was something she could excel at. Maybe she’d be paired with someone strong—Mercedes, or Kurt. Or even Mike, if he could hold a note this year.

“Pairs were chosen at random,” Schue went on. “You’ll have the week to rehearse outside of class. Perform on Friday. Sound good?”

A few murmured responses, mostly groans. Rachel didn’t speak.

“Alright,” he said, unfolding a piece of paper. “First pair… Finn and Santana.”

Rachel stiffened. She didn’t look over, didn’t need to. She could feel Finn’s presence like a shadow—tall, heavy, looming.

Santana let out a loud, “Ugh, shoot me,” and slumped in her chair. The class snickered.

“Next up,” Mr. Schue continued, oblivious. “Mercedes and Kurt.”

“Yasss,” Mercedes grinned, bumping Kurt’s shoulder. “Prepare to be slayed.”

“And…” Mr. Schue paused, a little too long. “Rachel and Noah.”

Everything stopped.

Rachel blinked.

She glanced up slowly—just in time to see him lean back in his seat, smirking like the universe had just handed him a joke on a silver platter.

Puck.

Noah Puckerman. McKinley’s favorite bad boy. Slushie thrower, heartbreaker, Mohawk-wearing menace.

Her partner.

“No,” she said, before she could stop herself.

Everyone turned. Even Mr. Schue blinked.

“No?” he repeated.

Rachel caught herself. “I mean—” She sat up straighter, smoothing her sweater. “It’s just that… Noah and I don’t exactly have compatible styles. Our vocal ranges are dramatically different. I don’t believe our chemistry would be artistically cohesive—”

“Too bad,” Puck cut in, voice lazy but sharp. “Guess we’re stuck with each other, sweetheart.”

Rachel’s stomach dropped.

Mr. Schue gave an awkward chuckle. “You might learn something from each other. That’s kind of the point. So… make it work.”

Rachel didn’t respond. She just stared at her hands in her lap, heart pounding, mind racing.

Noah Puckerman.

This week was going to be hell.

Chapter Text

Rachel’s POV

She didn’t sleep well.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—lounging back in that chair with that arrogant smirk, like being paired with her was a game. Like she was something he’d already figured out and decided wasn’t a threat. It made her want to scream.

Or maybe… throw her music folder at his face.

Rachel Berry did not lose sleep over Noah Puckerman. She had more important things to worry about. Her NYADA prep track, her new solo audition for Sectionals, her perfectly outlined planner.

And yet, there she was—twenty-four hours later, clutching her folder like a shield, her brain replaying yesterday’s pairing announcement on an endless loop.

“Rachel and Noah.”

Mr. Schue might as well have set her on fire.

Noah Puckerman was the last person she’d choose for a duet. Or a friendship. Or literally anything other than possibly serving detention beside. He was loud and disruptive, with a voice that leaned more toward rock-and-roll growling than disciplined vibrato. He didn’t care about technique or storytelling or vocal precision. He cared about boobs and football and… and not showing up for things.

So imagine her surprise when he showed up beside her locker after lunch.

He didn’t say anything at first—just leaned lazily against the locker next to hers, arms crossed, eyes casually scanning her face like she was some kind of curiosity. He didn’t even blink.

Rachel straightened her spine. “Can I help you?”

“No,” he said easily. “You said after school. Auditorium. Just checking to see if I needed to bring anything.”

Rachel blinked. “You remembered?”

He raised a brow. “You really thought I wouldn’t show?”

She didn’t answer. Because yes—yes, she absolutely thought he wouldn’t show.

He shrugged. “I got time. I’ll be there.”

As he turned to leave, he added, “Wear something you can move in.”

She gaped after him, face flaming. “Excuse me?!”

But he was already gone, disappearing into the chaos of the hallway like smoke.

The auditorium was quiet after school—her favorite kind of quiet. Golden light filtered through the upper windows, casting long shadows across the stage. Rachel stepped into the space like she always did: with reverence.

And irritation.

Because he was already there.

Noah was sitting on the edge of the stage, swinging his legs like a bored child, munching on a bag of chips. His backpack was somewhere in the wings. He was wearing a worn-out T-shirt and jeans, and his leather jacket was slung over a nearby chair.

He looked up as she entered, and his smirk returned immediately. “You’re late.”

“I’m exactly on time,” she snapped, clutching her folder tighter. “I had to retrieve the proper sheet music.”

“Mm-hmm.” He crunched another chip. “That your battle armor or somethin’?”

Rachel ignored him and made her way to the piano bench, spreading her papers with precision. “I’ve selected a few duet options to begin with. I thought something with complementary harmonies might be beneficial—possibly from the Spring Awakening or Waitress soundtracks.”

Noah made a vague noise of acknowledgment but didn’t move.

She looked up. “Well? Are you coming over here or not?”

He grinned. “Nah. I’m good. I’m just gonna watch you for a sec.”

Rachel blinked, unnerved. “Why?”

“‘Cause you look like you’re auditioning for Broadway even when you’re just flipping pages.”

She stiffened. “This is a performance assignment, Noah. Not a joke.”

“I’m not joking,” he said. And for once, his voice was quiet. Honest.

Rachel faltered.

A few seconds of silence passed before he spoke again.

“You ever heard Say Something? That duet one? I forget who sings it.”

Rachel blinked. “A Great Big World. Featuring Christina Aguilera.”

“Yeah. That one.” He shrugged. “It’s good. Real emotional. Real raw. Figured you’d like it.”

She stared at him.

Noah Puckerman… knew that song?

“You… like Say Something?”

He shrugged again, like it wasn’t a big deal. “My ma listens to it. She’s into all that sad piano crap.”

That shouldn’t have made her stomach flutter. But it did.

She swallowed. “That’s… unexpected.”

“Why? You think I don’t feel stuff?”

“I think,” Rachel said slowly, “that you go out of your way to make sure no one knows what you feel.”

Noah didn’t answer.

For a moment, the auditorium was so still she could hear the ticking of the wall clock.

Then he stood, walked over to her, and tapped her music folder. “Pick a song you actually wanna sing, not the one that makes you sound smartest.”

He walked away after that, bag of chips in hand, leaving Rachel rooted to the piano bench, unsure whether to be impressed… or afraid.

She didn’t eat dinner that night.

She sat on her bed in her robe, her Glee folder spread across her comforter, Say Something playing softly through her headphones.

She didn’t even like that song that much.

But when she closed her eyes, she could hear Noah’s voice in it. Low, rough around the edges, aching.

It scared her more than she wanted to admit.

She opened her notebook and wrote:

Assignment Reflection – Day 1
He didn’t make fun of me. He didn’t laugh.
And when he spoke… I think he actually meant it.

I don’t know what to make of him yet. But I think I’m starting to wonder.

Chapter Text

Noah

He wasn’t sure why he cared.

Maybe it was the way she always looked like she was about to bolt—like someone had her caged in, but she was too proud to admit it. Or maybe it was the way her voice shook a little when she sang, like she was holding back something bigger, deeper.

Whatever it was, Rachel Berry had burrowed into his head, and now she wouldn’t leave.

He lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, tossing a football in the air like it might knock the thoughts loose. It didn’t. He caught it every time. Rhythm. Predictable. Unlike her.

Rachel Berry was all edge and polish and don’t-get-too-close. But then she’d go and say something like “This is a performance assignment, not a joke,” all fire in her eyes and hands flailing with sheet music, and Noah found himself listening instead of rolling his eyes.

She wasn’t what he thought. Not even close.

He remembered her from when they were kids—before the mohawk, before the swagger. She used to sit in the front row of Mrs. Kearney’s music class with perfect posture and raise her hand for every question. She once offered to sing a solo about the water cycle.

He made fun of her back then. Most of them did. But now? He couldn’t stop thinking about how her eyes lit up when she talked about arrangements or how seriously she took a duet with him.

Like he was worth something.

God, I’m screwed, he thought, catching the ball one last time and letting it fall to the floor. I’ve got it bad for Berry.

A knock on the door snapped him out of it. His mom peeked her head in.

“Lights out soon, Noah.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Just going over some stuff.”

She raised a brow. “For school?”

“Glee assignment,” he admitted, then added quickly, “It’s for a grade.”

She smiled—soft, knowing. “You always did like a girl who could sing.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was grinning when the door shut.

Rachel

She avoided him the next morning.

It was immature and obvious and beneath her—but she didn’t care.

She took the long route to first period. Ate lunch in the library under the pretense of "independent rehearsal prep." Refused to make eye contact in the hallway. She even considered sending a text to cancel their after-school session, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She hated the idea of looking like she was running away.

But she was.

Because Rachel Berry didn’t do feelings without consequences. And Noah Puckerman was suddenly stirring something.

He had looked at her yesterday like he saw her. Not just the perfectionist or the showboat or the control freak. Her. And worse—he hadn’t flinched.

She didn’t know what to make of that.

So she showed up to rehearsal early, armed with preparation. She laid out a perfectly arranged duet plan with vocal assignments, marked harmonies, and optional choreography. She printed it on lavender-scented paper. She took back control.

Until he was there. Again. Already.

Lounging on the stage like he had nothing better to do, head tilted toward the ceiling like it might tell him something.

“Hey,” he said without looking at her. “You always show up this early?”

“I prefer to be prepared,” she said crisply, walking past him to the piano. “And since you’re actually here, I thought we could begin with a structured approach.”

He sat up, eyes flicking over the folder she shoved in his direction. “What’s this?”

“A breakdown of duet options, vocal ranges, blend techniques, and potential emotional cues.”

He flipped a few pages. “You did all this since yesterday?”

“Yes. Efficiency is important.”

He looked up at her. “Or maybe you’re just trying to control everything so you don’t get hurt again.”

The world stopped.

Rachel froze, heart lurching against her ribs. “What?”

Noah didn’t even blink. “You’re not as hard to read as you think.”

Her throat tightened. She was ready to snap something defensive, something cutting—but the words didn’t come.

Instead, she just stood there, exposed in a way she hadn’t meant to be. Not here. Not with him.

Noah sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look—I’m not saying it to mess with you. I just… see it. Doesn’t mean I’ll use it against you.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. So she sat at the piano and opened her sheet music.

He sat beside her.

Noah

They sang Say Something—just once. Just to see.

He didn’t expect much. He wasn’t some trained pro. But when their voices met, something happened.

Her voice was clear and steady, full of ache. His was rougher, lower, but it fit. It balanced her in a way that made the air shift, like the whole room had stopped breathing just to listen.

When they finished, she didn’t look at him. Just stared at the keys, fingers hovering above them.

He could’ve said a million things. But all that came out was:

“We sound good together, Berry.”

She nodded once. “I know.”

That night, Noah was walking to his car when he saw Derek Spangler—tight end, third-string, and a certified asshole—laughing about something near the stairwell.

Noah caught one word.

“Desperate.”

His whole body went still.

“You say something about Berry?” he asked, voice low.

Derek turned, rolled his eyes. “Man, lighten up. Just a joke.”

Noah stepped closer. “You ever talk about her like that again, I’ll make sure you spend your next game walking sideways. Got it?”

Derek blinked. “Dude—seriously?”

“Dead serious.”

He walked away before he could do something stupid.

But as he drove home, his jaw clenched, all he could think about was the way Rachel’s voice cracked just slightly on the word “say.”

He wanted to hear it again.

And again.

And maybe forever.

Chapter Text

Rachel

Rachel didn’t mean to pick the soft blue cardigan.

It wasn’t part of her typical rehearsal wardrobe rotation. Too cozy. Too... approachable. It didn’t pair with precision or command stage presence like a structured blazer or bold-patterned tights.

But that morning, when her fingers brushed over it on the hanger, she paused. It reminded her of the light that filtered through the auditorium windows. Soft, subtle, unexpected.

She slipped it on.

Not because of Noah. Of course not.

She just wanted to feel… comfortable.

Even if part of her still didn’t understand why.

They didn’t plan to fall into rhythm, but somehow they did.

That afternoon, the auditorium felt different. Warmer. Less like a battleground and more like a shared space. A place where something new—tentative and fragile—had started to grow.

Rachel arrived a few minutes early, expecting him to be late.

He was already there.

This time, he was tuning the strings of a beat-up acoustic guitar with a look of determined frustration. It didn’t quite suit him, which made it strangely endearing.

He looked up when she walked in and gave her a small smirk. “Nice sweater, Berry. You look… less scary today.”

She blinked. “It’s a cardigan. And I’m never scary.”

“You say that, but last week you almost stabbed Finn with a pencil during math.”

Rachel’s lips twitched. “He deserved it.”

Noah grinned and set the guitar down. “Agreed.”

They ran Say Something again, and this time… they didn’t just sing.

They felt it.

Noah found the harmony without being told. Rachel eased into her lead, her voice softer than usual. And when she glanced over at him—just briefly—he was watching her. Not judging. Not mocking.

Just… watching.

Her next note caught in her throat.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

She cleared her throat. “Fine. Just—dry air.”

He didn’t call her out on it.

Later, as they sat side by side on the stage drinking from mismatched water bottles, something unspoken passed between them. Maybe it was the way their knees brushed. Maybe it was the fact that neither of them moved away.

Rachel looked down at her fingers. “Why did you join Glee, really?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back on his palms, staring up at the ceiling like it might give him the words.

“Community service,” he said finally. “Court-ordered.”

She blinked.

He smirked. “Busted some windows. Don’t ask.”

Her eyebrows raised.

He added, quieter, “But I stayed ‘cause… I don’t know. Kinda liked it. Felt good to be part of something. Felt like maybe I wasn’t just some screw-up.”

Rachel stared at him.

He looked over, brows lifting. “What?”

She hesitated. “That’s… not what I expected.”

He shrugged. “You think I’m all mohawk and hormones.”

“I think…” she said slowly, “that you hide behind them.”

He didn’t deny it.

“What about you?” he asked after a beat. “Why do you push yourself so hard?”

Rachel swallowed. Looked down. “Because if I stop…” Her voice faltered. “I’ll fall apart.”

Silence.

Noah didn’t laugh. Didn’t joke.

Just nodded. “Yeah. I get that.”

And somehow, that was worse. Because he meant it.

Noah

She laughed.

It wasn’t a stage laugh or a sarcastic scoff. It was real—loud and dorky and hers.

It happened when he picked up the guitar again and tried to strum “Bad Romance” on two broken chords. Rachel had doubled over, snorting into her sleeve like she couldn’t contain herself.

“You’re butchering Gaga,” she said between giggles.

“Correction,” he grinned. “I’m honoring her.”

“By giving her a migraine?”

“Rude.”

She shook her head, wiping tears from her eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

But she was smiling. And suddenly he didn’t care that his fingers hurt or that he couldn’t play for shit.

He’d made her laugh.

That meant more than he could explain.

That night, he sat in bed staring at his phone like a moron.

He didn’t even remember unlocking it. His fingers just hovered over her contact.

He shouldn’t text her. That was weird. Right?

His thumb moved before he could stop it.

puckerman: u killed it today. don’t get cocky tho.
berry: I never get cocky. Only correct.
puckerman: u keep tellin urself that, shortstack.
berry: You just hate that I’m always right.
puckerman: maybe
berry: …goodnight, Noah.

He stared at that last message for a long time.

He never hated his name until she said it like that.

The next day, he walked her to class.

She didn’t ask him to. Didn’t expect it. He just showed up beside her locker with his usual smirk, handed her a coffee, and said, “Don’t make it weird.”

It wasn’t weird.

It was easy.

And when their hands brushed in the hallway, she didn’t pull away.

Chapter Text

Rachel

She told herself it didn’t mean anything.

The text messages. The way he brought her coffee without asking. The way he was always there when she looked up, like his internal compass had quietly shifted and now pointed toward her.

It was just proximity. A shared assignment. A coincidence.

It wasn’t a thing.

Except… it kind of was.

Rachel sat at her vanity that morning, twisting her hair back with deliberate care, her lips pursed and her heart beating too fast. She caught her reflection—blue cardigan again—and frowned.

Why did he make her nervous?

Not the way Finn used to. Finn made her feel like she had to prove she was worth something. Noah? He made her feel like she already was.

And that terrified her more than anything.

The choir room was buzzing with quiet energy. Glee club was always louder on Fridays—people cracking jokes, tossing sheet music, half-heartedly stretching before warm-ups. Rachel sat in her usual spot, back straight, expression composed.

Noah dropped into the seat beside her without a word.

His knee brushed hers.

He didn’t move.

She didn’t either.

Mr. Schuester launched into a motivational speech about “teamwork” and “emotional connection.” Rachel only half-listened. She was too busy trying to focus on her breathing while pretending she didn’t notice how close Noah smelled—clean laundry, citrus, something warm underneath.

“We’ve got big performances coming up,” Schue said. “And I want real chemistry, people. So find your partner, rehearse like you mean it, and let’s see something honest next week.”

Santana muttered under her breath, “Honest, huh? Guess that’s one word for what those two have.”

Rachel shot her a glare.

Noah just smirked.

Later — Hallway

She didn’t see the guy coming.

Rachel was grabbing her history book from her locker when a voice behind her drawled, “Didn’t think I’d see you without a glitter cannon and a megaphone.”

She turned. Jake Fenton. Football team. One of Finn’s friends.

He leaned against the lockers, too close. “What happened, Berry? Lose your audience?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m busy.”

He looked her over—mocking smile, eyes lingering. “Bet you are. You know, if you ever wanna hang with someone not in a show choir, I could—”

“Back off.”

The voice came from behind her. Calm. Sharp.

Rachel turned to find Noah standing there—shoulders loose, eyes hard.

Jake blinked. “Relax, man. We’re just talking.”

“Doesn’t look like she wants to.”

Rachel’s throat tightened. Her hand still gripped her locker door.

Jake scoffed. “Whatever,” he muttered, walking off.

Silence settled.

Noah didn’t look at her right away. Just watched Jake’s retreating back, jaw tight.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said quietly.

“I know,” he said. Finally met her eyes. “But I wanted to.”

Rachel’s pulse fluttered.

She didn’t know what to say. She wanted to thank him. Wanted to reach for his hand.

But instead she nodded and walked away.

Noah

He could’ve said it.

Could’ve stepped in and said “She’s mine.”

Because she was, wasn’t she? Not officially, not even really—but in every hallway, every rehearsal, every moment where she laughed too loud or looked at him like she saw something no one else did—she was his.

But he didn’t say it.

Because the truth was… he didn’t know if she wanted to be.

And he wasn’t going to push her. Not when she looked at him like she was waiting for the floor to give out.

He’d seen that look before. In the mirror.

That Afternoon — Rehearsal

Rachel was quieter today. Focused, but softer.

They ran the duet again—Say Something, this time from the middle. No warm-up. Just straight into the bridge.

Noah’s harmony slipped under her melody like instinct. Like it belonged there.

When they finished, Rachel exhaled a little too fast.

They sat on the edge of the stage, passing a water bottle between them like it wasn’t a big deal. Like their hands didn’t keep brushing.

“Why do you always deflect?” she asked suddenly.

He blinked. “What?”

“When people ask about you. Or compliment you. You turn it into a joke. Or pretend not to care.”

He looked down. “Why do you always brace like someone’s gonna break you?”

The words hit the air like a slap.

Rachel froze.

Noah swallowed hard. “Sorry. That was—”

“No,” she said. “It’s fair.”

Silence.

Then Rachel’s voice, softer: “You’re not what people think you are.”

He glanced sideways. “Neither are you.”

She met his eyes. “Then why do we let them decide?”

Noah stared at her. “Maybe we’re scared they’re right.”

She didn’t respond.

They just sat there—close enough to feel the heat of each other’s skin, far enough not to do anything about it.

Noah

He walked her to her car without thinking.

She didn’t say much. But she didn’t stop him, either.

At her driver’s side door, she turned to face him. Her hair caught in the breeze, brushing her cheek. She tucked it behind her ear.

He wanted to do it for her.

“Thanks,” she said.

“For what?”

She shrugged. “Rehearsing. Walking with me. Not… being what I expected.”

He smiled—small, real.

“Goodnight, Berry.”

She hesitated. “Goodnight, Noah.”

Their eyes locked.

His hand twitched at his side.

And for a moment, it felt like gravity shifted. Like something was pulling them together whether they were ready or not.

But neither of them moved.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

Rachel

It was just a performance.

Just a song. Just a Glee club assignment. Just something to check off her list before moving on to more important things like college applications and rehearsals and SAT prep and—

Her reflection stared back at her. Barely-there makeup. Soft curls. A pale blue dress she hadn’t worn since last spring—the one that made her look young. Vulnerable.

She touched the fabric at her waist and exhaled slowly.

It wasn’t just a performance.

It hadn’t been “just” anything since the moment Noah Puckerman sat beside her and stayed.

The choir room felt smaller today. Warmer. Like it knew something important was about to happen.

Mr. Schue clapped his hands together with a grin. “Alright, everyone! Let’s close out our duet challenge week with our final pair—Rachel and Noah.”

There was a ripple of murmurs.

Santana leaned toward Quinn and said, “This oughta be interesting.”
Mercedes raised a brow. “You think they’ll make it through without fighting or making out?”

Rachel ignored them.

She stood. Smoothed the front of her dress. Walked calmly to the piano like her heartbeat wasn’t thudding in her ears.

Noah was already there, pulling a stool into place, adjusting the strap on his guitar.

He didn’t speak. Just looked up at her, eyes steady, lips curved ever so slightly.

You good? his expression asked.

She nodded.

Let’s do this.

It began like breath—quiet, uncertain.

Rachel’s voice started first. Soft. Careful. The kind of vulnerability she usually avoided in front of a crowd. But today… it felt right.

Noah came in on the second verse, his harmony low and rough around the edges. When their voices met, something in the room shifted.

They didn’t look at the others. Just at each other.

Rachel forgot they had an audience.

Forgot Finn was sitting with crossed arms, watching like he wanted to break something.

Forgot Santana’s knowing smirk. Forgot Quinn’s narrowed eyes.

All she could see was him.

Noah’s gaze held hers with an intensity that made her forget the next lyric—but the moment passed, and he caught her, the harmony smoothing over the stumble like it was meant to happen.

It was more than a song.

It was a confession neither of them knew how to say.

When she sang "I'm giving up on you," she wasn’t sure if it was true.
When he echoed "Say something," she felt it in her chest.

The last note faded. Rachel’s throat burned. Her eyes stung—but she didn’t cry.

She didn’t look away from him.

Not until the silence broke.

The room burst into applause.

Not polite, not obligatory. Stunned.

Mercedes was the first to speak. “Okay, but that was… real.”

Santana nodded, lips pursed. “Kinda hot, honestly.”

Mr. Schue beamed. “That was beautiful. Connected. Honest. You two really found something there.”

Rachel flushed. Her palms were sweating.

Noah stood and gently set his guitar down, eyes never quite leaving her.

Finn didn’t clap. But Rachel didn’t care.

Noah

He’d sung before.

Hell, he’d sung solos. Ballads. Even a weird funk number last year that still haunted his dreams.

But this? This was something else.

Singing with Rachel wasn’t about the notes. It was about the way she looked at him—like she was seeing all the parts of him he tried to keep buried.

Like she wasn’t scared of them.

The room disappeared when she sang. It was just her. That voice. That ache. That power wrapped in vulnerability. It knocked the wind out of him.

And she didn’t even know.

After the applause faded, she gathered her sheet music in quiet focus. He stepped beside her, hands brushing as he helped.

She looked up, startled, like she forgot he was there.

He didn’t speak. Neither did she.

But her eyes softened.

And he swore—for one breathless second—she leaned in.

Later, in the hallway, someone from the lacrosse team slapped his back and said, “Yo, man. You and Berry killed it.”

Noah shrugged. “Guess we make a good team.”

But inside?

Inside he was still singing.

Final Scene — After School

Rachel lingered at her locker longer than usual, hands tucked into the sleeves of her cardigan. Her hair was beginning to frizz at the edges. She didn’t mind.

Noah appeared beside her with a lazy lean, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey.”

She glanced over. “Hi.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the hallway nearly empty around them.

Then Rachel said, voice quiet, “Thank you… for today.”

He raised an eyebrow. “For singing with you?”

“For making me feel safe out there.”

Something shifted in his expression.

“You make it easy,” he said.

She smiled—genuine, a little shy.

“So… same time Monday?”

He nodded. “You think I’m gonna miss rehearsal with my favorite soprano?”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t hide her grin.

As she walked away, she glanced back once—just once—and found him still standing there, watching her like she was the only thing in the world worth seeing.

Chapter Text

Noah

He wasn’t thinking about the song anymore.

Okay—technically, sure, yeah, the song was still in his head. The chords, the harmonies, the way their voices had melted into one thing and made the whole damn room stop breathing.

But that wasn’t what he kept replaying in his mind.

It was her.

The way she looked at him when she sang. Like the lyrics were real. Like he was real. Like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t scared of the parts of him everyone else stayed away from.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t shrink. Didn’t mock.

She stayed.

He sat in the back of the choir room Monday morning, pretending not to look at her while also doing a really bad job of it. She was scribbling in her planner, biting her lip in that way she probably didn’t even realize she did.

Sam elbowed him. “You gonna tell her you’re in love or just keep staring at her like a creeper?”

“Shut up,” Noah muttered, but he didn’t stop looking.

By lunch, he’d convinced himself he was fine.

Normal.

Not a guy who wrote fake chord progressions in his notebook just to justify sitting near her. Not a guy who brought two granola bars instead of one “just in case.”

He spotted her by the lockers, brow furrowed, flipping through what looked like a calculus packet.

Without thinking, he handed her the extra granola bar.

Rachel blinked. “What’s this?”

“Food.”

She stared at him, confused but not annoyed.

Then, softly, “Thank you.”

She peeled it open and took a bite like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His heart nearly exploded.

Choir Room – Later

“Alright, team,” Mr. Schue said. “That duet was so powerful, I’m gonna ask you two to work together again.”

Rachel blinked. “Again?”

“I think we’re all still recovering from what you did last week,” he said with a smile. “Let’s balance it out with something a little lighter. Fun. Romantic. Maybe something like ‘Lucky’?”

Rachel hesitated. “Shouldn’t we switch partners for variety?”

Noah glanced at her. She wasn’t protesting because she didn’t want to—she was protesting because she was scared to want it.

Mr. Schue grinned. “When something works, we lean into it.”

Rehearsal – That Afternoon

It was different now.

Still full of teasing and sarcasm, but looser. More laughter. The tension had turned into… something warmer.

Rachel laughed when he sang the wrong verse first. He bumped her shoulder when she over-explained the harmony. She made fun of his foot-tapping. He told her she danced like a folding chair.

And she laughed.

Really laughed.

They ran the song twice, mostly just for fun. It was lighter than Say Something—something about best friends in love, long-distance phone calls, knowing someone’s voice better than your own.

Rachel smiled the whole time.

And Noah? Noah was falling. Hard.

Rachel

She should’ve stopped smiling.

By the time she got home, her face hurt from how often her cheeks had flushed, how much she’d laughed, how her heart had somehow spent the last few hours floating.

She sat on her bed in leggings and a T-shirt, legs crossed, her notebook open on her lap.

“I feel… safe with him.”
“Like I can be myself and he won’t laugh.”
“Like maybe the version of me I’ve always hidden is the one he sees.”

“But how do I trust that? How do I know he won’t wake up one day and realize I was never enough?”

She stared at the words for a long time.

Then, slowly, closed the notebook.

Tuesday – School Hallway

The whispers had started.

“Puck and Berry?”
“Seriously?”
“Bet it’s a prank.”
“No way he actually likes her.”

Rachel kept walking. Back straight. Chin up.

But her fingers curled tighter around the strap of her bag.

Because no matter how many times she told herself she didn’t care what they thought—she did.

Rehearsal – That Afternoon

She didn’t expect the note.

It was hidden inside her folder, slipped between the second and third pages of their new duet.

Torn notebook paper. Familiar scrawl.

“You sounded like magic today. – N”

She stared at it for a full minute before folding it carefully and slipping it into the small inner pocket of her bag.

She didn’t stop smiling for the rest of rehearsal.

Noah was different that day.

Gentler.

He fixed a flyaway curl behind her ear without saying anything. Adjusted her mic stand so she didn’t have to. Let his hand linger against her back just a second longer than necessary.

And for once, Rachel didn’t flinch from the touch.

She leaned into it.

After Rehearsal

They didn’t plan to walk out together. It just happened.

Like everything else with him lately.

Rachel tugged her cardigan sleeves down as they reached the steps outside. The sun was low, the air cooling.

“Thanks for today,” she said softly.

He looked at her. Really looked.

“You good?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. I just… don’t want this to end.”

A beat.

His eyes held hers.

“Then let’s not let it.”

End of Chapter Seven

Chapter Text

Rachel

She used to believe that if she was perfect enough, no one could hurt her.

Straight posture. Starched blouses. Perfect pitch. Controlled, calculated brilliance. If she could keep everything together, maybe no one would notice how easy it was to break her.

But this week—this boy—had started to pull the seams loose.

And part of her wanted to let them unravel.

Wednesday morning was colder than usual. Rachel wore one of her softest sweaters—cream-colored, long in the sleeves, the one she’d always thought made her look too young.

She didn’t care.

She didn’t want to look like someone important today. She just wanted to feel like herself.

Her mind kept returning to the night before. Noah’s voice—“Then let’s not let it.”
His hand brushing hers after rehearsal. The way he always made space for her without asking.

She should’ve felt safe.

Instead, her stomach twisted.

Because the whispers had started.

At her locker, she caught the end of a conversation down the hall.

“I mean, seriously—Rachel Berry?”
“Dude’s probably just bored.”
“Bet he’s daring himself.”

Rachel shut her locker a little too hard.

In Glee, she sat beside Noah like always.

Their knees touched. His arm draped behind her chair. He leaned close to whisper something about how Kurt looked like a Victorian ghost in his ruffled shirt. She almost laughed.

But her heart wasn’t in it.

She could feel eyes on her. Hear the things left unsaid in every smirk.

Noah noticed. Of course he did.

“You okay?” he murmured as rehearsal began.

Rachel nodded quickly. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t push.

But he didn’t believe her.

Rehearsal – That Afternoon

They were supposed to rehearse “Lucky.” Light. Sweet. Easy.

Rachel couldn’t find her voice.

Halfway through the verse, she forgot her line. Completely blanked. Her hands shook.

Everyone turned.

She felt the air leave her lungs. Panic rising. She whispered, “I—I’m sorry, I don’t—”

Noah’s voice slipped in, unbothered. “Guess we’re remixing today.”

Everyone chuckled. Tension broken.

Rachel sat back on the piano bench, cheeks flushed.

He nudged her hand under the sheet music. Just a light squeeze. His thumb rubbed gently across her knuckles.

And she almost cried right there.

They finished the chorus quietly, just the two of them.

When the last note faded, she couldn’t look at anyone else.

Just him.

“You don’t have to be perfect for me to want to be here,” he said, voice low, meant only for her.

Her chest cracked open like glass.

Noah

He saw it unraveling.

She was shrinking again—pulling into herself, smile dimmer, laugh quieter.

He hated it.

He wanted to fix it. But he knew her well enough now to realize: fixing wasn’t the answer.

Protecting her was.

He found Finn later.

By the lockers with a couple of their old football buddies, laughing like he had something worth smiling about.

Noah didn’t care what they were talking about—until he caught her name.

Finn’s voice. Loud. Careless. “Pretty sure she’s just using him for attention. Girl can’t stand being ignored.”

Noah saw red.

One of the guys laughed. “Maybe he’s just bored. She’s got, like, crazy eyes.”

Noah stepped in before he realized what he was doing.

His hand slammed into the locker next to the guy’s head, making him flinch.

“You say her name again,” Noah said, low and lethal, “and I swear, you won’t be able to sing for a week.”

Finn turned. “Dude, chill—”

“No,” Noah snapped. “You don’t get to talk about her. Not after what you did.”

Finn straightened, scoffing. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You broke her.” Noah’s voice cracked. “And I don’t give a shit what people think about me. But you don’t get to break her twice.”

He walked away before he threw a punch.

But his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Rachel

She didn’t know how long she sat in the bathroom stall.

Long enough for the echo of the girls’ voices to bounce again and again.

“Puck’s probably just messing around.”
“There’s no way he really likes her.”
“It’s Rachel Berry.”

She pressed her forehead to her knees. Tried to breathe. Failed.

The note in her pocket felt like a lifeline.

“You sounded like magic today. – N”

But even magic started to feel like a lie.

She didn’t go back to class.

She didn’t eat dinner.

She curled up on the couch in her favorite pajamas and pulled a blanket over her head and told herself to stop being so dramatic.

But the tears still came.

She hated how easy it was to believe them. To let the voice inside her whisper:

What if he’s pretending? What if this is just another way to make you look foolish? What if Finn was right? What if you’re never enough?

The Doorbell Rings

She almost didn’t answer it.

She wasn’t expecting anyone.

But when she opened the door—eyes puffy, sleeves pulled over her hands—Noah was standing on her porch, hoodie pulled up, eyes soft.

He didn’t say anything.

Just stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Noah

He saw her and his chest caved in.

Red eyes. Sleeves clutched in her fists. No words.

He opened his arms.

She walked into them like she’d been holding her breath all day.

He held her. Tighter than he ever had.

Her face pressed against his chest. Her tears soaked into his shirt. He didn’t care.

“Who do I need to fight?” he whispered.

She laughed—wet, shaky. “Everyone.”

“Done,” he said.

They sat down on the couch. She curled into his side like she belonged there.

He stroked her hair. Rubbed small circles into her shoulder. Let her cry until she couldn’t anymore.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For not being stronger. For letting them get to me.”

He pulled back just enough to cup her face.

“Rach,” he said, voice hoarse. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

She looked at him—really looked.

Her lip trembled. “Do you really see me? Even like this?”

“Especially like this.”

She choked on a sob. Buried her face in his neck.

And he just held her, steady and unshaken.

Chapter Text

Rachel

The hallway didn’t go quiet when she walked in—but it felt like it wanted to.

The stares had grown bolder. The whispers sharper. Every time someone looked her way, Rachel could feel their questions pressing against her skin.

“Are they actually a thing?”
“Why her?”
“She’s not even… like, hot.”

She clutched the strap of her bag tighter and kept walking.

She was tired of trying to be small. Tired of shrinking. But that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt.

Even when she was smiling, even when she was with him—there was a voice inside that asked, Why would someone like him want someone like you?

She’d spent so long building herself up with steel and spotlight and stubbornness. But what if she was just easy to break?

What if Finn had been right? That she was just too much. Too intense. Too emotional. Too Rachel.

She was halfway to her locker when she heard it.

A soft, unmistakable voice behind her.

“Nice cardigan, Berry. You let him pick your clothes too?”

She froze.

Jake Fenton again. Smirking with two of his friends behind him.

Her throat tightened.

She didn’t say anything. Just turned back to her locker and hoped it would end.

It didn’t.

“I’m just saying,” Jake continued, “Puck’s probably just doing a community service project. Girl like you? He’s doing the Lord’s work.”

Rachel’s hands clenched.

And then—he was there.

Noah

He didn’t even remember walking over.

One second he was down the hall. The next, he was there.

Right behind her. Right in front of them.

Jake blinked. “Oh hey, man—”

Noah didn’t let him finish.

“Say it again,” he said, voice cold, low, steady.

Jake’s friends backed up.

Jake scoffed. “Relax, it was a joke—”

“No. Say it again.”

The smile slipped from Jake’s face.

“You think this is funny? You think dragging her down makes you look like a man?” Noah stepped closer. His jaw was tight, fists clenched at his sides. “She’s better than you. Better than anyone in this hallway. So next time you even think about saying her name, do it with respect. Or don’t say it at all.”

Jake’s voice cracked. “Yeah. Okay. Chill.”

Noah didn’t blink. “Get out of here.”

They left without another word.

He turned to Rachel.

Her back was still to him.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She turned slowly. Her eyes were wide—but not scared. Just… overwhelmed.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

She opened her mouth, then hesitated.

Noah leaned in, voice lower. “I just hate the way they look at you like you’re not everything. Because you are.”

And then he walked away before she could say anything else.

Rachel

The girls in the bathroom didn’t say anything new.

They just repeated what she already feared.

“No way he actually likes her.”
“She’s totally a rebound.”
“It’s probably a dare.”

Rachel stared at her reflection and tried to remember how to breathe.

And then she remembered the way Noah had stood in front of her like a shield.

The way he’d looked at her.

And the way he hadn’t said mine—but had meant it anyway.

Later — Glee Club

Rachel sang like her voice had something to prove.

She didn’t mean to—but the lyrics hit harder today. She stood a little taller. Her voice cracked in the best way, all feeling and no filter.

Noah watched her like she was a religion.

Mercedes whispered to Tina, “They’re totally in love.”
Mike: “It’s like… obvious now, right?”
Santana: “If they don’t start making out on this piano bench soon, I’m gonna start charging admission.”

Even Quinn looked up, uncertain for the first time.

Mr. Schue, as always, remained blissfully unaware.

Noah

He didn’t want anyone to talk to her.

Not because she was his. But because people didn’t deserve her unless they saw her—and most of them didn’t.

Which was why, when Amanda—blonde cheerleader, short skirt, too much perfume—cornered him outside the gym, he barely even looked at her.

“Hey, Puck,” she purred. “Wanna help me study later?”

“No,” he said flatly.

She blinked. “That’s it?”

“I’m busy.”

“With Berry?”

He met her eyes. “Yup.”

She rolled hers and walked off, annoyed.

He didn’t care.

And he really didn’t care that Jacob overheard.

Because twenty minutes later, Rachel was sitting at the piano, flipping through sheet music, when Tina leaned over and said, “So… I heard Puck shut down Amanda today. Like, hard.”

Rachel blinked. “What?”

Mercedes grinned. “Apparently she asked him out and he basically said, ‘Sorry, I’m emotionally unavailable for anyone who isn’t a five-foot diva with star charts in her planner.’”

Rachel’s face flushed crimson.

But her smile?

Soft. Secret. Sincere.

Final Scene — After School

They didn’t walk out together on purpose.

They just ended up beside each other. Again.

As they reached the steps, Rachel stopped.

“You didn’t have to stand up for me today,” she said quietly. “Not like that.”

Noah looked at her, eyes serious.

“I know. But I wanted to. I always want to.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Something about the way he said that made her heart feel too big for her ribs.

Then—just before he turned to go—he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple.

Just once.

No theatrics. No eyes closed.

Just contact.

And then he walked away.

Rachel touched her fingertips to the spot.

And for the first time all week, she believed it might be real.

Chapter Text

It started like any other day.

And maybe that’s what made it worse—how normal everything seemed while her heart twisted like it couldn’t tell left from right anymore.

The rumors were louder now. Her name floated through the halls like smoke, thin and lingering.

People looked at her differently.

Some with jealousy. Some with curiosity.

Some with disbelief.

They all asked the same question:

Why would Noah Puckerman choose her?

And Rachel Berry had no idea how to answer that.

Because the louder their whispers became, the more that old ache crept in—curling around her ribs like vines.

The same ache that reminded her she’d never really been chosen.

Not by Finn. Not by anyone.

And maybe she was just fooling herself again.

Glee rehearsal started and Rachel tried to stay focused, tried to sing like her voice wasn’t shaking, tried to look like she hadn’t spent the last ten minutes in the bathroom splashing cold water on her face.

It worked—sort of.

Until she passed Finn.

He didn’t even wait for her to be out of earshot before muttering to Mike, “I give it two weeks before Puck gets bored.”

Mike didn’t reply.

Finn kept going.

“She’s just an easy target. She’s desperate enough to fall for it. He doesn’t actually want her.”

Rachel kept walking. Straight-backed. Head held high.

But her vision blurred.

She didn’t make it to her last class.

She wandered instead. Ended up in the one place that had always felt safe: the auditorium.

Lights dim. Stage empty. Silence wrapping around her like a worn blanket.

She sat in the front row and stared up at the curtain.

The tears came fast. Quiet at first. Then all-consuming.

It wasn’t just Finn’s words. It wasn’t even just the others.

It was her.

It was the way she looked in the mirror and still saw someone who had never been enough.

Not pretty enough. Not normal enough. Not worthy of someone like him.

Because Noah Puckerman was rough edges and swagger and charm and warmth and strength. He was the guy girls wanted.

And she? She was the girl they laughed at. The one they used. The one they left.

Why would he be any different?

Why would this be different?

“Hey.”

His voice was gentle. Softer than she’d ever heard it.

She stiffened. Swiped at her face quickly.

“I—” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yeah, you kinda looked like you were somewhere else.”

Rachel forced a laugh. It sounded thin.

Noah didn’t say anything. Just sat beside her.

Not too close. Not far either.

She stared at the curtain again. “I’m fine.”

“You’re crying.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then he said it. Quietly.

“Did someone say something?”

She flinched. His jaw tightened immediately.

“Was it Finn?” he asked. Low. Dangerous.

“Noah—”

“What did he say?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

That pulled something out of her—a bitter, breathless laugh.

“Why?” she snapped. “Why does it matter to you? You’ve never cared before. You’ve never looked twice at me unless it was to tease me or make some crude comment or toss me into a dumpster—so why now?”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

And then, he said, “Because I see you now.”

Rachel froze.

“I mean—I think I always saw you,” he added, eyes fixed on the floor. “But I didn’t get it. Not really. Not until we started this dumb assignment.”

She didn’t speak.

“I know I’m not a good guy,” he continued, voice raw. “I mess up. A lot. I say the wrong thing. I do the wrong thing. But I’m not playing with you, Rachel.”

She swallowed hard.

“I may be an asshole,” he said, finally looking at her, “but I’m not a monster. And I sure as hell don’t mess around with girls who make me feel like this.”

Her voice trembled. “Like what?”

He reached over. Slowly. Gently. Took her hand.

And in that small gesture, everything she’d been holding in cracked.

Her shoulders shook. Tears spilled. And she didn’t pull away.

He wrapped his arms around her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Whatever you heard, whatever they said—it’s not true,” he murmured. “You’re not some joke to me.”

She buried her face in his chest.

“Let me prove it,” he whispered. “I don’t know what this is yet. I don’t have the words. But I know it’s not fake. Not for me.”

She didn’t reply.

Didn’t have to.

Because she was still there. Still in his arms.

And he wasn’t letting go.

Chapter Text

Rachel didn’t know how to name the feeling.

It wasn’t quite confidence—but something in her spine felt straighter as she walked through the McKinley halls that Monday morning. Like maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t as alone as she’d been telling herself.

She’d dreamed of him last night. Of soft calloused hands brushing her cheek, of a boy who stayed. Not Jesse’s smirk. Not Finn’s fumbling excuses.

Noah Puckerman. Holding her like she mattered. Like she wasn’t just tolerable background noise.

And now, even though the whispers were still there—still sharp, still cruel—she let them roll off her back just a little easier.

“Berry.”
Rachel blinked up as Santana strolled beside her, eyes cutting sideways.

“You look like you didn’t cry yourself to sleep last night,” Santana mused. “New moisturizer or something?”

Rachel rolled her eyes but didn’t hide her smile. “Sleep is good for the skin.”

“Mhm.” Santana eyed her knowingly. “And I bet sleeping in Puckerman’s hoodie doesn’t hurt either.”

Rachel choked. “Excuse me?”

Santana just smirked, flipping her ponytail. “Relax. I’m not judging. Just… keep doing whatever you’re doing. He hasn’t glared at me all morning. It’s nice.”

Before Rachel could sputter a reply, the Latina queen bee was gone—leaving Rachel standing at her locker with pink cheeks and a flurry in her chest.

Later that morning – Noah POV

Noah leaned against his locker, arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching her.

She was laughing at something Mercedes said, the sound bubbling out of her like it surprised even her.

His fingers itched to reach out. Just a brush of her arm. A tuck of hair behind her ear.

He’d been in fights before. Climbed out windows. Broken rules for the hell of it. But this?

This was dangerous in a different way.

Because he knew how to play games. He knew how to lose people.

But keeping someone?

That scared the hell out of him.

“You look like you’re about to write her a poem,” Mike muttered beside him, nudging his shoulder.

Noah grunted. “Shut up.”

But he didn’t stop watching her.

Glee Club – That Look

Mr. Schuester paired them again without even glancing up from his clipboard.

“Rachel. Puck. Let’s hear something soft today. Think storytelling. Intimacy.”

Rachel’s pulse fluttered.

She didn’t look at Noah as they stood and walked toward the piano, but she felt him fall into step beside her—close enough that their shoulders brushed.

As the music began, she focused on the lyrics. Let herself sink into the story.

But halfway through the verse, her eyes lifted—

—and he was watching her.

Not with a smirk. Not like she was an object to conquer.

He was seeing her. All of her.

And somehow, the notes came easier.

“Damn,” Brittany whispered to Tina from the risers. “That’s what it looks like when someone sees you.”

Even Santana didn’t have a snarky comeback.

After rehearsal – Soft Steps

He carried her bag.

Rachel didn’t ask. Just watched, surprised, as Noah slung it over his shoulder like it was nothing.

“Your shoulder still bugging you?” he asked casually.

“A little.” She paused. “How did you know?”

He didn’t answer. Just shrugged and kept walking beside her down the hallway.

They didn’t talk much at first.

But when they did, it wasn’t filler.

He asked about her weekend. She asked about his music.

They talked about dreams—hers were Broadway-laced and glittering.

His were quieter. Guitar strings. Small clubs. Songs he hadn’t shown anyone yet.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” he said, almost shyly, when she mentioned how it still hurt sometimes.

Rachel’s breath caught in her chest.

Not because she didn’t believe him—

But because part of her wanted to.

Almost

They reached her locker.

The hallway had mostly cleared out, the echo of lockers slamming fading behind them.

Noah leaned against the metal next to her, thumbs hooked in his pockets.

“I liked today,” he said, looking down at her.

Rachel smiled, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Me too.”

And then…

He reached out.

His fingers tucked a stray curl behind her ear. Calloused. Gentle.

Her breath hitched.

She tilted up—just a little.

He leaned in—just enough.

And then—

Crash.

A student rounded the corner too fast, bumping into them with a mumbled curse.

The spell broke.

They stepped apart, cheeks flushed.

“Right,” Rachel murmured, smoothing her skirt. “I should—”

“Yeah,” Noah said at the same time. “Gotta… yeah.”

But as he turned to walk away, Rachel turned too—

Their eyes met over their shoulders.

And they smiled.

Like maybe this wasn’t the end of the moment.

Just the beginning.

Chapter Text

The sun was already low in the sky when Rachel finally emerged from the auditorium, her music sheets tucked close to her chest like a shield. She should’ve been proud—Mr. Schue had praised their rehearsal, even Brittany had clapped without being prompted—but all she could hear was the pounding rhythm of her own heart. It had been that way all week. Ever since Noah started showing up on time. Ever since he started listening. Ever since she caught him watching her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

He was waiting for her again.

Leaning against the hallway wall just outside the door, arms crossed, one foot propped behind him. He looked like trouble, all slouched confidence and restless energy—but there was a softness behind his eyes that only surfaced when she was around. A flicker of something he hadn’t shown anyone else.

"Ready, Gold Star?" he said, straightening up as she approached.

Rachel tried to play it cool, though her pulse picked up. “You don’t have to walk me out every day, you know.”

"Yeah, I do," he muttered, so quietly she almost missed it. But then he added louder, "Besides, I like the way you talk to yourself when you think no one’s listening."

Her cheeks flushed hot. “I do not—”

“You were narrating your locker organization this morning like it was a goddamn nature documentary.”

“I find routine comforting.”

He grinned. “I know. It’s cute.”

Cute. She hated how her stomach flipped at the word. “You’re not supposed to call me that.”

“Says who?”

“Everyone. Especially not you.”

Something flickered in his gaze. “Yeah, well, I don’t really give a damn what everyone says.”

They walked in silence for a minute, their footsteps echoing through the nearly empty school. Rachel felt the space between them like a live wire—every step charged. They turned down the main hallway when someone snickered from behind the lockers.

“Damn, Berry. Puck upgrade from cheerleaders to charity cases now?”

The words sliced through her. Rachel stiffened, stopping dead in her tracks.

Noah’s head snapped toward the voice—some sophomore she didn’t even know—and before she could blink, he was moving.

“Say that again.”

The kid’s smug smirk faded. “Chill, man—”

“No. Go ahead. Say it again,” Puck snarled, stepping closer, jaw tight and fists curled at his sides.

Rachel rushed between them. “Noah, stop.”

He was breathing hard, eyes dark with fury. But when she touched his chest—just a gentle press of her hand—he stopped. Like her voice pulled him back from the edge.

“Not worth it,” she whispered.

His eyes didn’t leave the sophomore until the kid bolted, muttering something under his breath. Puck finally looked at her. Really looked at her.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rougher than usual.

Rachel nodded, heart racing. “Yeah. You didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, I did.” His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for her. “People don’t get to talk about you like that. Not when I’m around.”

There was silence again. But this time it wasn’t awkward—it was heavy. Weighty. Rachel realized they were standing so close she could count the freckles on his nose. She could smell his cologne—something warm and clean and him.

Noah’s gaze flicked to her lips. Slowly. Deliberately.

Rachel’s breath caught.

His hand lifted like he was going to touch her face, but then paused midair.

“Rach...” he said it like a confession, voice low and breaking.

And just like that—it happened.

He leaned in.

She didn’t stop him.

It was barely an inch between them when the door slammed open somewhere down the hall and a group of kids spilled out, laughing.

They jolted apart.

Rachel took a shaky step back, lips parted, heart pounding like it was trying to escape her chest. Noah swore under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair like he was angry at the world—or himself.

They stared at each other for a second too long.

“I—uh,” Rachel began, but the words caught in her throat.

Noah gave her a lopsided smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Guess we should finish that setlist.”

“Yeah. Sure.” She didn’t move.

He stepped closer again, just enough to press something soft and familiar into her hand.

His flannel. The one he’d worn earlier and shrugged off during rehearsal. “Keep it,” he said, almost like an afterthought. “You’re always cold.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she clutched it to her chest and nodded.

“Later, Berry.”

“Goodnight, Noah.”

He turned and walked away without looking back.

Rachel stood in the hallway long after he’d gone, flannel pressed to her face, inhaling his scent like it was air and wondering if she’d ever feel anything less than everything when he looked at her like that again.

Chapter Text

(Rachel’s POV)

She wasn’t sure when the whispers started.

Maybe it had been that day in the hallway when Noah brushed past Finn, eyes sharp and jaw clenched, or maybe it was when Santana caught them sitting a little too close at lunch, Rachel’s hand suspiciously brushing Noah’s when they reached for the same water bottle. But by now, the whispers were loud.

And cruel.

“Berry’s probably got some freaky chokehold on him.”
“He’s just doing it for the solos.”
“She’s gonna ruin him.”

Rachel kept her head high like always, but it was getting harder. The words dug in deeper than she wanted to admit, especially when Finn kept making little jabs—quiet, calculated ones only she could hear.

Today’s was the worst yet.

“You sure you know what you’re doing, man?” Finn said, loud enough for everyone to hear as Mr. Schuester walked out to grab sheet music. “I mean… she cries after, right? That’s what she did with me.”

The silence that followed was sharp, and Rachel’s stomach dropped through the floor.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

Then stood up.

Her voice trembled but carried, clear and cold. “At least I cry because I feel something. Which is more than I can say for you, Finn.”

And then she turned and walked out before the burn in her eyes could spill over.

The rain started the second she pushed through the double doors. Of course it did.

Cold droplets clung to her sweater, soaked into her skirt, but she didn’t care. The air tasted metallic and alive and awful, and all she wanted to do was scream until her voice gave out.

But she didn’t get far.

“Noah!” she heard someone yell from inside.

She froze. She didn’t turn around, but she knew it was Mr. Schue’s voice. Probably trying to stop him.

She didn’t move fast enough.

“Rachel!”

He was right behind her.

She spun around, eyes wet, jaw clenched. “What? You gonna tell me he’s right?”

“No,” Noah said, breathless. Rain clung to his lashes. “I was gonna make sure you’re okay.”

She laughed, bitter. “Don’t. Don’t pretend like you care. I don’t need that. You’ve got everyone convinced, congratulations. Bad boy Puckerman playing knight for the freak. Great show.”

His brows furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m saying,” she snapped, “you don’t have to pretend anymore. You can go back to the cheerleaders and the easy hookups and whatever else makes sense for you, okay? I’m not her. I’m not… I’m not worth all this.”

He took a step forward. “Rachel—”

“You’re just gonna leave anyway.” Her voice cracked. “Or get bored. Or realize it’s not worth ruining your reputation over me. So just—just go.”

Noah stared at her. His jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Then, slowly, he stepped closer. And closer.

The rain was pouring now. It matted her hair to her forehead. She tried to look away.

But he caught her chin in one hand.

“I’m not gonna leave,” he said softly, voice rough. “And you don’t get to say you’re not worth it. Not to me.”

She opened her mouth to argue—something, anything—but he leaned in and kissed her.

The world fell away.

It wasn’t soft or sweet. It was desperate. Messy. Months of unsaid things crashing into one single kiss beneath a gray sky and pounding rain. His other hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer until she could barely breathe.

Rachel made a soft sound—half sob, half exhale—and kissed him back like she was afraid this was the only time she’d ever get to.

When they finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, her hands were curled in the collar of his soaked hoodie.

“You’re not him,” she whispered.

“No,” he said hoarsely. “I’m not.”

He kissed her again. Slower this time.

And when he pulled back, he murmured it like he’d been saying it in his head for weeks:

“Baby.”

They didn’t go back inside. He took her hand—because he needed to touch her, always—and walked her to his truck. They sat there, the windows fogging up, his hand still linked with hers on the console.

Neither of them said anything for a while.

Finally, Rachel broke the silence. “What now?”

Noah looked over at her, soaked and radiant, and gave a crooked, unguarded smile.

“Now we figure it out.”

Chapter Text

Rachel

Rachel woke to the gentle rhythm of rain against her window, and for one brief, dizzying moment, she wondered if yesterday had been a dream. But when she sat up and her gaze landed on the dark hoodie draped over the foot of her bed, she knew it was all too real.

His hoodie.

She reached out, fingers brushing the soft, worn fabric, lifting it carefully to her face. It smelled like Noah—like rain, warm citrus, and that earthy scent she’d come to know as uniquely him. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of standing in the pouring rain, his mouth pressed urgently to hers, their bodies pressed close, his voice rough with emotion as he whispered, “Baby.”

She slipped the hoodie over her head, pulling it down around her and letting its warmth seep into her bones. For the first time in what felt like forever, Rachel felt truly wanted. Truly safe.

And she held onto that feeling with both hands.

Walking through McKinley’s halls felt different today. She still heard whispers, felt curious glances follow her down the corridor, but none of them mattered—not when she could still feel his lips on hers. Not when she had a piece of Noah Puckerman wrapped securely around her shoulders.

When she reached the choir room, he was already there.

Their eyes met instantly.

He gave her that slow, secret smile she’d only ever seen directed at her. She blushed, shyly tugging the sleeves of his hoodie further over her hands. He noticed—she saw the spark in his eyes—and he shook his head slightly, grin widening as he ducked down to hide it.

Rachel’s heart skipped.

As she passed, his hand brushed hers. It wasn’t accidental. A deliberate, lingering touch that sent warmth flooding her chest and made her throat tight with something like hope.

It felt like a promise.

Noah

He’d barely slept.

But not because he was stressed or anxious or unsure. No—it was because every time he closed his eyes, he saw Rachel Berry standing in the rain, looking up at him like he was the answer to a question she’d been asking her whole life.

He’d wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to explain that it wasn’t just a kiss—it was him saying, “I choose you.”

But instead, he gave her his hoodie.

It had been tossed in his truck, half-forgotten until he saw her shivering, her eyes big and vulnerable, soaked hair plastered to her cheeks. Before she could protest, he’d tugged it carefully over her head, fingers lingering at the collar, heart pounding as she’d murmured a quiet “thank you” into his chest.

He knew right then he’d never get that hoodie back. And that thought alone was enough to make him grin like an idiot all night.

At school, he waited impatiently until she finally stepped into the choir room—and damn, his hoodie looked good on her, way better than it ever had on him.

Her eyes lifted to meet his, unsure but hopeful. He felt a pang in his chest—like she didn’t quite trust he’d still feel the same.

So he reached out as she passed, sliding his fingertips along her hand. Not much. Just enough.

I’m still here, the touch said. I meant every word. Every kiss.

She relaxed almost instantly, shoulders loosening. He smiled to himself.

It was enough for now.

Glee Club

“Alright, everyone!” Mr. Schue clapped enthusiastically, oblivious to the charged atmosphere. “Another duet rotation. I want emotional honesty. Deep connection.”

Santana smirked pointedly at Rachel and Noah. “Pretty sure we’ve already got our gold standard for that one.”

Artie chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You two seriously gotta give the rest of us a fighting chance.”

Rachel flushed scarlet, but Noah only rolled his eyes and leaned back casually, one arm draped along the back of her chair. When she glanced sideways at him, he was watching her. Carefully. Quietly.

Like nothing else mattered.

Their after-school rehearsal was quiet, slow, and filled with shy glances. Noah brought her coffee—just how she liked it, even though she’d never told him exactly how. She didn’t ask how he knew. He just shrugged, hiding his grin.

Their song today was soft, emotional, stripped down to simple melodies and heartfelt harmonies. It was raw. Intimate. Rachel sang like she was sharing a secret. Noah sang like he was making a vow.

When the last notes faded, Rachel looked up at him, wide-eyed, breathing shallow.

“Beautiful,” he said softly. She wasn’t sure if he meant the song or her—but she hoped it was both.

Rachel’s Room (Late Evening)

Rachel lay on her bed, hugging his hoodie tighter around her. Her phone vibrated, lighting up beside her.

Noah: you still got it on don’t you?

She laughed quietly, face warm as she typed back:

Rachel: How did you know?

Noah: just did. looks better on you anyway.

She hesitated, heart fluttering, then typed:

Rachel: Did you mean it? Last night? All of it?

His reply came instantly, serious, no hesitation:

Noah: every word. every kiss. everything.

Rachel took a breath, and then she replied, her chest tight with happiness, with relief, with hope:

Rachel: Me too.

She placed her phone down, smiling to herself as she closed her eyes, rain still tapping gently against her window.

And this time, Rachel knew she’d wake up knowing it was all beautifully, wonderfully real.

Noah (His Room)

Across town, Noah lay awake too, rereading those two simple words over and over:

Me too.

He didn’t know exactly what tomorrow would hold. But he knew one thing for sure:

He’d keep choosing her.

Chapter Text

Two days after the kiss

Rachel

It started with a whisper.

Not a literal one, but the kind that crawled across the linoleum floors of McKinley High, weaving through hallways and slamming into lockers. Rachel Berry didn’t need to hear her name to know people were talking. She could feel it—burning at the back of her neck, prickling against her skin. The stares weren’t new, but now… now they lingered longer.

It wasn’t just the fallout of her failed relationship with Finn Hudson, or even the lingering bitterness of that betrayal. It was something else. Something new. And it had everything to do with the boy who was currently walking beside her, not touching her, but close enough that their arms brushed every few steps.

Noah.

He hadn’t said anything about what happened in the auditorium—the soft kisses, the shared music, the way she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder only to wake up to his hoodie draped over her like a promise. But he didn’t need to. She felt it in the way he looked at her now. Like he saw her. Really saw her.

And it terrified her.

Because this… whatever this was becoming, it was real. And if she let herself believe in it, if she let herself believe in him, and he let her fall—Rachel wasn’t sure she’d be able to put herself back together again.

“Hey,” Noah said as they rounded the corner near the choir room. His voice was soft, private. “You okay?”

She nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just... tired.”

His brow furrowed like he didn’t quite buy it, but he didn’t push. Instead, he moved a little closer, his hand brushing hers for a moment. Not quite holding it. Not yet.

It felt like a promise waiting to be made.

Noah

Puck didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

Scratch that—Noah didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

It wasn’t supposed to go this far. He was supposed to flirt, mess around, maybe tease Berry a little until she got tired of him and told him off with that fire in her eyes that he secretly loved.

But she hadn’t.

And now she was looking at him like he mattered. Like she was waiting for him to give her a reason to trust again. And that shit? That wrecked him.

He slammed his locker shut with more force than necessary just as Santana sauntered over, her cheerleading uniform swinging with every calculated step.

“You’re awfully cozy with Berry lately,” she said, leaning a little too close. “You finally tapping that?”

He turned slowly. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

Her smirk faltered.

“I’m serious, San.”

She blinked, genuinely thrown off for a second. “Whoa. Chill, Puckerman. Was just teasing.”

He didn’t respond. Just adjusted the strap of his backpack and walked off down the hall toward the choir room.

The thing was, he wasn’t chill. Not even a little.

Because Rachel Berry had wormed her way into his chest and made a fucking home there. And now everyone was watching. Talking. Wondering why the school’s favorite badass was suddenly holding his tongue and walking with someone like her between classes.

He didn’t care.

He’d burn the whole damn school down if it meant keeping her safe.

He heard it before he saw it—some asshole making a snide comment in the hallway. Something about Rachel, about her legs, about how she looked like she was asking for attention today. It was crude, loud, and said just barely under his breath, like he thought he could get away with it.

Noah stopped cold.

He was about five feet behind her. She hadn’t heard it. Or she was pretending she hadn’t.

The guy laughed.

Noah didn’t even think. He crossed the space in two strides, grabbed the douchebag by the front of his hoodie, and slammed him against the lockers with a thud that echoed through the hallway.

“You don’t get to talk about her like that,” Noah growled, voice low, controlled rage simmering underneath every word. “Not anymore.”

The hall went quiet. The guy stammered something, and Noah shoved him back once for good measure before turning around and walking away without another word.

Rachel was still frozen in place, hand curled around the strap of her bag, eyes wide.

He didn’t say anything—just reached out and touched her back lightly, guiding her down the hall like nothing happened.

Like he didn’t just burn a hole in the earth for her.

Rachel

She didn’t say anything about it. Not in the hallway, not when they stepped into the choir room together a few minutes later. But her heart was pounding in her chest.

Not anymore.

It echoed in her head over and over again, like a line in a song she couldn’t forget.

Not because he’d said it in front of people. Not because he’d made a scene.

Because he meant it.

Noah meant it.

She sat in the back row of the choir room that day, notebook on her lap, fingers nervously picking at the spiral binding. Mr. Schue was running through announcements, but Rachel barely heard them.

Until—

“I’m switching duet partners,” he said, glancing around the room. “Rachel, you’ll be with Kurt. Puck, you’ll be with Santana.”

Rachel’s eyes shot to Noah’s. His jaw ticked, just slightly.

Kurt smiled over at her, mouthing something about being fabulous partners, but she could see the confusion in his eyes too.

Santana smirked from her seat, licking her lips in a way that made Rachel want to hurl her notebook at her face.

Rachel didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Because even though Noah didn’t move a muscle, his eyes never left her the entire rehearsal.

And when Santana tried to slide closer, tried to laugh at something he didn’t say, tried to put a hand on his arm—he pulled away. Subtle, but clear.

He was hers.

Even if they hadn’t said it out loud yet.

Noah

Later that afternoon, they found themselves back in the auditorium, alone under the amber stage lights, guitar resting beside him as Rachel sat cross-legged on the edge of the stage.

They were supposed to be rehearsing. But somehow… music had led to stories. Stories led to memories. And now—

“I used to think if I just worked hard enough, people would love me,” she said, voice quiet, almost lost in the cavernous space. “Turns out, being yourself doesn’t always mean people will stay.”

Noah swallowed hard. “They’re idiots,” he muttered, then paused. “You ever think maybe it’s not about being too much, Rach? Maybe they just weren’t enough.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide and vulnerable.

“I used to wish I could just not care,” she whispered. “Like you.”

“I don’t,” he said immediately. “Not really. I pretend. But it’s exhausting. Like... you care too much and I don’t care enough and maybe that’s why we’re both so fucked up.”

Her laugh was soft and sad and beautiful.

She leaned into him, her head finding his shoulder again like it belonged there. He didn’t move.

Not this time.

He closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to the top of her head—gentle, lingering.

And when she looked up, their eyes met, and for a second it felt like the world stood still.

He didn’t kiss her. Not yet.

But he wanted to.

And maybe—just maybe—she wanted him to too.

Chapter Text

Noah

Noah woke up with her name still pressed against the roof of his mouth, quiet and gentle like a secret. Two days had passed since that rainy afternoon in the auditorium, but he still felt the warmth of her against his side, her head resting so trustingly on his shoulder. He’d never let anyone that close before—not really. But Rachel wasn’t just anyone.

He dressed quickly, shaking his head like it could clear the memory of her soft lips and the way her small hand had folded perfectly into his. At school, he caught sight of her immediately, lingering by her locker, dressed again in the hoodie he’d given her. The real one, the one he’d put around her after the rain.

She glanced up, eyes meeting his briefly, her cheeks instantly coloring pink.

He smirked, a gentle amusement tugging at his lips. God, he liked that he could do that to her. He nodded slightly and kept walking, pretending not to notice the way her gaze followed him down the hall.

But inside? Inside, he was soaring.

Rachel

Glee club felt different today.

Not because the chairs were arranged differently, or because Brittany was loudly asking questions about how microphones worked again. But because people were staring. Whispering.

When Rachel walked in, Brittany beamed at her, leaning in far too close. “Puck totally likes you,” she announced loudly, drawing everyone’s attention.

Rachel turned scarlet, shaking her head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Berry,” Santana drawled from behind them, eyebrow arched. “Please. Puck’s about three seconds away from tattooing your name on his chest.”

The laughter made Rachel flush deeper, but when she stole a glance toward Noah, he was smiling quietly—like he didn’t care who saw.

But her stomach twisted slightly when she caught sight of Quinn’s narrowed eyes, Finn’s jaw tight and rigid. The air felt charged, heavier somehow.

Mr. Schue clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, group numbers today! Let’s go.”

Rachel moved to take her place, heart pounding when Noah fell into step beside her. Their shoulders brushed, and neither moved away.

The song came easily, harmonies sliding smoothly into place, and every glance they exchanged felt like another puzzle piece clicking together.

But Rachel couldn’t shake the feeling that the world around them was shifting—watching, waiting for something to break.

Noah

At lunch, Noah slipped away to the rooftop. It was quiet, a place no one bothered with, a sanctuary from the noise.

He didn’t expect company. But the door opened softly behind him, and he looked up to find Rachel, her backpack dangling from one shoulder.

She smiled shyly. “I thought you might be hungry.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “You brought me lunch?”

She nodded, pulling out a carefully wrapped sandwich and a juice box from her own lunch bag. “I hope peanut butter and jelly is okay.”

“Perfect,” he murmured, taking it with a quiet chuckle.

She sat down next to him, legs tucked beneath her neatly. They ate quietly for a moment before she spoke, voice hesitant but honest. “Is it crazy that I miss you even when we’re together?”

He nearly choked on his sandwich, coughing once to cover the intensity of the feeling that flooded him. “Damn, Berry,” he laughed gently, shaking his head. “Warn a guy next time.”

She bit her lip nervously, eyes hopeful and soft. He exhaled slowly, giving in to the honesty of the moment. “Yeah. I get it. Me too.”

They talked then, softly, about dreams, about the future. Noah admitted quietly he didn’t know where he’d go after graduation, only knowing he’d want to be wherever she was. Rachel’s eyes grew misty at that, her head softly leaning against his shoulder again.

He took her hand, pressing a gentle kiss against her knuckles. It was a simple gesture, but one that felt enormous.

Rachel

Rachel didn’t expect Finn to corner her after lunch.

He was tense, his eyes angry and confused. “I just don’t get it, Rachel,” he started abruptly. “You really think Puck’s changed? He’s gonna hurt you. That’s what guys like him do.”

Rachel’s chest tightened, old wounds aching at the reminder of how easily she’d been cast aside. But before she could respond, a familiar warmth settled next to her.

Noah’s eyes were steady, voice calm but unyielding. “Something wrong, Finn?”

Finn backed up immediately, hands raised in surrender. “Just talking.”

Noah’s gaze stayed fixed on Finn until he walked away, shoulders tight. He turned back to Rachel, eyes searching hers. “You good?”

She nodded slowly, heart racing at his protectiveness. Without thinking, she leaned up on tiptoe and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for being on my side.”

His lips curled up slightly, his thumb brushing softly over her wrist. “Always.”

Noah

That night, Noah sat in bed, phone in hand. He typed out a message, then deleted it. Typed again, deleted again.

Finally, he just dialed her number, heart pounding. It went straight to voicemail. He paused, then let out a breath.

“Hey,” he said quietly, voice raw and honest. “I know it’s late. But I just—I liked today. And yesterday. All of it.” He hesitated, voice softening further. “You don’t have to say anything. Just sleep good, alright? Night, baby.”

He hung up quickly, heart hammering.

Rachel

She listened to the voicemail twice, curled up in her bed, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes.

Night, baby.

She pressed the phone to her chest, breathing in deep. She didn’t know exactly what came next. But for the first time, it didn’t terrify her.

Because this—whatever this was—felt real.

She fell asleep smiling softly, her dreams wrapped in Noah’s voice and a whispered promise of something beautiful.

Chapter Text

The Monday bell echoed through the halls of McKinley like a warning shot. Rachel adjusted the strap of her messenger bag, lips pursed with quiet resolve, but her heart was already racing. The weekend had been… confusing. Soft, intense, unexpectedly intimate. Every time she closed her eyes, she could still feel Noah’s thumb brushing across the back of her hand, still hear the softness in his voice when he told her she wasn’t too much. That she was just right.

But this morning? He hadn’t texted.

He probably just didn’t want to seem clingy. Right?
Right.

She passed by the trophy case and nearly jumped when fingers ghosted against the small of her back — a familiar touch she hadn’t realized she already missed.

“Morning, Rach.”

His voice was low, warm. He didn’t stop walking, but his pinky brushed hers until they were side by side. Their steps fell in sync without effort.

“Hi,” she said, too quickly. Too breathlessly. “Morning.”

He smiled without looking at her, that same barely-there smirk that made her insides twist up and flutter like confetti. “You look good.”

Rachel flushed, biting back a smile. “You, uh… you don’t look terrible either.”

“Was that a compliment?”

“Debatable.”

He bumped his shoulder into hers lightly, and she let out a soft laugh. Just like that, the nervous knot in her stomach began to loosen.

By the time Glee Club rolled around, the auditorium was buzzing with post-weekend energy. Mr. Schuester stood in front of the group, beaming like this was Broadway Bootcamp and not a high school elective filled with dramatic teenagers and unresolved romantic tension.

“New week, new assignment,” he announced. “You all did really well last week—especially Rachel and Noah. Your performance was raw and honest, and that’s what this group needs more of.”

Rachel flushed while Noah leaned back in his seat, one arm slung lazily over the back of her chair. She wasn’t sure if he knew he was doing it — but she didn’t move.

“This week, we’re diving into duets again — but this time, with a twist. I’ve picked all new partners. This exercise is about finding connection even where there’s friction.”

Friction. Rachel’s stomach sank.

“Rachel, you’re with Sam.”

She blinked. “Oh. Okay.”

Sam gave her a friendly little salute from across the room. He was sweet. Nice, even. But he wasn’t Noah.

“Noah, you’re with Quinn.”

The room went still. Rachel felt her breath catch in her chest, a weird prickle running down her arms. She didn’t look at Noah — she couldn’t — but she heard the shift in his body as he sat forward a little too quickly.

Quinn tilted her head. “Seriously?”

Mr. Schue nodded. “I want to see you two bring some vulnerability to the stage. You’ve got history, and music is about emotional truth.”

Noah didn’t say anything. Rachel’s heart pounded in her ears.

Later That Afternoon – Hallway Outside the Choir Room

“Noah.”

He turned at the sound of her voice, and the second he saw her face, he knew something was wrong. She was chewing on her bottom lip, eyebrows drawn together in that way she got when she was overthinking.

“You okay?”

Rachel looked up at him. “Are you… okay? About the Quinn thing?”

He shrugged, but it wasn’t as casual as he wanted it to be. “It’s whatever. I’ll do the assignment. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna enjoy it.”

“I just—” she hesitated, voice softening, “—I didn’t expect it to bother me. But it kind of does.”

That was the first time she’d admitted something like that out loud. Her gaze dropped, embarrassed.

Noah didn’t speak right away. He stepped closer, until they were inches apart, and reached out — fingers brushing against her wrist. “You think I want anyone but you?”

Her breath caught. He leaned down, voice low and meant for her alone.

“I’ll do the stupid duet, but don’t ever doubt where I want to be.”

Rachel nodded. Barely. “Okay.”

“Good.” He paused. “Now come on. We’re late.”

“For what?”

“I may not be your partner this week, but that doesn’t mean I’m letting you walk to rehearsal alone.”

Tuesday – Rachel & Sam’s Rehearsal, Music Room

Sam was genuinely trying, which Rachel appreciated. They’d agreed on a mashup of Elton John and Demi Lovato — bold, unexpected, emotional. But Rachel found herself zoning out during the harmonies, eyes flickering to the door more often than not.

“You okay?” Sam asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Fine,” she said quickly. “Just… off today.”

Sam nodded. “If it helps, I think it’s cool you’re with Puck.”

Her head snapped toward him. “I—what?”

He grinned. “You think we haven’t noticed? You two have, like… orbit energy.”

“Orbit energy?”

“Yeah. Like, you’re the center of each other’s universe, and the rest of us are just satellites trying to keep up.”

Rachel’s cheeks turned pink.

“Anyway,” he said, strumming a chord on his guitar. “He’s different with you. You should know that.”

Wednesday – Noah & Quinn’s Rehearsal, Choir Room

Noah sat with his guitar balanced on his knee, strumming absently. Quinn stood near the whiteboard, flipping through sheet music with little interest.

“We could do something acoustic,” she suggested.

“Sure.”

“You don’t care, do you?”

Noah looked up. “Not really.”

Quinn frowned. “You’ve changed.”

Noah set his guitar down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You used to care. You used to flirt, crack jokes, make things fun. Now you just… brood.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well. People change.”

Quinn crossed her arms. “Is it because of Rachel?”

That got his attention. His jaw tightened. “What I do with Rachel isn’t your business.”

“She’s not like us, Noah.”

He stood. “No. She’s better.”

Quinn blinked.

“Rehearsal’s over,” he muttered, grabbing his bag. “I’ll text you a song list.”

Thursday – Auditorium

Rachel sat alone at the edge of the stage, humming softly to herself. Noah slid in beside her without a word, pulling out his phone and queuing up a playlist.

“Favorite song?” he asked.

She blinked. “Of all time?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Top three, then.”

She thought about it. “'Don’t Rain on My Parade,’ obviously. But also ‘Vienna’ by Billy Joel. And… 'Fast Car.’ The original.”

He nodded slowly. “Solid choices.”

“What about you?”

He hesitated, then said quietly, “'Simple Man.’ Lynyrd Skynyrd.”

Rachel blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. My mom loves it. Says it reminds her of how she wants me to turn out.”

“That’s kind of beautiful.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

There was a moment — quiet, still, like time paused just for them. Rachel looked down, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

“Do you ever feel like being yourself makes you unlovable?” she whispered. “Like… too much?”

Noah didn’t answer right away. Then, carefully, “Yeah. But not with you.”

Rachel turned to him, wide-eyed. She didn’t say anything. Just rested her head against his shoulder.

He didn’t move. After a long pause, he tilted his head and kissed the top of hers. Gentle. Soft. Protective.

Her hand slid into his, fingers lacing without thought.

They didn’t need music in that moment.
They had each other.

Chapter Text

By midweek, the latest partner assignment had already begun to wear on everyone’s nerves—especially Rachel’s.

She and Sam had managed two rehearsals already. They were actually going well, all things considered. Sam was warm, funny, and disarmingly honest. He didn’t treat her like she was difficult or intense—just took her seriously and made her laugh, which was more than she could say for most boys at McKinley.

But Rachel couldn’t stop noticing the way her stomach twisted every time she passed by the music room and saw Quinn and Noah inside.

They’d only had one or two rehearsals so far, but something about the whole thing made her feel like she was standing too close to an open flame. Quinn was all soft smiles and casual touches, and Noah… well, he hadn’t given her any reason not to trust him.

And that terrified her.

“You know you’ve been talking about Puck this entire time, right?” Sam asked, halfway through their third rehearsal.

Rachel blinked. “I have not.”

He grinned. “You mentioned he let you choose your last duet, that he plays guitar, and that his harmonies surprise you in a good way.”

“I was making an observation,” she said defensively.

“Sure,” he said, nodding playfully. “And I’m just saying it’s pretty clear he’s not just some guy to you.”

Rachel went quiet.

Sam’s smile softened. “Look, for what it’s worth… I don’t think you’re imagining whatever’s going on between you two.”

Down the hall, Quinn’s rehearsals with Noah were… exhausting.

Noah hated this assignment.

Quinn was annoying. More annoying than he remembered. She kept trying to bring up old memories, laughing too hard at things that weren’t funny and touching his arm like it meant something.

“I still can’t believe we hooked up in your pool,” she purred, for the third time that week, her nails brushing against his bicep as they finished a verse.

He didn’t bother looking up. “You’ve brought that up like three times, Fabray. You good?”

She pouted. “I’m just reminiscing. It’s not a crime.”

Noah set his guitar down. “What is it exactly you think is gonna happen here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we reconnect. People change.”

He stared at her. “Yeah, I did change. I grew the hell up.”

Before she could respond, Rachel slipped quietly into the doorway—just in time to see Quinn’s hand brush Noah’s arm.

They didn’t notice.

Didn’t see her eyes darken. Didn’t hear her leave quietly.

But she did.

And everything changed.

By the next day, Noah knew something was wrong.

Rachel had been distant before, but this felt different. He hadn’t even realized she was avoiding him until halfway through the day when he went to lean on her locker and she turned in the opposite direction without a word.

After school, he caught up with her by the Glee room.

“Alright, Berry—what the hell is going on?”

She blinked at him, guarded. “Nothing.”

“You’re ghosting me in broad daylight.”

“I’m not ghosting you,” she said, voice clipped. “I’m just busy.”

“Right,” he said flatly. “Busy pretending I don’t exist?”

She crossed her arms, sharp. “Maybe I finally figured out that this was a game to you.”

His face fell. “What?”

“You’re just… you flirt, you tease, and then you’re off letting Quinn drape herself all over you. Maybe I was stupid for thinking I meant something.”

Noah stepped closer. “Where the hell is this coming from?”

“Go ask Quinn.”

“Wait,” he said, voice softer now. “Is this about me and Quinn being partners?”

Rachel scoffed, turning to leave, but he stepped in front of her.

“Look at me, Rach.”

She didn’t.

“I know we haven’t put a label or name to what this is,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “But I’m not pretending. I’m not playing you. And I sure as hell don’t want Quinn—not when I have you.”

She froze.

“You—you don’t have me.”

He took a step closer. “Okay. But I want you. I want this—whatever the hell it is we’re building. And I’m not gonna let some dumb Glee assignment or old hookup mess that up.”

Silence.

Rachel’s breath hitched.

Her voice was quiet. “She touched your arm.”

He almost laughed. “Yeah, because she’s desperate and bored. I didn’t touch her back.”

Rachel finally looked at him. Her eyes, always so wide and full of fire, were rimmed with hurt.

“You really don’t want her?”

He stepped closer. “I really want you.”

She exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing just a little.

Rachel stared at him for a beat too long, then sighed, shoulders sagging. “You’re infuriating.”

“I get that a lot.”

She rolled her eyes and walked away—but not before her fingers brushed against his. Just for a second.

And it was enough.

Chapter Text

By Wednesday, the glee club assignment was in full swing—and though everyone was used to Mr. Schue’s “switch it up” strategies by now, this week’s pairings had stirred the pot more than usual. Rachel was paired with Sam Evans, and to everyone’s surprise, it was… working.

Sam was easygoing, funny in a dry way, and didn’t seem even a little bit intimidated by Rachel’s intense rehearsal energy. And more than that, he listened. When she ranted about vocal harmonies or how she didn’t want to do yet another Journey cover, he nodded along and offered actual, thoughtful opinions. He was the kind of partner who adjusted his notes to blend with hers and high-fived her when they nailed a tough bridge.

More importantly, he didn’t flirt. He didn’t mock. He didn’t make her feel like she had to earn his respect.

And it was nice.

“So what’s the deal with you and Puckerman?” Sam asked casually during rehearsal in the choir room, plucking at the strings of his guitar as Rachel sorted sheet music.

Rachel froze. “I—what?”

Sam smirked like he already knew. “He’s not exactly subtle. Neither are you.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, but her blush betrayed her. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Sam tilted his head. “You talk about him like there is.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “It’s complicated.”

“Well, whatever it is… he’s definitely looking at you like you’re his entire playlist,” Sam said, plucking a dreamy little chord that made her heart flip. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s good for you. You seem… lighter. Less like you’re trying to carry the whole world on your shoulders.”

Rachel blinked, caught off guard by how accurately Sam had read her. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

Meanwhile, Puck was in hell.

Rehearsing with Quinn was like trying to tune a broken guitar—no matter how many times he adjusted his tone, she kept twisting hers. She was flirtier than necessary, constantly bringing up their “shared history” with little smiles and wistful sighs that made him want to slam his head into a locker.

“You can’t deny we had chemistry,” Quinn said sweetly, standing too close as they reviewed lyrics.

Puck didn’t look up from his notebook. “We had hormones. Not the same thing.”

She pouted. “So that’s it? Nothing left?”

He snapped his book shut. “We’re rehearsing or we’re not. Pick one.”

She sighed dramatically, but finally backed off—at least physically. Emotionally, she was clearly playing a long game. One Puck had no interest in joining.

Because all he could think about was Rachel. Her voice, her smile, her stupid little way of tucking her hair behind her ear when she was nervous. He hated that they weren’t partners this week. Hated that Quinn kept pushing. And hated that he hadn’t kissed Rachel again since that perfect, grounding kiss in the auditorium two days ago.

He was about ten seconds away from snapping when he caught sight of Rachel down the hall between classes. She was laughing at something Sam said, her eyes crinkling with real happiness, and it grounded him enough to not storm out of the building entirely.

That afternoon, after school let out, Noah found himself loitering by Rachel’s locker—something he’d never admit to intentionally doing. When she spotted him, her smile was immediate.

“Hey,” she said, shutting her locker. “Did you need something?”

“Wanna ride?” he asked, nodding toward the exit. “I got my truck.”

She blinked, surprised but pleased. “Sure. Thanks.”

They didn’t talk much on the short drive, the kind of comfortable silence that had started to settle between them more and more. When he pulled up in front of her house, she didn’t get out right away.

“I’m not ready to go in yet,” she admitted quietly.

Noah looked over at her. “Wanna go somewhere?”

They ended up at the park. Not the public one where the whole school might spot them, but a smaller, tucked-away one near the edge of town. There was a rickety bench by the pond, and they sat there, side by side, trading stories like they weren’t each guarding whole lives behind armor.

Rachel talked about Sam and how easy it was to work with him. Noah made a face, and she laughed.

“You don’t like him?”

“No, I do,” he said, then sighed. “He’s just a little too perfect sometimes.”

“He’s not,” Rachel said. “He’s just… kind. And funny. And uncomplicated.”

“You saying I’m complicated, Berry?”

She turned toward him, voice softer. “A little. But not in a bad way.”

Noah scratched at his jaw. “Quinn keeps bringing up last year. I keep shutting it down, but she doesn’t get it. Doesn’t care. And it’s making this whole duet thing miserable.”

Rachel was quiet.

“I don’t want her,” he added, staring straight ahead. “I just want this week to be over so I can work with you again. That’s all I want.”

She turned toward him fully now, blinking like she didn’t know what to do with the rush of warmth that surged through her.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” he teased gently, nudging her shoulder.

“I—” she started, then stopped. “I’m scared sometimes. That this is just temporary. That you’ll realize I’m not enough.”

He turned to face her fully now. “You’re too much for everyone else, maybe. But for me? You’re exactly right.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with emotion.

Later, after the sun had dipped lower and the cool air started to bite, Noah walked her to the truck and opened the passenger door like a reflex.

The ride back was full of low music and full hearts. When he pulled into her driveway, neither of them moved.

She turned toward him, eyes searching his. “Was this a date?”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool but failing. “If it was, it’s the best one I’ve ever had.”

Rachel laughed, soft and breathless. “It kind of was, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning in closer. “It was.”

Their foreheads met, the air between them thick and sweet. Noah reached out, brushing his thumb along her cheek before cradling her face gently in his hands.

Then he kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t reckless. It was slow and deep and full of all the things they weren’t ready to say out loud yet. A goodbye, a promise, a moment suspended in time.

When he pulled back, Rachel smiled, dazed and beautiful.

“Goodnight, Noah.”

“Goodnight, baby,” he said, quietly, the word slipping out before he could stop it.

She didn’t correct him. Just opened the truck door and stepped out, heart thudding, lips tingling, eyes bright.

And Noah stayed parked in her driveway for another full minute, just to memorize the way she looked walking back into her house—like someone worth fighting for.

Chapter Text

The day after their almost-date-but-not-a-date, Rachel floated through school like someone had handed her a dream wrapped in warm flannel and called it real life. She’d washed Noah’s hoodie but couldn’t bring herself to give it back yet—not when it still smelled faintly of his cologne and campfire. Every time she pulled it closer, she remembered the feel of his thumb brushing under her jaw, his lips pressed to hers with so much careful intensity it made her dizzy.

Noah hadn’t texted her first that morning, but she hadn’t expected him to. He’d waited until second period, then dropped a lazy “You sleep okay?” that somehow made her blush in the middle of AP English. She’d stared at the screen too long before answering: Better than I have in a long time. Did you?

His response was simple: Not really. Missed my girl.

She’d reread that one four times. "My girl." No label. No public declarations. But something was shifting between them, and it was slipping into words now. Unspoken, but no longer hidden.

Noah slammed his locker shut harder than necessary, ignoring the way Finn was glaring at him from across the hallway. The guy had been acting like a jealous ex-boyfriend despite being very publicly with Quinn, and it was getting on Noah’s last nerve.

He hadn’t touched Quinn. Hell, he barely even looked at her during rehearsal. If Rachel’s hand had lingered on his arm like that, he would’ve pulled her into his lap. But Quinn? She was the past. Rachel was the now, the next, the everything if he was being honest with himself.

He just wasn’t ready to say that out loud yet.

He pulled out his phone and typed a text he couldn’t stop himself from sending.

You wearing my hoodie today?

Her response came almost instantly: Yes. It smells like you. Hope that’s okay.

His lips twitched into something between a smirk and a smile. It’s more than okay, baby.

After school, Rachel was startled to find Noah leaning against her dad’s car.

“I figured I’d give you a ride today,” he said, casually tossing his keys into the air. “Unless you’re still mad I didn’t buy you flowers last night.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed. “Technically, it wasn’t a date.”

He opened the passenger door for her. “Then technically, this isn’t me picking you up from school like your boyfriend.”

She climbed in anyway.

They didn’t go straight home. Somewhere between the red light and the sound of The Killers on the radio, Noah suggested they grab food, and Rachel—still wearing his hoodie, legs tucked under her in his passenger seat—couldn’t say no.

It wasn’t a fancy dinner. Just a burger place and sharing a milkshake like a cliché. But they talked—really talked. About music, their futures, the parts of themselves they didn’t usually share with anyone else. Rachel admitted she’d never had anyone believe in her just because they wanted to, not because they wanted something from her.

Noah had gone quiet for a moment. Then he’d said, “You don’t gotta prove anything to me, Berry. You already shine.”

And when they got back to her house and sat in the truck for a few minutes longer than they needed to, she turned toward him and smiled like she was scared to.

His hand slid to her jaw like muscle memory. Their foreheads touched.

“I should go in,” she whispered.

“I should let you.”

But neither of them moved.

Then he kissed her again—soft and slow this time, with the weight of wanting behind it. Her hands slid into his hoodie, pulling it tighter around her body, like she didn’t want to let him go.

Later that night, Rachel was halfway through organizing her sheet music when she heard the soft tap on her window.

She didn’t even hesitate.

She lifted it open and helped him climb inside.

Noah stood there, drenched in moonlight and wearing the same hoodie she’d fallen asleep in just a few nights ago.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he muttered. “You looked too cute in my hoodie today. Got stuck in my head.”

Rachel blinked at him, heart racing. “You snuck into my room to tell me I looked cute?”

“Nah.” He stepped forward, reaching for her hand. “I snuck in ‘cause I wanted to fall asleep holding you again. That cool?”

She nodded, already pulling back the covers.

They didn’t do anything but curl into each other. Her head on his chest. His arms wrapped around her like armor.

“I don’t get it,” she whispered. “How do I feel safest with you?”

His voice was a rumble beneath her cheek. “Maybe ‘cause I’d kill anyone who hurts you.”

She didn’t laugh. She just closed her eyes and held him tighter.

Glee Club – Friday Afternoon

Mr. Schue clapped his hands to call them to order. “Alright guys, time to wrap up the week’s assignment. Let’s see what your duets look like.”

Rachel sat beside Sam, ready to go. Their partnership had been a surprise, but she found his goofy humor calming. He never made her feel like she was too much.

They performed “Lucky” by Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat, and Rachel caught Noah watching her from across the room with something like pride.

Sam gave her a friendly side hug after. “Hey, if you ever need someone to talk to about Puckerman, I got you.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Sam.”

Next up, Quinn and Puck. The tension was thick before they even opened their mouths. They sang “Breakeven” by The Script—Noah half-heartedly, Quinn trying too hard. It was clear to everyone that their energy was off.

Kurt leaned over to Rachel and whispered, “I give it three more days before Quinn sets fire to the choir room.”

Rachel almost giggled, but she didn’t miss the way Noah’s eyes flicked to her mid-song, like she was the only person he was singing to.

Later, Mr. Schue wrapped up rehearsal with praise and notes, and everyone began to file out.

Rachel stayed behind, organizing her binder.

Noah waited for her.

They walked out together without saying much, fingers brushing once—twice—before finally lacing them together.

Chapter Text

Rachel woke up alone, but not lonely.

The sun was barely starting to rise, a soft golden hue bleeding across her bedroom walls, but her fingers instinctively reached toward the other side of the bed—where his warmth still lingered.

Noah was gone.

But folded beside her on the pillow, right where his head had been hours earlier, was the hoodie he'd worn last night. Black, soft, and smelling like him—cologne, laundry detergent, and something deeper, something distinctly Noah. Her chest fluttered as she pulled it into her arms, burying her face in it before tugging it over her head. It hung loosely off her body like a hug, sleeves too long, hem brushing her thighs.

Her phone buzzed just as she curled back beneath the covers.

Noah: Left you my hoodie. Looked better on you anyway.

A breathless smile tugged at her lips.

Noah: Also… baby, if you don’t stop looking at me like that during rehearsals I’m gonna lose my mind.

Heat crept up her neck. He was getting bolder. Softer. Realer.

Downstairs, as she floated into the kitchen in his hoodie and fuzzy socks, one of her dads raised a brow.

“Is it just me, or is this the third mysteriously oversized hoodie we’ve seen this month?” Hiram asked, sipping his coffee.

“I plead the fifth,” Rachel murmured, hiding her grin behind a piece of toast.

Leroy smirked over the newspaper. “We like this one. He’s the first boy whose clothes don’t make you cry.”

Rachel blushed.

Glee Club that day was electric—too much energy crackling under the surface. Mr. Schuester called them to order and announced they’d be doing a surprise warm-up performance before the Regionals showcase began. One last group number to “refocus their synergy.”

Noah scoffed quietly under his breath. “Synergy,” he muttered to Rachel, who stifled a laugh.

Then Mr. Schue added the kicker.

“Lead vocals: Rachel and Finn.”

Rachel stiffened. Noah’s jaw clenched.

“No objections?” Mr. Schue asked, already too far into his pep talk to notice the rising tension.

Rachel was a professional. She could perform with Finn. She could.

But she felt Noah’s eyes on her the entire time—watching. Not possessive. Not jealous. Just… wary. Guarded. And it made something in her ache.

When they finally took a break, Rachel slipped out into the hallway to breathe. A few minutes later, she heard footsteps—and then a too-familiar voice.

“You looked good up there.”

Finn.

Rachel turned slowly. “Thanks.”

Finn leaned against the lockers beside her. “Must be nice… having all this attention from Puck. Didn’t take you long to bounce back, huh?”

She blinked, stunned.

“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he added with a shrug. “You’ve always kinda been… desperate.”

Rachel recoiled. “Excuse me?”

Finn gave a half-laugh, like he hadn’t just insulted her. “Whatever. You and Puck? He’ll get bored.”

The sharp sound of a fist hitting locker metal echoed down the hall.

“Say that again,” Noah’s voice snarled, low and dangerous.

Finn turned, smirking. “Didn’t realize I hit a nerve.”

“How many times do I have to tell you,” Noah said, stepping forward, voice steady but furious, “you don’t get to talk about her like that. Not anymore. You don’t get to mess with her.”

“Or what?”

Rachel stepped forward, but it was too late.

Noah shoved Finn. Hard.

Finn hit the locker with a loud thud, stumbling but not falling.

“Don’t make me do it again,” Noah warned.

The hallway had gone dead silent. All eyes were on them.

Even Finn looked startled—like maybe, for the first time, he realized Noah wasn’t bluffing.

Later that afternoon, they found each other on the stairwell landing where no one ever went during lunch. She didn’t jump when Noah appeared—just looked up at him with tired, confused eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Rachel said first. “I didn’t mean for that to happen—”

“You didn’t do anything,” Noah cut in, sitting beside her. “He’s just—”

“Bitter?”

Noah nodded. “And still thinks he owns you.”

Rachel leaned into him, her cheek brushing his shoulder. “Thank you.”

He tilted his head toward hers. “For what?”

“For making me feel safe.”

Noah just smiled softly and murmured, "You don't have to thank me baby."

They sat there for a while, quiet. Rachel let her eyes drift shut for a second. Then— 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said, kneeling beside her. “But I wanted to.”

His hand found hers. Their fingers laced together slowly, naturally, like they’d been doing it for years.

“I don’t want him to think he still gets to treat you like that,” Noah added, voice softer now. “And I couldn’t just stand there. Not when he talks about you like you’re a thing. You’re not. You’re you.”

Rachel’s eyes shimmered.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Noah looked at her then—really looked. Her hair still held the memory of last night’s rain. His hoodie swamped her frame. And in that moment, she looked both fierce and fragile, and all he could think was mine.

But he didn’t say it.

Not yet.

That night, Rachel was curled in bed with a book when her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

Her stomach dropped.

Text Message: Did you miss me, Rachel? –J

Her chest went cold.

She stared at the screen as her heart picked up speed, the name flashing behind her eyes—Jesse St. James.

The boy who made her feel like the world belonged to her, right before he threw her to the wolves.

Her fingers trembled.

Something was coming.

Chapter Text

Rachel woke up with a sharp inhale, her chest already tight. The morning sun filtered weakly through the blinds, stripes of gold slashing across her comforter, but the warmth didn’t reach her skin. It was still there—that awful weight in her stomach, like she'd swallowed a stone in her sleep.

The text hadn’t been a dream.

She didn’t need to reread it. Just knowing it existed was enough to make her fingers twitch with unease.

She hadn’t told Noah. Not because she was hiding something—she wasn’t—but because she didn’t know what to say. What did it mean? Why now? What was Jesse trying to stir up?

She curled deeper under the covers, tugging the hoodie Noah had left behind closer to her body. It still smelled like him—clean laundry and whatever stupid cologne he wore that always lingered just a little too long. She closed her eyes and let herself breathe it in. It helped.

Downstairs, she could already hear one of her dads humming in the kitchen. The scent of coffee floated up the stairs, rich and grounding, but Rachel didn’t move. Not yet.

Her phone buzzed.

Noah 🐟:
Morning, baby. You sleep okay?

She stared at the screen for a moment before replying.

Rachel:
Eventually. Hoodie helped.

Noah 🐟:
knew it would. need me to pick you up?

She hesitated. Her fingers hovered over the screen. Then—

Rachel:
Yeah. Please.

Noah leaned against his truck as she walked up, hoodie sleeves still covering her hands, curls pulled into a lazy half-up style. He tilted his head at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes sharpened when he saw the tension in hers.

“You okay?” he asked as she reached him.

Rachel nodded too quickly. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

“You sure that’s all?” He didn’t push, not exactly, but he stepped forward and gently ran his hand down her arm. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. But… I’m here.”

She looked up at him, eyes soft, grateful. “I know.”

At school, the unease followed her like a shadow.

Noah watched her like he always did—casual to anyone else, but she felt it. Protective. Steady. Anchored.

Sam waved at her in the hallway, and she offered a distracted smile in return. He caught up to her by the lockers, bumping her shoulder lightly.

“You good, Bambi?”

She blinked. “Bambi?”

He grinned. “Innocent eyes. Perpetual look of slight fear. It fits.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth quirked upward. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam looked at her like he could see through the lie. “If you wanna talk—y’know, about stuff—I’m around.”

She looked at him then, really looked. “Thanks, Sam.”

Glee club started normally enough. Santana was being snarky, Brittany braided Tina’s hair, Artie and Mike were arguing over whether or not to add choreography to their sectionals medley.

But Rachel felt the tension the second Mr. Schue walked in with a smirk that usually meant trouble.

“I’ve got a surprise for you guys,” he announced. “And it’s a big one.”

Rachel sat up straighter, instinctively sensing something was off. Noah's arm — which had casually found its way to the back of her chair — stiffened.

Then the door opened.

And in walked Jesse St. James.

For a beat, nobody spoke.

Rachel froze, her stomach bottoming out. Every muscle in her body locked in place. She could feel Noah shift beside her, like he was getting ready to either say something or throw something.

Jesse smiled. That same charming, smug smile he used to give her right before stealing the spotlight.

“Hey,” Jesse said, scanning the room before landing on her. “Long time no see.”

Her mouth was dry. She couldn’t speak.

Noah’s hand dropped from the back of her chair, curling into a fist against his thigh.

Mr. Schue clapped like it was some big celebration. “Jesse’s back for a few weeks to help us get ready for Regionals. With his experience performing at Nationals, I thought he could offer some valuable guidance.”

Rachel still couldn’t move. Or breathe.

Jesse kept talking. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to steal solos. I’m just here to help… and reconnect with old friends.”

His eyes didn’t leave her once.

Noah leaned closer, low enough that only she could hear. “Say the word and I’ll break his nose.”

Her heart thudded.

She didn’t say anything.

By the time rehearsal ended, Rachel still hadn’t spoken to Jesse. She hadn’t looked at him beyond that initial moment, but she could feel his gaze every second. Watching. Waiting.

Noah hovered the entire time, barely leaving her side, shooting death glares every time Jesse so much as shifted toward her. The others noticed — Santana raised an eyebrow at one point, like she was two seconds away from grabbing popcorn. Kurt gave Rachel a questioning look, but she just shook her head.

Afterward, Noah caught up with her outside the choir room.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” he asked, not accusing — just quiet. Steady.

Rachel bit the inside of her cheek. “I… I knew he was back. Kind of.”

Noah frowned. “Kind of?”

“He texted me last night.”

“What?”

She rushed to explain. “I didn’t respond. I didn’t even open it. I swear. I didn’t know he was coming back, I just—I didn’t want to tell you until I figured out how I felt about it.”

His expression didn’t change. But his jaw tightened.

Rachel kept going, words tumbling out. “I’m not confused. I don’t want him back. I just… he was the first person I thought really saw me. And then he didn’t. He used me. And it still stings sometimes, even if I’m not in love with him anymore.”

Noah stepped closer. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I do.”

He shook his head. “Rach, you don’t. You owe that guy nothing. You don’t have to tell me anything until you’re ready. I’m not gonna get pissed. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her lip trembled.

Noah reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You want me to talk to Schue? Get him the hell outta here?”

“No. That’ll just make it worse.”

“Then I’ll be your shield,” he said. “You don’t want to deal with him, I’ll make sure you don’t have to.”

Rachel reached for his hand.

Held it.

Tightly.

That night, Rachel couldn’t sleep.

She lay in bed staring at her ceiling, Jesse’s smirk burned behind her eyelids. His voice echoing, his arrogance slithering into all the cracks she’d worked so hard to seal up.

But louder than that, softer, steadier, was Noah.

The way he looked at her like she mattered. Like she was enough.

The way he never asked for more than she could give.

The way he made her feel safe.

She pulled his hoodie tighter around her and buried her face into the sleeve, inhaling the smell of him. Earth and laundry detergent and something warm that made her whole body unclench.

Jesse might have been her past.

But Noah?

Noah was starting to feel like her future.

Chapter Text

Rachel felt the tension the moment she stepped into Glee club the next morning. It hung thickly in the air like a storm about to break, invisible but unmistakable. Jesse’s unexpected return had shifted the atmosphere in a way that made it hard to breathe.

She sat quietly in her usual spot, hyperaware of Noah beside her—his posture rigid, jaw set tight. He’d barely relaxed since Jesse walked back into their lives.

Mr. Schue breezed in, oblivious as always, cheerful and optimistic.

“Great news, guys. Jesse’s agreed to stick around and coach us right up to Regionals.” His grin widened, completely missing the collective groan echoing quietly through the room.

“Fantastic,” Noah muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Rachel’s eyes flickered to Jesse, who lounged at the piano, wearing his trademark smirk. “We’ve got our work cut out for us,” Jesse announced confidently, scanning the group, gaze lingering on Rachel a moment too long. “Some more than others.”

Noah shifted forward slightly in his chair, knuckles white as they curled around the seat.

Jesse stood, pacing in front of them as he continued, his eyes sharp and predatory. “Honestly, we have a good base, but if we want to win Regionals, some people need a lot more work. Others just need a better partner—someone who complements their talent instead of dragging them down.”

Noah tensed noticeably, but Jesse pressed further, his voice subtly condescending as his gaze settled pointedly on him.

“For example, Puck, your vocals… They’re fine for bar gigs or something, I suppose, but this is Regionals we’re talking about. Rachel needs a duet partner who can match her talent, not pull her down to his level.”

Noah’s eyes darkened dangerously, his jaw ticking as his fists clenched at his sides.

Rachel’s pulse quickened. She opened her mouth to intervene, but Jesse smoothly continued, ignoring the tension he'd sparked.

“Rachel and I have a proven track record of success. Our chemistry on stage is undeniable.” He smiled, cocky and assured. “We’ll show everyone how it’s done.”

“No,” Rachel interjected quickly, voice firm but shaking slightly. “That’s really not necessary—”

“I think it’s an excellent idea,” Mr. Schue cut in, oblivious as always. “A good demonstration could inspire everyone.”

Rachel felt Noah’s presence beside her, angry and coiled tight. Jesse took a step toward her, smiling in that calculated way he always did. “Come on, Rachel, you know we’re magic together. You can’t honestly tell me you’ve had that same feeling performing with anyone else since, especially him.”

Noah stood abruptly, his chair scraping harshly against the floor.

“Enough,” Noah said, his voice low, trembling with barely restrained anger.

Jesse looked at him calmly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Something to add, Puckerman?”

“Yeah. I’ve got plenty to add, but none of it ends well for you.” Noah stepped forward, closing the distance. Rachel immediately moved to stand, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

“Noah,” she murmured softly, pleadingly.

Jesse smirked at them both, shaking his head lightly. “You really think this little caveman routine is attractive? It’s embarrassing. Rachel deserves better than a walking cliché.”

That was the breaking point. Noah took a sharp breath, fists clenched, then suddenly turned away. Without another word, he stormed out of the room, the door slamming loudly behind him.

A stunned silence filled the space.

Mercedes leaned toward Santana, shaking her head slowly. “Well, that’s gonna be a problem.”

Rachel stared at the door Noah had just exited, her heart in her throat.

“Rachel?” Jesse prompted expectantly, completely unfazed by the chaos he’d just created. “Let’s get started.”

She turned sharply toward Mr. Schue, her voice quiet but desperate. “Do I really have to—”

“Come on, Rachel, it’ll be great,” Mr. Schue insisted with a reassuring smile, completely oblivious. “It’s just one song.”

She took a breath, forcing herself to remain composed, and moved stiffly toward the piano. Jesse’s smile widened triumphantly as she joined him, and Rachel fought down the nausea that rose in her throat.

The rehearsal continued, but Rachel barely heard a word Jesse sang beside her. All she could think about was Noah.

—

Rachel found Noah later, alone on the bleachers behind the football field, staring out over the empty grass. She approached quietly, sliding onto the bench beside him.

“Hey,” she murmured.

Noah didn’t turn immediately, just exhaled heavily. “Sorry for storming out,” he said quietly. “I just couldn’t deal with his smug face for another second.”

Rachel shook her head softly. “You don’t have to apologize. He knows how to push buttons. He always has.”

Noah looked at her then, eyes searching hers for something he didn’t ask out loud. “It’s not even about me,” he admitted finally. “It’s how he looks at you—like he still thinks you belong to him.”

She reached for his hand, threading their fingers together carefully, as if she could soothe him through touch alone. “I don’t belong to him. Or Finn. Or anyone.”

“I know,” Noah said, voice low, almost a whisper. “But sometimes…it feels like I have no right to feel like this. Like maybe you’re not mine, but I’m already yours.”

Rachel swallowed, her heart swelling painfully in her chest. “Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be right now.”

Noah sighed, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. “I’m trying to be patient, Rachel. But seeing him around you—it makes me crazy.”

She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. “You don’t need to be patient much longer. I promise.”

—

That afternoon, Jesse cornered her by her locker. He stood too close, leaning casually, every bit the cocky performer he’d always been.

“You know, I genuinely missed you,” he said, voice deceptively soft. “No one else ever matched your intensity on stage. Not even close.”

Rachel frowned, stepping back slightly. “Jesse, I’ve moved on. You should too.”

He tilted his head, amused rather than deterred. “Moved on to what exactly? Puckerman? We both know you deserve better.”

She stiffened, eyes narrowing. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve. Not anymore.”

Jesse’s gaze darkened slightly, irritation slipping past his charm. “I know you, Rachel. You crave greatness, and Puckerman will never give you that.”

“She said no,” came a voice from behind her, dangerously calm.

Noah was suddenly there, stepping forward to place himself between Rachel and Jesse.

“You don’t get to talk to her like you know anything,” Noah said evenly, eyes locked on Jesse’s.

Jesse smiled coldly. “Defensive, aren’t we? Afraid you can’t keep her?”

Rachel reached forward, placing her hand gently on Noah’s back. “Let’s go,” she said softly.

Noah hesitated only a second before nodding. Jesse watched them leave, eyes cold with something darker beneath the surface.

—

That night, Rachel lay awake, staring at the ceiling until she heard the familiar creak of her window.

Noah climbed inside, quiet and gentle, moving to her bed without a word. She shifted, letting him settle behind her, his arms sliding around her waist and pulling her close. His breath tickled her ear softly, steady and grounding.

“I’m sorry today was so tense,” she whispered.

“Not your fault,” he murmured, lips brushing her shoulder. “I just hate that they keep pulling at you, acting like you’re some prize they can win.”

She sighed, melting back against him. “It’s exhausting.”

Noah tightened his arms gently, protective but soft. “Let them try. You’re already exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

She turned in his embrace, facing him, their noses brushing lightly. “Am I?”

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, baby. You are.”

Rachel closed her eyes, breathing him in, safe and warm in his arms. Jesse and Finn could circle all they wanted—she’d already chosen. They just hadn’t accepted it yet.

She didn’t belong to either of them.

But here, curled in Noah’s arms, she knew exactly who she was choosing.

And no one else stood a chance.

Chapter Text

The morning after the Glee club showdown, the air at McKinley was buzzing. Jesse St. James had returned, and everyone could feel the shift. Rumors were flying, whispers echoing through the hallways. But Rachel Berry walked in with her chin high and Noah’s hoodie still wrapped around her like armor — a silent message to anyone watching.

Noah was already waiting by her locker, leaning against the cool metal with his arms crossed, eyes scanning the hallway like a watchman. He didn't smile at her approach — not here, not in front of everyone. But his hand brushed against hers for just a second when she reached to open her locker, and that was enough to ground her.

“Hey,” he murmured low.

“Hey,” she echoed, voice soft, eyes flicking toward the crowd of students parting like water around them.

Noah didn’t ask how she slept. He already knew. He’d been the one to hold her through the worst of her spiraling thoughts the night before — the tightness in her chest, the anxiety Jesse’s return had reignited. He’d just wrapped his arms around her, pressed a kiss to her temple, and whispered, I’ve got you, baby. Always.

Today, he was quieter. On edge.

In Glee, it all unraveled.

Mr. Schue had them in a semi-circle, going over choreography for their Regionals group number, while Jesse lingered behind him like some smug Broadway ghost. He had a clipboard in hand — as if he was really here to help — and he smiled at the group with all the fake charm of someone who had once been a snake in their garden.

When Rachel walked in, his eyes immediately found her. He lit up like she was a spotlight trained on him.

“Rachel,” he called out before Mr. Schue could even start, “I was thinking — maybe you and I could try something for the second verse of the group number? The blend of our voices is practically legendary.”

Noah’s jaw tensed, and his shoulders stiffened beside her. Rachel didn’t even glance at Jesse — her eyes were already on Noah, silently pleading with him not to start something. Not yet.

“I’m already assigned to a part,” Rachel said clearly. “We don’t need to change the arrangement.”

“But it’s not about what you need, Rachel,” Jesse replied with that signature tilt of his head and glint in his eye. “It’s about what we can offer this team. You’re the star — and I’m just trying to make sure that brilliance doesn’t go to waste surrounded by mediocrity.”

That did it.

Noah stepped forward, slow and deliberate.

“Watch your mouth,” he said, voice dangerously low.

Mr. Schue looked up just in time to intercept, sensing something was about to explode. “Okay, okay! Let’s bring it back down. Jesse, let’s stick to the structure we already have. Everyone else — take five.”

Noah didn’t move. He was still watching Jesse like a bomb waiting to go off.

Rachel touched his wrist — gently, grounding him again. He blinked, then turned and left the room without another word.

The room was quiet for a beat.

Santana whistled low. “Is that dude trying to get himself beat up? 'Cause… that’s gonna be a problem.”

Rachel didn’t laugh. She couldn’t. Her chest was still tight, her fingers still tingling from touching Noah’s skin. She knew this wasn’t over — not even close.

Later that day, Rachel found Noah leaning against his truck in the school parking lot. He hadn’t come back to Glee. She’d looked. She knew he needed air, space — and maybe someone to tell him that he was seen.

“You okay?” she asked, crossing her arms as she stood in front of him.

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

“You stormed out.”

“Didn’t want to punch that smug bastard in front of a teacher.”

Rachel swallowed, stepping closer until she was right in front of him. “You didn’t have to defend me.”

Noah looked up, brows lifting like he couldn’t believe she’d even say that.

“Yeah. I did.”

She blinked. The wind rustled her skirt around her legs. His words stuck to her ribs like warmth in a cold room.

“I don’t like how he talks to you,” Noah added, softer now. “Like you’re some trophy to show off. Like he knows you. He doesn’t.”

Rachel’s throat bobbed. “And you do?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “I’m trying to.”

That night, Rachel sat at her desk, textbooks open, mind spinning with too many thoughts. Her phone buzzed. A message from Noah.

You okay?

She typed back: Yeah. Just thinking.

About Jesse?

She hesitated. Then typed: About you.

A moment later, another buzz.

I like the sound of that.

She smiled, reaching for the hoodie still lying over the back of her chair. She tugged it on, tucking her hands into the sleeves. His scent was faint but comforting. Like safety. Like home.

That’s when her phone buzzed again.

Unknown number.

One word: Miss me?

Rachel’s stomach dropped.

She didn’t need a name to know who it was.

Jesse.

She stared at the screen, pulse picking up. A bad feeling settled over her like a shadow.

Whatever storm Jesse brought with him wasn’t over yet.

But this time, she wasn’t alone.

Chapter Text

The morning halls of McKinley buzzed with the usual chatter and squeak of sneakers against tile, but Rachel hardly noticed. She spotted him instantly—Noah leaning against her locker, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, looking every bit like he owned the space.

Her lips curved before she could stop them. “You really should get to class one of these mornings instead of waiting for me.”

He smirked lazily. “And miss this? Not happening, baby.”

The word rolled out of him so casually now that it made her chest tighten. She adjusted the strap of her bag and whispered, “You’re going to make people suspicious.”

“Good.” His eyes softened as he brushed a hand down her arm, just for a second. “Let ’em be suspicious. I don’t care.”

Her heart beat faster as she opened her locker, his quiet presence grounding her. Whatever the day threw at her, she knew she’d have him.

Glee rehearsal that afternoon was tense the second Jesse strolled in with a clipboard and that smug Broadway smile plastered on his face.

“Let’s be honest,” Jesse announced as Mr. Schue tried to organize warm-ups, “if we’re going to stand a chance at Regionals, we need to push past mediocrity. Some of you shine naturally—” his eyes lingered on Rachel “—and some of you… try.”

Noah’s fists clenched on his knees.

“Tone it down, St. James,” Santana muttered.

But Jesse kept going, tossing critiques at Artie’s tempo, Mercedes’s breath control, even Finn’s pitch—though he was careful to slip in compliments for Rachel every other sentence. “Rachel, as always, flawless. You’d elevate any duet partner you’re with. Some people,” Jesse’s gaze flicked toward Noah, “just don’t keep up.”

Finn, sitting on Rachel’s other side, bristled. “She doesn’t need you to make her look good, Jesse.”

“And she definitely doesn’t need you, Hudson,” Jesse countered smoothly.

Rachel’s stomach churned. Both of them arguing over her, neither of them noticing she wasn’t even looking their way. She was focused on Noah—steady, silent, his jaw locked tight.

She could see it in his eyes: it was getting harder for him not to swing.

After rehearsal ended, Jesse lingered. He caught Rachel by the piano, that smirk still in place.

“Rach,” he said softly, “come rehearse with me. Just for old times’ sake. You know we were perfect together.”

Rachel straightened her shoulders. “We weren’t perfect, Jesse. We were a performance. And I’m not interested in an encore.”

His smile faltered for a split second, quickly replaced with cool confidence. “You’ll change your mind.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I won’t.”

Across the room, Finn watched, his eyes narrowing. Rachel turning Jesse down should have made him smug—but it didn’t. Because she wasn’t turning back to him. She was walking away, strong and certain, and it gnawed at him.

Later, in the hallway, Sam caught up with Noah, smirking like he’d been waiting.

“How are you not murdering someone yet?”

Noah barked a short laugh. “It’s getting harder.”

Sam nudged his shoulder. “Look, man… they don’t get it. She’s already looking at you like you hung the stars. Just keep being that guy. The one who shows up. You’ll win without ever throwing a punch.”

Noah tilted his head, considering him. “Not bad advice for a rookie.”

Sam grinned. “You’ll thank me later.”

Study hall was quiet when Rachel spotted him at a table in the corner, headphones around his neck and a notebook open in front of him. Without asking, she slid into the seat beside him.

He looked up, brows raised. “You lost, Berry?”

She smiled softly. “No. Just where I’m supposed to be.”

Something in his chest unclenched. He reached over and shut his notebook. “You’re braver than me.”

Rachel tilted her head. “How so?”

“I’m trying not to make scenes,” he admitted. “Trying to play it cool when what I really wanna do is tell the whole damn room you’re mine.”

Her breath caught.

“I’m not here to make scenes,” he said, softer now, eyes holding hers. “I’m here to make sure you’re good.”

She leaned her head gently onto his shoulder, and for a while, they just sat there, the world fading into silence.

After school, Jesse wasn’t done. He intercepted her at her locker again, his tone deceptively smooth.

“Why are you being so difficult, Rachel? You and I—what we had was perfect. Don’t tell me you don’t miss it.”

She turned, steady and unflinching. “What we had was a lie. I don’t miss it. Noah is my partner now—in more ways than one.”

For the first time, Jesse’s mask slipped. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll regret this.”

“No,” Rachel said, her voice unwavering. “I won’t.”

She walked away, her back straight, her steps sure. Finn, leaning against the lockers nearby, watched her go. His jaw clenched.

“She’ll come back,” he muttered bitterly. “She always does.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Santana said dryly as she passed with Brittany.

That night, Rachel sat cross-legged in bed, her hair in a messy bun and Noah’s hoodie draped around her shoulders. She snapped a quick selfie, cheeks flushed, and sent it to him with one word: Safe.

She didn’t know that when Noah got it, he saved it instantly, thumb brushing over the screen like it was something sacred. Someday, it would be his lock screen.

His reply came fast.

That’s what I want for you. Always.

Her fingers hovered before typing back: I’m tired of everyone thinking they can decide who I should be with. I’m not confused.

The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared, then came back. Finally:

Then let’s stop pretending we’re not already together.

Rachel stared at the words, her heart racing so hard she thought it might crack her ribs. She didn’t answer right away. But her smile said everything.

Chapter Text

Noah Puckerman wasn’t the kind of guy who smiled at his phone. At least, that’s what he told himself as he scrolled back to the picture Rachel had sent him the night before. Her hair was a little messy, her eyes tired but bright, and she was wrapped in his hoodie like it was the safest place in the world. He’d saved it instantly, the grin tugging at his mouth before he could stop it.

He wasn’t about to tell her that it was now his lock screen. That was between him and the quiet thud in his chest every time he lit up his phone.

When Rachel spotted him leaning against her locker that morning, the whispers started. She felt them brush against her like static, sharp and biting. But then Noah’s hand slid into hers, bold and casual, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Her breath caught. “Noah…”

“Relax, baby,” he murmured, smirking at the wide eyes of a sophomore cheerleader passing by. “Let ’em look.”

Rachel’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t pull away. For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid of being seen.

By Glee rehearsal, the tension was a living, breathing thing.

Jesse stood at the piano like he owned the room, clipboard in hand, throwing out critiques left and right.

“Mercedes, watch your breath control. Finn, try not to drag the tempo. Santana—less attitude, more accuracy.” He flashed his dazzling grin before turning to Rachel. “Rachel, of course, as flawless as ever. You could carry this entire number yourself.”

Rachel stiffened. Noah’s jaw ticked.

Finn bristled from across the room. “She doesn’t need you, Jesse. We’ve done this before. We should be leading this number.”

“No, Finn,” Rachel said clearly, her voice cutting through the room. “That’s not happening.”

The silence that followed was thick, stunned. Rachel Berry didn’t usually shut Finn down so publicly.

From the back row, Mercedes leaned toward Kurt and whispered, “Well… guess we know where she stands.”

Noah didn’t say a word, but the corner of his mouth tugged up as he caught Rachel’s eye. She’d chosen.

At lunch, Rachel sat with Kurt, Mercedes, and Sam.

Sam leaned his chin on his hand, smirking. “So… you and Puck, huh? Should I start placing bets?”

Rachel’s cheeks heated instantly. “It’s not—”

“Don’t tease her,” Kurt interrupted gently, smiling. “It’s about time she found someone who actually treats her right.”

Rachel’s lips softened into a quiet smile. She hadn’t realized until now that her friends had noticed — and approved.

Later, Sam cornered Noah at his locker, raising a brow. “So… how’s it feel being the guy everyone’s whispering about?”

Noah smirked. “Feels good… when it’s her.”

Sam’s grin widened. “Hold onto that, man. But heads up — Finn looks like he’s ready to combust, and Jesse’s a snake. They’re not backing off.”

Noah shut his locker with a sharp clang. “They can both try. She’s not theirs.”

Study hall was quiet when Rachel found him in the library, strumming his guitar softly. She slid into the seat beside him without asking.

“Play me something,” she said quietly.

He hesitated. “It’s not finished.”

“I’d like to hear it anyway.”

After a moment, he gave in, fingers moving over the strings. The lyrics were simple, unfinished — but every note rang with something raw, something Rachel felt deep in her chest.

Her eyes stung. “It’s beautiful.”

He glanced at her, smirking softly. “So are you.”

Their eyes held, a magnetic pull drawing them closer. Rachel’s breath caught — and then a teacher walked by, the moment shattering.

She let out a shaky laugh. “Our timing is terrible.”

“Yeah,” Noah said, leaning back, still watching her. “But worth it.”

After school, Jesse was waiting outside the auditorium.

“Rach,” he said smoothly, blocking her path. “We were perfect together. Don’t tell me you don’t miss it.”

Rachel met his gaze, steady. “I don’t. The only one holding me back is you. Noah is my partner now. In more ways than one.”

Jesse’s smile slipped before he forced it back. “You’ll regret this.”

“I won’t,” she said, brushing past him.

At the end of the hall, Noah was waiting. He offered his hand, and without hesitation, she took it. Jesse’s eyes burned into their backs as they walked away.

That night, Rachel curled in bed, Noah’s hoodie around her shoulders. She snapped a picture of his guitar pick lying on her notebook and sent it: Thinking of you.

His reply came almost instantly.

You have no idea what you do to me.

Her lips curved. She typed back: I’m tired of Finn and Jesse not realizing I’m already yours.

There was a long pause. Then his reply lit up her screen:

Then let’s show them.

Rachel’s breath hitched, her heart racing so hard she thought it might burst. She didn’t answer right away, just pulled his hoodie tighter, smiling into the dark.

Because for the first time, she wasn’t scared of what came next.

Chapter Text

Noah Puckerman wasn’t the kind of guy who woke up early. He wasn’t the kind of guy who got butterflies either. But that morning, both happened.

He’d fallen asleep staring at Rachel’s text from last night: I’m already yours.

The words had looped in his head until he’d finally drifted off, but when the alarm went off, his chest was still buzzing. He knew one thing for sure: Rachel Berry deserved more than just a text. She deserved something real.

So when he pulled his truck up to her curb, he wasn’t empty-handed. A bouquet of her favorite flowers sat in the passenger seat, and a to-go cup from her favorite coffee shop was nestled in the holder.

Rachel stepped out of her house, adjusting the strap of her bag. She froze when she saw what he was holding.

“Noah…” she breathed, eyes wide.

He shoved the coffee into her hand, his nerves buzzing under his skin. “Don’t look at me like that, Berry. I’m just… I’m not good with speeches.”

Her lips twitched, already fighting a smile.

He exhaled, then said it straight. “Will you be my girlfriend? Officially?”

Her eyes shimmered, her mouth curving into the brightest smile he’d ever seen. “Yes.”

He didn’t even realize he’d moved until her lips were on his, soft and certain. For a second, the world blurred, and all Noah knew was the feel of her in his arms and the taste of her yes.

When they walked into school hand in hand, the effect was immediate. Conversations stopped. Heads turned. Whispers shot through the hall like wildfire.

Rachel’s stomach twisted, but Noah’s thumb brushed over the back of her hand. He leaned down, lips brushing her temple.

“Relax, baby,” he murmured. “They’ll get used to it. I’m not letting go.”

And just like that, she wasn’t nervous anymore.

By the time Glee rehearsal rolled around, news had spread to every corner of McKinley.

Jesse stood at the piano with his clipboard, his smile polished and sharp. Finn sat stiffly in the corner, arms crossed, his jaw tight.

“Let’s face it,” Jesse began, his voice smooth but laced with smugness, “if we’re going to win at Regionals, we need to play to our strengths. Rachel, you could carry this entire number on your shoulders.”

Rachel sat up straighter, bracing herself.

“And yet,” Jesse continued, his eyes flicking to Noah, “you’re wasting your talent being paired with the wrong partner.”

Noah’s jaw flexed.

Finn jumped in, his voice biting. “She knows she’s better with me. Always has been.”

Rachel’s head snapped toward him. “No, Finn. That’s not happening.”

The room went still. Rachel Berry never shut Finn down in public like that.

Jesse smirked, undeterred. “So you’d rather tie yourself to mediocrity?”

Finn scoffed. “He’s just using you, Rachel. That’s what he does.”

Noah surged forward, ready to shut them both up — but before he could react, Rachel stepped in front of him, her voice sharp as glass.

“Enough!”

Every head in the room swiveled toward her.

“Noah is a better man than either of you will ever be,” she said, her chin high, her eyes blazing. “I choose him. I’m with him now. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

She turned her glare on Finn, her voice cutting. “You’re still with Quinn, remember? Or did you forget that?”

Finn flinched, his face paling.

Rachel shifted her gaze to Jesse, her tone ice-cold. “And you? Maybe you should just go back to Vocal Adrenaline since you’re so worried about ‘perfection.’”

Silence. The kind that filled every corner of the choir room.

Mercedes muttered, “Finally.”

Santana smirked, crossing her arms. “About damn time.”

Noah had never wanted to kiss her more. She wasn’t just protecting herself anymore — she was protecting him.

The fallout came fast.

Finn caught her in the hallway afterward, desperation bleeding through his voice. “You don’t mean that. You’ll regret choosing him.”

Rachel met his eyes without flinching. “The only thing I regret is wasting time believing in you.”

Finn looked gutted, like the words had physically hit him.

And then Noah was there, sliding his arm around her shoulders like it had always belonged there. Rachel leaned into him without hesitation, proving her choice before the whole school.

As they walked away, whispers followed them down the hall, but neither of them cared.

Later, the auditorium was quiet when Noah tugged her inside. He needed her away from the noise, away from the whispers, just for a minute.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Rachel smiled softly, her eyes shimmering. “I’ve never been more sure.”

He kissed her then — passionate, grounding, the kind of kiss that left them both breathless. She clung to him, fingers curling into his shirt as if she never wanted to let go.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his lips curved. “Guess the whole school knows now.”

Rachel laughed softly, cupping his face. “Good. Let them.”

He kissed her again, deeper this time, until they were both breathless.

That night, Rachel sat curled in Noah’s hoodie, heart still racing. She looked up when her window creaked, and there he was, climbing in like he belonged.

“Noah,” she whispered, smiling as he crossed the room.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he admitted. 

Sliding onto her bed he pulled her close without a word, tucking her against his chest, arms wrapping around her like he’d never let go. His fingers threaded through her hair as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Her head fit perfectly under his chin. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

His lips brushed the crown of her head. “I am now.”

She tilted her face up, her eyes soft. “I think I’ve been yours for a while.”

His throat worked. He kissed her gently, murmuring against her lips, “Yeah, baby. Me too.”

They lay tangled together, the chaos of the day fading into the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her ear.

They fell asleep wrapped around each other, the chaos of the day melting away. For the first time, neither of them cared who knew.

Chapter Text

Rachel Berry woke up smiling.

Her alarm buzzed on the nightstand, but for once, she didn’t dread the day ahead. She curled deeper into Noah’s hoodie, the fabric soft against her cheek, the faint trace of his cologne wrapping around her like armor. For so long she’d imagined what it would feel like to be chosen — and now she had been. Officially.

When she walked into McKinley that morning, students turned and stared. The whispers were louder than ever. But this time, instead of shrinking under the weight of it, Rachel lifted her chin. She spotted Noah leaning against her locker, his hands in his pockets, a lazy smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Morning, baby,” he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Her heart fluttered at the endearment, still new but already addictive. Before she could reply, he tugged her in and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. Her eyes widened, a blush heating her cheeks — but she didn’t pull away. She kissed him back, soft and sure.

The whispers grew louder, but Noah’s arm slid around her shoulders, steady and unbothered. “Let ’em talk,” he muttered in her ear. “Doesn’t change a damn thing.”

And for the first time, Rachel believed it.

At lunch, everything felt different. Instead of sliding into her usual seat beside Kurt and Mercedes, she followed Noah into the corner where he always sat with Sam, Mike, Santana, and Brittany. She hesitated, clutching her tray, but Noah guided her down with a hand at her back.

Santana arched a brow. “Look at that. Berry’s one of us now.” She smirked. “That’s hot.”

Rachel blinked, unsure if it was an insult or a compliment — until Brittany nodded seriously. “Very hot.”

Laughter rippled around the table, and to Rachel’s surprise, it wasn’t cruel. It was… easy.

She glanced at Noah, who was leaning back with his arm draped across her chair like it belonged there. His walls were lower than she’d ever seen, his smirk softer when it landed on her.

And for the first time, she felt like she fit.

By the time Glee rehearsal began, Jesse was wound tight. His clipboard snapped open with sharp precision, his voice cool but clipped.

“Mercedes, your timing is sloppy. Artie, the phrasing is lazy. And Rachel…” His eyes narrowed. “You’re letting your emotions bleed into the performance. It’s messy.”

Rachel stiffened.

“My emotions,” she said firmly, “are what make me a performer. If you can’t see that, maybe you shouldn’t be coaching us.”

Gasps scattered across the room. Jesse’s jaw ticked, his smile faltering for the first time. Noah smirked at the sight, pride burning in his chest.

Jesse quickly covered it with a smooth shrug. “We’ll see.” But the desperate edge in his gaze gave him away.

Later that afternoon, Rachel and Noah slipped into the empty auditorium. They were supposed to be rehearsing, but instead, they ended up sprawled across the piano bench, shoulders pressed together.

“I’ve always felt like too much,” Rachel admitted, her voice low. “Like being myself just… pushes people away.”

Noah shook his head, his hand brushing against hers. “You’re not too much, Rach. You’re everything. People just can’t handle it because they don’t deserve it.”

Her throat tightened.

He leaned closer, voice softer. “It’s exhausting pretending I don’t care when I actually care too damn much.”

She looked up at him, eyes shimmering. “Noah…”

The name slipped out like a secret, and before she could second-guess herself, his hand cupped her cheek. He kissed her — slow, lingering, a promise pressed into her lips.

When they finally pulled apart, her forehead rested against his.

“Baby,” he whispered without thinking.

She smiled, breathless. “Again.”

So he kissed her once more.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Quinn stared at herself in the mirror. Her cheer uniform felt tighter than it had last week, her stomach flipping with unease. She was late.

Panic rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down. If she was pregnant… no one could know yet. Not Finn. Not anyone.

Later that afternoon, she intercepted Finn in the hallway, her voice soft and sweet. “Hey. We should talk sometime soon.”

Finn blinked, confused but intrigued. And just like that, Quinn planted the first seed of her plan.

That night, Rachel curled up in bed, Noah’s hoodie around her shoulders. Her phone buzzed with a message from him:

You thinking about me, baby?

She bit her lip, smiling as she typed: Do you ever think about the future?

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

Only if you’re in it.

Her cheeks flushed. She typed back: Good. Because I want to be.

Noah stared at her message long after it arrived, his chest full. He saved it without thinking, grinning like a fool in the dark.

And for the first time, Rachel Berry fell asleep with her heart at ease, certain of the boy who held it.

Chapter Text

Rachel Berry pulled the sleeves of Noah’s hoodie down over her hands as she walked into McKinley. It was ridiculous how much comfort one piece of clothing could give her, but the soft fabric and faint trace of his cologne made her feel wrapped up in him. She hesitated that morning — if she wore it, people would talk. But Noah’s voice from the day before had replayed in her mind: Relax, baby. They’ll get used to it.

So she wore it.

And when she reached her locker, the decision paid off. Noah was leaning against it, smirk in place but eyes soft when they landed on her.

“Morning, baby,” he said, and before she could answer, he kissed her. It was longer than yesterday’s — not a quick brush, but one that lingered just enough to make her blush and cling tighter to the hoodie.

The whispers started instantly, sharp like static around them. Rachel’s spine stiffened, but Noah’s hand slid into hers, his thumb brushing steady circles over her knuckles.

“That’s my girl,” he said, not loud but certain, and Rachel felt her shoulders drop. She wasn’t hiding anymore.

At lunch, Rachel followed Noah to his table again. The nerves were still there, but not nearly as sharp. Mike gave her a small nod of hello, Sam grinned wide, and Brittany smiled dreamily. Santana arched a brow but didn’t bite.

“You look good in his colors,” Brittany said suddenly, tilting her head.

Rachel blinked. “His… colors?”

“Yeah,” Brittany said simply, pointing at the hoodie. “Noah-blue.”

Santana rolled her eyes, but Noah chuckled. “She’s not wrong.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Rachel’s cheek, earning a chorus of oohs from Sam and Mike.

Rachel’s cheeks burned, but she laughed — actually laughed. For the first time, she didn’t feel like an outsider here.

The auditorium was quiet that afternoon. Instead of practicing their assigned music, Noah pulled his guitar from its case, and Rachel perched beside him on the piano bench.

“What are you working on?” she asked softly.

He hesitated, then handed her his battered notebook. “Just… stuff I mess around with.”

Rachel flipped through carefully, her heart thudding at the half-finished lyrics scribbled across the pages. Honest words. Vulnerable ones.

“Noah,” she whispered, “these are… beautiful.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, awkward for once. “No one’s seen those. Not even my mom.”

Her chest ached. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Instead of answering, he started strumming softly. Rachel leaned against his shoulder, humming along. They didn’t kiss, not this time. But when his head rested lightly against hers, it felt more intimate than anything else could.

Meanwhile, Quinn Fabray stared at herself in the mirror of the cheerleader locker room. Her stomach twisted as she counted the days again, panic pressing down. She couldn’t avoid it any longer.

She found Finn by the lockers after football practice, clutching her books to her chest.

“Hey,” she said softly. “We need to talk.”

Finn frowned. “What’s going on?”

Quinn took a breath and whispered, “I’m pregnant.”

Finn’s face drained of color. “But… we haven’t… I mean, we didn’t—”

Quinn’s eyes welled with tears as she spun the lie. “The hot tub. That night. Remember? That’s when it happened.”

Finn blinked rapidly. “That’s… possible?”

“It can happen,” Quinn insisted, her voice trembling just enough. “I thought… you’d be here for me.”

Finn’s mouth opened, then closed. Overwhelmed, he nodded numbly, letting her words settle in as truth.

The end of the day brought the first sting.

Rachel and Noah walked side by side toward the exit, his arm slung casually around her shoulders, when a Cheerio’s voice cut through the hallway.

“Better hope your boyfriend doesn’t trade you in for an upgrade, Berry. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Rachel froze, the words slicing deeper than she wanted to admit. Her insecurities — old wounds that had never fully healed — flared instantly.

Noah felt her tense and pulled her closer, kissing the side of her head. His voice was low and steady. “Ignore it. They don’t know a damn thing.”

Rachel nodded, but the echo of the cheerleader’s sneer stayed with her, burrowing under her skin.

Chapter Text

Rachel Berry had never felt so steady walking into McKinley.

Her hand was snug in Noah’s, his thumb brushing lazy circles against her skin as if he didn’t even notice he was doing it. Students stared, whispers swirled like a current through the hallways, but instead of bowing her head or rushing to her locker, Rachel lifted her chin.

At her locker, Noah leaned down, his eyes soft but teasing. “Still mine,” he whispered before kissing her, slow enough to make her knees weak.

Rachel blushed, but she didn’t care who saw. “Always,” she whispered back, and for the first time since joining McKinley, she didn’t feel embarrassed to be Rachel Berry.

At lunch, she sat with Kurt and Mercedes, the comfort of old friends balancing the newness of her relationship.

Kurt arched a perfectly shaped brow. “You are glowing. Not just I-had-a-good-vocal-warmup glowing. More like… opening-night-at-Broadway glowing.”

Rachel ducked her head, trying to hide her smile. “I suppose I am… happy.”

Mercedes leaned in. “So it’s the real deal, huh?”

Rachel hesitated. The instinct to protect herself ran deep, but she found herself nodding. “It’s different this time. With Noah, it feels like… like I can breathe.”

Mercedes’ expression softened. “He makes you feel safe?”

Rachel nodded again, her voice small but sure. “Yes. Safe in a way I’ve never felt before.”

Mercedes reached across the table, squeezing her hand. “Then don’t let anyone make you doubt that, Rach. You deserve safe. You deserve love that don’t make you question yourself.”

Rachel blinked back sudden tears. For so long she’d been made to feel like she was too much, or not enough. Mercedes’ words stuck to her ribs like armor.

Across the school, Quinn Fabray sat on the bleachers with two of her closest Cheerios, her voice low and trembling.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered, feigning shame and helplessness. “It’s Finn’s.”

The Cheerios gasped. By the time the squad hit the locker room, the whispers had already begun, spreading from girl to girl. Within hours, the football team was buzzing too. By the end of the day, Quinn’s story was threaded through the school like wildfire: Finn Hudson, quarterback, was going to be a father.

Glee rehearsal felt tense, though no one said why. Jesse’s critiques were sharp as ever, his focus finding its way to Rachel again and again.

“Rachel, the phrasing was fine, but your focus is clearly elsewhere,” he said, glancing at Noah like the implication was obvious.

Rachel stiffened but didn’t bite. Noah gave her hand a squeeze under the table, silently telling her she didn’t need to answer. She didn’t. The music spoke louder than Jesse’s barbs ever could.

Still, Rachel couldn’t ignore the way eyes kept flicking toward Finn and Quinn, or the quiet murmur of side conversations. Something was happening, and she didn’t yet understand what.

After rehearsal, Rachel wandered into the auditorium, finding Noah idly strumming his guitar on the edge of the stage. She slid beside him, her skirt brushing his jeans, and let her head rest on his shoulder.

“You know what’s strange?” she whispered. “I keep waiting for something to go wrong. Like… like I don’t deserve this. Like it’ll disappear.”

Noah set the guitar aside and turned to her, thumb brushing over her cheek. “You do deserve it. And you’re not losing me, baby. Not now. Not ever.”

Her breath caught. The way he said it — steady, certain — made her chest ache in the best way. She leaned up, pressing her lips to his, slow and soft. He kissed her back, his hand cradling the side of her face, grounding her.

For the first time, she believed him.

As the final bell rang, Rachel packed up her books. Noah was waiting by the doors, as always, pulling her under his arm the second she stepped into the hall.

It should have felt perfect. But as they passed a cluster of Cheerios by the trophy case, Rachel caught snippets of their conversation.

“Quinn Fabray—pregnant.”
“No way. With Finn Hudson’s kid?”
“Swear to God. Everyone’s saying it.”

Rachel froze mid-step, but Noah tugged her gently along, oblivious to the words. He pressed a kiss into her hair, murmuring something about grabbing dinner later.

She smiled up at him, forcing it, but her mind was spinning. Quinn. Pregnant. Finn.

By the time they pushed through the exit doors into the cool evening air, the ground beneath Rachel’s feet didn’t feel as steady as it had that morning.

Chapter Text

The hallways of McKinley buzzed louder than usual. Rachel could feel it before she even stepped through the front doors.

Her hand was tucked securely in Noah’s, his thumb brushing against her skin as he walked her to her locker. Normally, she would’ve been flustered by the attention — by the stares, the whispers, the way people craned their necks as they passed. But today, she stood straighter.

Noah leaned down, kissing her softly before smirking against her lips. “Morning, baby.”

She smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. But as she opened her locker, she couldn’t help noticing the way heads bent together across the hall, the way students exchanged knowing looks. These weren’t the usual whispers about them.

Something else was stirring.

By lunchtime, the atmosphere in the cafeteria was humming. Rachel slid into her usual seat across from Kurt and Mercedes, tray barely set down before Kurt leaned forward, eyes wide.

“Okay, do you feel it? The room is practically vibrating with gossip.”

Mercedes stabbed her fork into her salad. “No one’s saying it out loud, but something is definitely going on. Everyone’s eyes are on Finn and Quinn.”

Rachel frowned, following their gazes. Quinn sat stiff-backed with her Cheerios, Finn hunched at the football table, his jaw tight. Conversations around them broke into sudden hushes whenever they shifted in their seats.

Rachel’s stomach twisted. “Do you know what it’s about?”

Kurt and Mercedes exchanged a look. “Not yet,” Kurt said carefully.

Rachel chewed slowly, but the unease gnawed at her.

Across the school, Quinn leaned into her lie.

When a Cheerio cornered her in the locker room, whispering, “Is it true?” Quinn let her eyes fill with tears and nodded.

“It’s Finn’s,” she said softly, spinning the hot tub story again when pressed. The girl gasped, eyes wide, and by the time practice ended, Quinn could already hear her words being repeated in the hallway.

The rumor was no longer a whisper — it was spreading like wildfire.

Glee rehearsal that afternoon was impossible.

Mr. Schue tried to keep everyone focused, but the room felt brittle. Conversations hushed when Quinn entered, and Finn sat rigid, staring straight ahead. Rachel noticed the shift instantly — the way everyone seemed distracted, restless.

She slid her hand into Noah’s under the table. He turned his palm up, letting her fingers slot between his, his thumb stroking across her skin. The simple touch steadied her, even as she caught the way Jesse smirked at her from across the room.

“Rachel,” Jesse said, after a particularly shaky run-through. “You’re slipping. Maybe if you weren’t surrounded by so much… chaos, your focus would be sharper.”

Rachel’s cheeks burned, but Noah gave her hand a squeeze, his eyes daring her to let Jesse’s words matter. She didn’t. Not when Noah’s hand was holding hers so tightly.

Still, she couldn’t shake the sensation that she was missing something.

After rehearsal, she lingered in the auditorium while Noah strummed his guitar. She slid down next to him, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Everyone’s acting strange,” she whispered. “Like they know something I don’t.”

Noah set the guitar aside and wrapped an arm around her. “Doesn’t matter what they know. You’ve got me.”

Rachel closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. “I just don’t like being the last to know.”

He pressed a kiss into her hair. “You’ll know what matters, baby. Promise.”

That evening, Finn sat stiffly in Mr. Schue’s office.

“I don’t know what to do,” he blurted. “Quinn says she’s pregnant. With my kid.”

Mr. Schue blinked, startled. “Finn… are you sure?”

Finn’s cheeks burned. “That’s the thing. We’ve never even— I mean, we didn’t—” He trailed off, fumbling.

Mr. Schue leaned forward, his voice calm but firm. “Finn… it doesn’t add up. You’re right to question it. You need to talk to her.”

Finn nodded numbly, his mind spinning. If it wasn’t his, then whose was it?

That night, Rachel curled up in one of Noah’s hoodies, her phone glowing in her hands.

Today felt weird, she typed. Like everyone was staring, but not at us. At something else.

Noah’s reply came seconds later. Don’t stress, baby. Doesn’t matter what people say. You’re mine.

Rachel smiled at the screen, warmth flooding her chest. She typed back: Always yours.

But when she set the phone down, her smile faded slightly. The unease from the day lingered, heavy and nameless.

Chapter Text

Rachel Berry’s morning started like something out of the kind of romantic comedy she used to secretly imagine herself in.

She hummed softly while pulling Noah’s hoodie over her head, the scent of his cologne still clinging to the fabric. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Morning, baby. See you at your locker.

Her lips curved into a smile, her heart fluttering. He called her baby so easily now, like it wasn’t even a thought — like it had always been her name. She hugged the hoodie closer and texted back before heading out the door, the winter chill biting at her cheeks.

At school, Noah was waiting, leaning against her locker with a lazy grin. He straightened when he saw her, his gaze softening just slightly.

“Morning, baby,” he said, pressing a kiss to her mouth like they weren’t in the middle of McKinley’s busiest hallway.

Rachel blushed, but she didn’t care. Not anymore. Not when he made her feel this sure of herself. She tucked herself against his side as the whispers rose around them. But today, the whispers felt different. Harsher. Focused.

She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the unease lingered as they walked to first period.

Across the school, Quinn Fabray felt like her lungs were collapsing.

Her carefully constructed story — Finn’s baby, hot tub, mistake but believable — was unraveling faster than she could hold it together. And Finn… Finn wasn’t letting it go.

He caught up to her between classes, blocking her path with his tall frame, his expression pale and tight.

“Quinn,” he said, his voice low and edged. “We need to talk.”

Her stomach flipped. “Not here,” she whispered, glancing around.

But Finn wasn’t giving her an out. He pulled her toward an empty stretch of hallway by the trophy case, away from most students but close enough that the buzz of chatter carried.

“Your story doesn’t make sense,” he said, the words tumbling out fast. His hands flailed as he spoke, the way they always did when he was panicked. “We’ve never even… you know. We didn’t. Not once. And you’re telling me—telling everyone—that you’re pregnant with my kid?”

Quinn forced her breathing steady, pressing a hand to her stomach like she was protecting something fragile. “The hot tub,” she said, voice trembling. “That night—it can happen, Finn. I looked it up.”

“No,” Finn snapped, louder this time, his voice cracking. A couple of kids turned their heads, curious, but he didn’t notice. His eyes bored into hers, wounded and angry. “Mr. Schue even said it. It doesn’t work like that. You’re lying to me.”

Her palms went clammy. She shook her head quickly, forcing tears into her eyes. “Finn, I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”

But his face said he didn’t believe her. He stepped closer, lowering his voice again, his hands trembling at his sides. “Then explain it to me. Explain how you’re pregnant when we never—” He broke off, his voice catching. “I want to believe you, Quinn, but I can’t.”

Panic clawed through her chest. She searched desperately for an escape, for something—anything—that would hold him back. Her eyes flicked past his shoulder and froze.

Down the hall, Noah Puckerman leaned casually against the lockers, his head tipped toward Rachel as she chattered about something in her hands. He wasn’t even listening properly, just watching her with that half-smile that made it clear to anyone paying attention that he was in deeper than he’d ever admit.

Quinn’s throat tightened.

“Fine,” she blurted, her voice breaking. “You’re right. It’s not yours.”

Finn staggered back a step, his face going chalk-white.

Quinn sucked in a shaky breath, words spilling before she could stop them. “It’s… it’s Puck’s.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Finn’s jaw dropped, his face contorting as the words sank in. He turned slowly, his gaze landing on Noah down the hall.

Noah didn’t notice, too busy leaning down so Rachel could show him something on her phone.

Finn’s fists clenched. He spun back to Quinn, betrayal radiating from every line of his body. “Unbelievable,” he choked out, before storming away, shoulders rigid, fury barely contained.

Quinn sagged against the lockers, her pulse thundering in her ears. She’d meant to buy herself time. Instead, she’d just lit a fuse.

By lunchtime, the shift was obvious.

Students no longer whispered just about Quinn. Now, their eyes slid to Noah too. Football players muttered under their breath when he passed. Cheerios exchanged pointed looks, their gazes darting between Rachel and Quinn like they were waiting for a showdown.

Rachel felt the tension prickling, but she couldn’t grasp it. She leaned closer to Noah at their table, her voice low. “Everyone’s acting strange again.”

Noah arched a brow, shoving a fry into his mouth. “When aren’t they?”

But Rachel couldn’t shake the sense that this time, the whispers weren’t just about Quinn.

Glee rehearsal was suffocating.

Finn sat stiff and silent, his eyes burning holes into Noah every time he so much as shifted in his chair. Quinn’s gaze stayed locked on the floor. Jesse looked smug, like he could already sense a crack he could use.

Rachel tried to focus on the sheet music in her lap, but her hand trembled until Noah covered it with his, grounding her. His thumb brushed the back of her hand, steady and firm.

The comfort helped, but Rachel couldn’t shake the feeling that something ugly was coiling around them, waiting to strike.

After rehearsal, Rachel lingered in the empty classroom, perched on top of a desk. Her notebook was in her lap, unopened.

Noah leaned against the desk beside her, arms folded, watching her closely. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

She sighed, tapping the pen against her knee. “I feel like there’s a conversation happening all around me, and I’m not invited into it.”

He frowned. “Rach, people talk. It’s what they do.”

She lifted her eyes, glassy and uncertain. “It matters when it feels like it’s about us. About you.”

Noah’s jaw tightened. He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. With surprising gentleness, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing along her cheek. “If it is about me, then it’s just noise. You’re the only thing that’s real.”

Rachel’s throat constricted. She leaned her forehead against his. “Then don’t let go, okay?”

“Never,” he said, his voice low and certain.

That night, Finn sat in his truck outside his house, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles ached. Quinn’s words echoed over and over, each repetition twisting deeper into his chest.

It’s not yours. It’s Puck’s.

His vision blurred, rage searing hot in his chest. He thought of Noah’s smug smirk, his hands all over Rachel, his casual laughter in Glee like he had nothing to hide.

The next time he saw Puck, he wasn’t going to wait. He wasn’t going to ask.

He was going to hit him.

Chapter Text

Rachel Berry woke up with a knot in her stomach.

She couldn’t explain it, but something about the way yesterday had ended — the whispers in the halls, the way people’s eyes slid toward Noah — had left her uneasy. She hummed as she braided her hair, trying to chase it off, but the tension sat heavy in her chest.

Her phone buzzed on her nightstand.

Morning, baby. Wear that red skirt today. You look hot in it.

Rachel rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. Noah’s teasing always came laced with warmth. She sent back a quick heart before slipping into the outfit he loved.

When she got to school, he was waiting at her locker, his smirk softening when he saw her. He kissed her temple, murmuring, “Perfect. Told you.”

For a moment, the knot loosened. But when she caught students whispering more urgently than usual, heads ducking when she looked their way, the unease returned.

By the time Glee rehearsal rolled around, the tension in the choir room was unbearable.

Rachel slid into her usual seat, Noah dropping lazily into the chair beside her. Their knees brushed, his hand finding hers under the table, thumb tracing slow circles against her skin. The touch was grounding, but her gaze drifted across the room.

Finn sat stiff as stone, his fists clenched in his lap, his eyes locked on Noah with a fury that made her stomach twist. Quinn stared at her shoes, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. The rest of the club shifted uneasily, exchanging glances like they all knew something she didn’t.

Rachel leaned closer to Noah, whispering, “Everyone’s acting like they’re waiting for something to explode.”

Noah smirked faintly, trying to ease her nerves. “That’s every day in this room, baby.”

But even he seemed tense, his jaw tight.

Mr. Schue barely got two words out before Finn snapped.

“Enough,” Finn muttered, shoving his chair back. He stood so abruptly the legs screeched against the floor.

Rachel blinked, startled. “Finn—?”

But before she could finish, Finn stormed across the room. His hand fisted in Noah’s shirt, yanking him out of his chair.

“What the hell—” Noah started, but Finn’s fist connected with his jaw before he could finish. The crack echoed through the room.

Chaos erupted. Mercedes gasped, Artie shouted, Santana half-cheered before realizing how serious it was. Mr. Schue lunged forward, trying to drag Finn back, shouting for them to stop.

Rachel dropped to her knees beside Noah, heart hammering as she pressed a trembling hand to his cheek. “Noah! Are you okay?”

He winced, dabbing at his split lip, confusion flashing in his eyes. “What the hell’s his problem?”

Finn’s face was red, his chest heaving as Mr. Schue held him back. “Don’t play dumb!” he roared. “How can you sit there pretending everything’s fine when you got my girlfriend pregnant?!”

The room went silent.

Rachel’s heart stopped. She froze, staring at Finn, her voice barely a whisper. “What did you just say?”

Finn’s glare didn’t waver. “You heard me. Quinn’s pregnant. And it’s not mine. It’s Puck’s.”

Rachel’s blood ran cold. Her gaze snapped to Noah. He looked just as stunned as she felt, his eyes wide, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t find the words.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Noah finally shouted back. His voice cracked with anger and disbelief.

But the silence of the room told Rachel everything she didn’t want to know. The others weren’t surprised. They’d heard it already. They all knew.

She was the last to know.

“Come on,” Rachel choked out, her hand clutching Noah’s arm as she pulled him to his feet. Her voice shook, but there was steel beneath it. “We’re leaving.”

Mr. Schue shouted something behind them, but Rachel didn’t care. She led Noah out of the choir room, ignoring the stares that followed.

In the deserted hallway, she pressed tissues from her bag to his lip, her hands trembling.

“What was that?” she whispered, her voice breaking. “What is he talking about?”

Noah winced as the tissue pressed against the cut, his eyes locking on hers. “Rach, I swear to God, I have no idea. None.”

She searched his face, her heart breaking. “Don’t lie to me, Noah. Not you.”

“I’m not,” he insisted, his voice raw, desperate. “I didn’t— It’s not true.”

Rachel blinked back tears, torn between his words and Finn’s, between what she felt and what she was being told.

Later that afternoon, Rachel walked the halls alone, clutching her books to her chest. The whispers were everywhere now, louder, sharper. Her steps felt heavy, her chest tight.

“Rachel.”

Finn’s voice stopped her cold. He stood against the lockers, his eyes dark and bitter.

“How can you stay with him?” Finn demanded. “After what he did? He cheated on you. He got Quinn pregnant.”

Rachel’s breath stuttered, her throat closing. “What do you mean… he cheated?”

Finn’s words were sharp, deliberate, cruel. “Think about it Rachel. It’s Puck’s baby.”

Rachel stood frozen as Finn walked away, the world tilting dangerously under her feet.

Chapter Text

Rachel Berry avoided Noah Puckerman the entire morning.

She couldn’t bear to look at him, not after yesterday. Not after Finn’s fist and Finn’s words tore the floor out from under her.

When she saw Noah leaning against her locker, waiting the way he always did, her chest squeezed so tight she thought she might choke. Normally, it would make her feel special — the boy everyone else feared waiting just for her. But today, she ducked down another hallway, her stomach twisting at the thought of meeting his eyes.

It can’t be true, she told herself again and again. Not him. He’s not like Finn. He’s not like Jesse. He cares.

But the whispers in the halls were relentless. Quinn. Pregnant. Puck.

Every syllable pressed against her chest like a stone.

Noah knew she was avoiding him.

The second she slipped past him at her locker, his gut twisted. She didn’t even look at him. Didn’t smile. Didn’t roll her eyes and mutter something about being late.

Panic clawed at him. He’d been in fights before, been punched more times than he could count, but nothing had ever scared him like the look on Rachel’s face yesterday when Finn screamed that lie. Like she didn’t know him.

And that was the thing — she did. She was the only one who ever bothered to see Noah instead of Puck. The idea of losing that, losing her, because of something he didn’t even do, made his hands shake.

He spotted her in Spanish class, her head bent low over her notebook, her curls hiding her face. His throat tightened. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this.

By the time Glee rehearsal rolled around, the tension was suffocating.

Rachel sat rigidly in her seat, Noah beside her but not touching her this time. The space between them felt like a canyon.

Finn glowered, Quinn sat frozen, and the rest of the club avoided eye contact like they were watching a live grenade tick down to zero.

Finally, Rachel turned, her eyes glassy. “Is it true?” she whispered, so low only he could hear.

Noah’s heart lurched. “What? No! Rach, no. It’s not mine. I swear to God.”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to take his hand and let him kiss her temple and tell her she was safe. But the room was buzzing, and every set of eyes around them told a different story.

After rehearsal, Rachel caught Quinn by the lockers.

Her hands shook as she stepped in front of her. “Tell me it’s not true. Please, Quinn. Tell me it’s not his.”

Quinn’s lips parted. For a heartbeat, she looked like she might break — her eyes darting to Rachel’s trembling hands, to the desperation in her face. But then her jaw tightened.

“It’s true,” she whispered. “It’s Puck’s.”

Rachel’s breath caught like she’d been punched. Her knees buckled, and she staggered back, one hand pressed to her chest as if she could hold her heart together.

Quinn looked away, guilt flickering in her eyes before she turned and walked down the hall.

Noah found Rachel not long after.

She was sitting alone on the steps near the music wing, her hoodie pulled tight around her like armor. Her eyes were red, her cheeks streaked with tears.

“Baby—”

“Don’t.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t look at him. “Just don’t.”

Noah crouched in front of her, his hands hovering as if he was afraid to touch her. “It’s not true. None of it. Please believe me.”

Her gaze finally lifted, and it broke him. So much pain in her eyes, so much betrayal. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Believe me,” he begged. “Rach, I didn’t do this. You’re it for me.”

She shook her head, sobbing. “I thought I knew you. I thought you were different.”

Then she pulled away, leaving him hollow on the steps, his hands clutching air.

That night, Rachel curled up in bed, her phone buzzing on the nightstand with message after message.

Please talk to me.
Baby, you know me.
I didn’t do this.

She pressed her face into the sleeve of his hoodie, choking back sobs. She wanted to answer. She wanted to run into his arms and let him fix it.

But Quinn’s voice echoed in her head, final and damning: It’s true. It’s Puck’s.

And for the first time since this all began, Rachel didn’t know if she could survive believing in him.

Chapter Text

Rachel Berry had cried herself to sleep.

Her eyes were swollen when she woke, her throat raw, her chest aching. She hadn’t answered a single one of Noah’s messages, even though she read every word, every plea. Please believe me. Baby, you know me. I didn’t do this.

She wanted to believe him. More than anything.

But Quinn’s voice replayed like a cruel refrain: It’s true. It’s Puck’s.

Rachel pulled on the hoodie she’d been sleeping in, only realizing halfway to school that it was Noah’s again. She hugged it tighter around herself anyway, the faint smell of him the only thing keeping her upright.

The whispers were louder that morning. Students didn’t even try to hide them anymore. Some looked at her with pity, others with smug satisfaction. Rachel walked stiffly through the hall, her chin lowered, wishing she could disappear.

Noah was waiting at her locker. His face softened when he saw her — then faltered when he registered the redness in her eyes, the way she wouldn’t quite meet his gaze.

“Rach—” His voice cracked, desperate. “Please. Talk to me. You’re wearing my hoodie. You know it’s not true. I’d never do that to you.”

Rachel froze, her heart pounding. For a second, she wanted to throw herself into his arms, to let him fold her up and make it all go away.

Instead, she pulled back. Her voice broke as she whispered, “Don’t call me that. Don’t… don’t call me baby.”

And then, as if twisting the knife in both their hearts, she added: “Puck.”

The name she only used when she wanted to push him away.

Noah’s face shattered. He reached for her, but she was already gone, fleeing down the hall before he could say another word.

Noah’s POV

He found Quinn at her locker between classes.

“You need to stop,” he growled, slamming the door shut with his palm. “Why the hell are you lying?”

Quinn stiffened, her eyes darting nervously around the hall. For a moment, guilt flickered across her face, her lips parting like she might actually tell the truth.

But then she snapped her mouth shut, her expression hardening. “You don’t remember? That week we were partners. One of the rehearsals. You—” She faltered, then pressed on, her voice trembling but convincing. “You were there, Noah. You slept with me.”

Noah’s jaw clenched, fury radiating through him. “That’s bull—”

Quinn’s eyes filled with fake tears. “You can deny it all you want, but I know the truth.”

She turned on her heel, leaving him standing in the hallway, shaking with rage.

Noah wanted to hit something. Instead, he slammed his fist against the lockers, his knuckles splitting.

Rachel sat in the library at lunch, her books spread out but forgotten. Her eyes were distant, her mind looping back to Noah’s voice, the way it cracked when he begged her to believe him.

“Rough week, huh?”

She stiffened at the sound of Jesse’s voice. He slid into the chair across from her, his smile carefully sympathetic.

“You deserve better than someone who’ll break your trust,” he said smoothly. “You deserve someone who won’t let you down.”

Rachel’s stomach churned. “I’m fine,” she whispered, though her voice wavered.

Jesse leaned closer. “If you ever need a partner who actually respects you, I’m here. We could rehearse together, just for old times’ sake. Remind you what it’s like to sing with someone who’s actually on your level.”

Rachel forced a polite decline, her hands trembling as she packed up her books. But his words lingered, his timing cutting into her already fragile heart.

That night, Noah sat in his truck outside Rachel’s house, staring at the light glowing faintly from her bedroom window. His jaw ached from clenching, his split knuckles throbbed, but none of it hurt as much as knowing she was inside, shutting him out.

He fired off message after message:

I didn’t do this.
Please, baby. Please believe me.
You’re the only thing that matters.

No response. Just silence.

Noah leaned back in his seat, his chest hollow. For the first time since Rachel had let him in, he wasn’t sure if she’d ever look at him the same way again.

Rachel curled up in bed, Noah’s hoodie tight around her. She pressed her face into the sleeve, tears soaking into the fabric.

“He’s not like them,” she whispered into the dark. “He’s not.”

But Quinn’s words — It’s true. It’s Puck’s — echoed louder, drowning out everything else.

And for the first time, Rachel admitted what she had been afraid to say aloud:

“I don’t know what to believe.”

Chapter Text

Rachel Berry moved through the morning like she was underwater.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t even speak. She just pulled Noah’s hoodie tighter around her shoulders — not realizing until she caught Kurt’s raised brow later that it was still his. She couldn’t take it off. She didn’t want to. It was the only thing that kept her tethered, even as the world spun against her.

At McKinley, the whispers weren’t disguised anymore. Heads bent together, voices carried, and eyes followed her. But it wasn’t ridicule this time. It was pity. It made her stomach twist with nausea.

Noah was waiting near her locker.

For a fleeting second, hope sparked when he saw her — the hoodie, the way she looked so small inside it. But when she ducked her head and angled away, the hope collapsed.

“Rach—please,” he begged, stepping into her path. “You don’t have to forgive me right now, but at least look at me.”

Her jaw tightened, her voice flat. “Not now, Puck.”

The word made him flinch. She walked past without another word, leaving him gutted in the middle of the hallway.

By midmorning, Noah’s anger and desperation boiled over.

He ditched class and retreated to the weight room, taping up his hands and pummeling the heavy bag until his knuckles split. Sweat dripped into his eyes, but he didn’t stop. Every hit was Quinn’s lie. Every slam was Rachel’s broken expression.

Sam eventually found him there.

“How are you not murdering someone yet?” Sam asked, leaning in the doorway.

Noah smirked bitterly, his chest heaving. “Getting harder not to.”

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, steady. “For what it’s worth, I don’t buy her story. Quinn’s full of it.”

Noah didn’t answer, but the words sank deep, anchoring him in the middle of the storm.

Rachel tried to slip out unnoticed after rehearsal, but Jesse was waiting.

He stepped in front of her locker, cutting off her path with a smile carefully balanced between sympathy and smugness.

“Rachel,” he said smoothly. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I know what it feels like to be let down by someone you thought you could trust.” His eyes flicked pointedly toward where Noah was leaning against a far wall. “Especially someone like him. With his reputation, are you really surprised?”

Rachel’s grip on her books tightened until her knuckles ached.

“You deserve better,” Jesse pressed, lowering his voice. “Someone who won’t embarrass you. Someone who matches your talent. Your ambition.” He leaned closer, his gaze sharp. “Someone like me.”

Rachel’s chin lifted, her eyes flashing through the tears threatening to fall. “You don’t know him,” she whispered. “You don’t know what he’s like when it’s just us.”

Jesse’s smirk grew. “I know enough. And I know he’ll never deserve you.”

Rachel stepped around him, her voice trembling but fierce. “I don’t need saving, Jesse. Especially not by you.”

She walked quickly down the hall, shoulders squared, Noah’s hoodie clutched tight around her. Jesse watched her go, his smirk sharpening as he muttered, “We’ll see.”

In the locker room, Santana Lopez leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Quinn closely.

Brittany had asked an innocent question about timing — and Quinn had stumbled, snapping too quickly before looking away.

“Funny,” Santana drawled, her eyes narrowing. “Your story keeps changing. Might wanna get your script straight.”

Quinn froze, her face paling before she stormed out, her ponytail swishing behind her.

Santana smirked to herself, filing away every crack. She didn’t believe Quinn for a second — and when the time came, she’d be ready to tear the truth out of her.

Later that day, Rachel sat in the library, her notebook open, pages scarred with crossed-out lines. No words felt right. No words could explain how lost she was.

Across town, Noah sat on the edge of his bed with his guitar, scribbling jagged lyrics into a notebook. Each chord was heavy, desperate, his voice breaking on words he couldn’t share with anyone. Every line was Rachel — about lies he couldn’t fight, about the girl he couldn’t lose.

Both of them were breaking. Both of them were still in love. And both of them were drowning under the weight of a lie neither knew how to fight.

Chapter Text

Rachel Berry didn’t recognize herself anymore.

She walked into McKinley with her chin lowered, her hands gripping the strap of her bag so tightly that her knuckles were white. For the first time in weeks, she wasn’t wearing Noah’s hoodie. She’d pulled on one of her cardigans that morning, smoothing the buttons as though the fabric could hold her together. It didn’t. It only made her feel hollow.

The hallways buzzed with whispers. They always did, but now the words weren’t cruel jabs — they were pity. Poor Rachel Berry. She thought she was special. She thought Puckerman cared.

She pushed through it, her face blank. She didn’t hum. She didn’t chatter. She didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. She felt like a ghost in her own life.

Kurt noticed. He leaned toward Mercedes as Rachel brushed past them. “She’s shutting down again,” he murmured. Mercedes squeezed his arm, her expression heavy.

Noah Puckerman was unraveling.

He skipped two classes before noon, his temper short, his fists aching. He had bruises on his knuckles from slamming the heavy bag in the weight room, from punching lockers when no one was watching. The anger ate at him, and underneath it — fear.

At lunch, Sam and Mike dragged him away from a brewing fight in the hallway and sat him down at their table.

“Man, you’re gonna get suspended,” Mike warned, watching Noah pick at his tray without eating.

Sam leaned in. “So what’s the plan? You just gonna let Quinn’s lie stand? You’re letting this tear you apart.”

Noah barked a humorless laugh, running a hand over his buzzed hair. “You think I don’t know that?” He shook his head, his voice breaking. “I don’t know what else to do. Rach won’t listen, Quinn won’t shut her mouth, and I can’t punch my way out of this one.”

Sam exchanged a look with Mike, then said quietly, “So what do you do?”

Noah stared at the table, his throat tight. “I don’t know. I just know I’m scared I’m gonna lose her for good.”

The words came out low, rough, like a confession dragged out of him. Mike’s expression softened. Sam reached out and clapped his shoulder, grounding him. For the first time, Noah admitted it out loud: the girl he loved was slipping away, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

Rachel sat in the choir room after school, her sheet music spread in front of her but unread. She barely looked up when Jesse walked in.

“Still here?” he asked lightly, his smile polished and rehearsed.

Rachel stiffened. “I was just leaving.”

He stepped closer, blocking her path with that practiced ease of his. “You don’t have to, you know. Music heals, Rachel. You and I — we were perfect together. We could be again.”

She swallowed hard, clutching her binder. “I don’t want to rehearse with you, Jesse.”

His smirk sharpened. “That’s fine. You’ll come around. You always do.” His tone dipped, almost condescending. “Someone like you deserves better than being dragged down by someone like him. You deserve a partner who can keep up.”

Rachel’s heart raced. “You don’t know him,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Jesse leaned closer, lowering his voice to a dangerous softness. “I know enough. And I know he’ll never deserve you.”

Her spine straightened, tears stinging her eyes. “I don’t need saving. Not by you.” She shoved past him and walked quickly down the hall, her shoulders squared, her cardigan suddenly feeling like armor instead of clothing.

Jesse watched her go, his smirk returning. “We’ll see,” he muttered.

Quinn Fabray avoided Rachel in the halls, but her eyes lingered on her often. Guilt twisted her stomach when she saw Noah’s bruised hands, the wild anger simmering just under his skin. But a cruel part of her liked watching Rachel crumble, liked seeing Miss Perfect Berry fall apart.

Finn had broken up with her after the first lie — the hot tub excuse had only held for so long. Quinn told herself she’d make something new out of the wreckage. Maybe she could get Noah back, maybe they could try again. But in the back of her mind, a darker thought stirred: even if she couldn’t have him, at least Rachel couldn’t either.

In rehearsal, Rachel sat stiff and quiet, her voice small. Noah watched her from across the room, his chest aching. When the bell rang, he found her again in the library.

He sat across from her, not crowding, not pushing. “You don’t even have to forgive me,” he said quietly, his voice raw. “Just… don’t shut me out. Not you.”

Rachel’s pen stilled on the page. Her lip trembled. “I want to believe you,” she whispered. “I really do. But wanting and trusting aren’t the same thing.”

She closed her notebook and walked away, her cardigan swishing around her.

Noah sat there long after she left, staring at the space she’d occupied, the silence louder than any punch he’d ever taken.

That night, Rachel stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her cardigan felt suffocating. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I knew I wasn’t enough,” she whispered, her voice breaking, before covering her mouth to muffle the sob that escaped.

Across town, Noah lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her voice echoed in his head — not her words of love, not her laughter, not the soft way she used to call him Noah. Just one sharp, final word: Puck.

He whispered into the dark, his voice shaking: “I just want my girl back.”

Chapter Text

Rachel Berry felt brittle, like the smallest nudge could shatter her.

She walked through McKinley with her eyes fixed on the ground, her cardigan wrapped tightly around her frame. She wasn’t in Noah’s hoodie today — and everyone noticed. To them, it was proof the rumor had won. To Rachel, it was punishment; she didn’t feel like she deserved the comfort anymore.

In class she was silent, her pen hovering above her notes but never moving. She wasn’t Rachel Berry anymore — not the girl who spoke too much, sang too loud, or dreamed too big. She was hollow. Invisible. It was safer that way.

Noah, meanwhile, wasn’t invisible at all.

He was a storm. His temper flared at the smallest provocation. When a freshman snickered about Rachel in the hallway, Noah slammed him into the lockers so hard the kid’s books went flying. Teachers threatened detention, teammates shook their heads, and still he stalked through the day like a lit fuse.

Sam caught him by the bleachers during free period, Mike hovering close behind.

“You’re coming apart, man,” Sam said, cutting straight to it.

Noah’s laugh was hollow, bitter. “You think I don’t know that? She won’t even look at me. What am I supposed to do, just sit back while Fabray trashes my name and St. James hovers like a damn vulture?”

Mike’s tone softened. “What you’re supposed to do is hold steady. She needs you steady. Not like this.”

For once, Noah didn’t snap back. His voice cracked instead. “I don’t know how to fix it. And I can’t lose her. Not like this. Not forever.”

Sam and Mike exchanged a look — both hearing the fear he never admitted to anyone else.

Rachel stayed late after rehearsal, gathering her books slowly, trying to avoid the crush of students in the hall. She was halfway to the door when a hand clamped down on her arm.

“Rachel.”

Jesse’s voice was sharp, his grip unyielding. She froze, her pulse hammering.

“Let go,” she whispered, tugging at her wrist.

He tightened his hold. His face was inches from hers, his polished smile nowhere to be seen. “Why do you keep defending him? He’s ruining you, and you’re too blind to see it.”

Fear clawed up her throat. She tried again, harder. “Jesse, let me go!”

The hall was mostly empty, the air humming with fluorescent lights. Her breath came fast, panic flooding her chest as his fingers dug into her skin.

“You deserve better,” Jesse pressed, his eyes burning. “Someone who actually deserves to stand beside you. Not some thug who drags you down.”

Rachel shook her head desperately, her voice breaking. “Stop it—”

A shadow cut between them.

Noah’s hand ripped Jesse’s grip off Rachel, shoving him back so hard he slammed against the lockers. The sound echoed through the hall.

“Touch her again,” Noah growled, his voice low and deadly, “and I’ll break you.”

Jesse’s smirk faltered. He straightened his jacket like it hadn’t happened, but his eyes flickered — he wasn’t as fearless as he wanted to look.

Noah didn’t wait. He pulled Rachel close, his arm solid and protective as he guided her down the hall. Her knees shook, her breath ragged, but the second his hand settled at her back, the fear began to loosen. Relief crashed through her so hard it made her dizzy.

Alone in the choir room, Rachel finally broke.

Her voice trembled as she whispered, “He grabbed me and wouldn’t let go—”

“I know,” Noah said softly, brushing her hair back from her damp cheeks. “I’ve got you, baby. No one's gonna touch you while I'm here.”

Her tears spilled faster, her whole body trembling. “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” she admitted. “Everyone keeps saying it’s true. And after Finn… after Jesse… maybe I was stupid to think you’d ever actually want me.”

Noah cupped her face, his own eyes shining, forcing her to see the truth in his eyes. “Don’t you dare say that. You’re it for me, Rachel. You’ve always been it. Please, just believe me.”

Her forehead pressed against his chest, her sobs muffled by the fabric of his shirt. She didn’t kiss him. Couldn’t. But she let herself lean into him, just for a moment, letting the warmth of his arms make her feel safe again. 

He lingered at the end of the hall, watching Rachel with her face buried in Noah’s chest. His stomach twisted, his fists clenching. He ranted later to Artie, his voice bitter and sharp: “She’s making a mistake. She’ll come crawling back when he screws up. She always does.”

But his jealousy was simmering, closer to boiling over with every passing day.

Quinn Fabray was unraveling too.

She’d tried to flirt with Noah earlier, tried to play on their shared history, but he’d cut her down cold.

“Not happening, Quinn. Ever.”

Noah had shut her down earlier, his rejection slicing deeper than she expected. Stung and angry, she muttered under her breath: “Guess Rachel will learn soon enough. Both her boyfriends still wanted me more than her.”

The venom slipped into the air, cruel and calculated.

And Santana Lopez? She was watching.

She leaned against her locker, dark eyes following Quinn with a predator’s patience. “Something’s not adding up,” she muttered to Brittany. “And when Fabray cracks — and she will — I’ll be there to light the match.”

That night, Rachel pulled Noah’s hoodie out from where she’d hidden it and slipped it over her head. The scent made her chest ache. She curled into her bed, replaying his words — You’re it for me — until sleep finally claimed her.

Chapter Text

Rachel Berry jolted awake before her alarm, the echo of a hand around her wrist still burning like a phantom mark. The memory unfolded in shards—Jesse’s breath too close, his fingers clamped like a vise, the hallway’s fluorescent hum turning into a roar inside her ears… and then Noah. The weight and warmth of him flooding the space, his voice low and lethal—Touch her again and I’ll break you—his body shifting between her and the threat without hesitation. The way his hand had found hers after, sure as gravity. The way baby had left his mouth like it belonged to her.

She buried her face in the pillow, hating how much relief his memory brought, hating how desperate she was for it. She wanted to trust it, to trust him, because every part of her that mattered already did. But Finn’s betrayal lived in her bones. Jesse’s manipulation stained more than the rumor ever could. She was so tired of being the girl who loved first and paid for it last.

At school, she wore a neat cardigan and a plaid skirt, pressed and perfect. Armor. Students didn’t snicker so much as pity—which somehow felt worse. Puck knocked up Quinn. Berry’s a fool. She walked the halls like a ghost, careful not to brush against anyone, careful not to meet eyes. She didn’t hum. She didn’t correct teachers when they mispronounced a composer’s name. She faded, and for once, the world looked away.

Noah Puckerman had never been good at fading.

He was a storm that school day, the kind that built from the ground up—low, charged, waiting for something to hit. He skipped third period. He mouthed off to a teacher and took a warning he didn’t deserve and a detention he didn’t care about. His knuckles were mapped with fresh bruises from the heavy bag and older ones he couldn’t explain to anyone who wasn’t Rachel.

Sam and Mike cornered him by the locker room, flanking the door like bouncers at his own bad decisions.

“You’re spinning out,” Sam said, not accusing so much as offering a mirror.

Noah huffed, a humorless sound. “She called me Puck,” he said, and the word scraped out of him. “Hasn’t done that in months. Like I’m… just the guy who wrecks things. Like Noah never happened.”

Mike’s steady gaze didn’t waver. “Noah did happen. He’s the one she fell for.”

Noah dragged a hand over his buzzed hair and stared at the tiles. “I don’t know how to fix it,” he admitted, voice fraying. “I can’t punch my way out of this one. And I can’t—” He swallowed. “I can’t lose her.”

Sam’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Then don’t. Hold steady. She knows you. Let that be louder than the lie.”

Noah nodded once, sharp, like he could staple the advice to his ribs and make it stick.

Quinn Fabray stood across from Rachel at the end of lunch looking polished and poisonous, lips curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“Guess you finally know what it feels like, Berry,” she said lightly enough to cut. “Both your boyfriends chose me.”

Rachel’s spine went iron-straight. She didn’t blink. She didn’t breathe. She waited until she was alone in the girls’ bathroom to fold over the sink and tremble so hard her teeth ached. She pressed cold water to her eyes until they stung and didn’t recognize the girl in the mirror, the one too scared to believe what she wanted most.

Out in the hall, Quinn caught her reflection in a trophy case and, for half a second, saw the lie sitting like a bruise on her mouth. Guilt gnawed, small and relentless. She smothered it with a tilt of her chin and walked away.

Santana Lopez missed nothing.

From her locker, she tracked Quinn with predatory calm, eyes sharp as a scalpel. Later, in the Cheerio locker room, she went casual and precise.

“So,” she said, flicking imaginary lint from her sleeve, “was it before your ‘sacred vow of purity’ or after the hot tub miracle conception?” She tilted her head. “Just trying to keep the timeline straight for the documentary.”

Brittany brightened. “We’re doing a documentary?”

Quinn, mid-sock, stumbled. “Drop it, Santana.”

“Mm.” Santana’s mouth curved without warmth. “Funny. You keep changing the date. Maybe memorize your own fanfic, Fabray.”

Quinn slammed her locker and stalked out. The slam covered a thin, wobbly breath she couldn’t quite steady.

Two hours later, fate did Santana a favor.

Quinn, tucked just out of sight behind the auditorium curtain, hissed into her phone, “I can’t keep this up—no, just—stop telling me what to do. I said I’d handle it.” She turned and froze, finding Santana’s reflection in the glossy stage shell.

Santana didn’t move. She let silence do the bleeding. Then, soft as a threat: “You better pray I don’t get bored, Fabray. Because the minute I do? I blow this up so loud even your lies need earplugs.”

Quinn’s mouth opened and shut. When she finally walked away, her posture said unbothered. Her hands said shaking.

That night, Rachel lay in the dark with Noah’s hoodie bunched beneath her chin. The cotton had softened over months, worn into the kind of comfort you don’t have to explain. She watched her phone screen wake and sleep, wake and sleep, Noah’s name a soft square of light she couldn’t stop touching.

Then she pressed it. One ring. Two. Three.

“Rach?” His voice arrived rough, warm—full of a hope he was trying to swallow. “Rach?”

She couldn’t make sound. The silence stretched like a held breath.

He lowered his voice until it felt like a hand on her shoulder. “Rach… please.”

“I—” Her voice cracked. “I miss you.”

The exhale on the other end was a broken hallelujah. “God, I miss you so damn much, baby. You don’t even know.”

Her eyes burned. “I keep seeing it,” she whispered, words quivering into the dark. “Jesse grabbing me. And you— you were just there. Like you were always going to be. And I can’t stop thinking… that’s you. The real you. Not the one they’re talking about.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “That’s me.”

She swallowed hard. “I don’t even know if I believe the lie. It doesn’t feel like you. It never did.”

“Because it isn’t,” he said, voice fraying. “It never was. I would never do that to you. You’re it for me, Rach. You’ve always been it.”

Silence, but not empty—full of their breathing, the shared rhythm of two people who had learned how to find each other in the dark.

“What if I’m wrong again?” she whispered, so soft he almost didn’t catch it. “I don’t have another breaking in me.”

“You’re not wrong,” he said, steady now, like he knew saying it calmly would hold her together. “And you don’t have to carry this alone. You’ve never had to—not with me.”

Her fingers slipped into the sleeve cuff, twisting the fabric. “I’m scared.”

“I know.” A beat. “I’m scared too.”

The quiet lengthened, turned gentle. They talked about nothing for a minute—her dads arguing about who made the better lasagna, the stupid detention he took for mouthing off, the song that got stuck in his head at practice and wouldn’t leave. It was intimate in the way that made everything else look like noise.

When she finally whispered, “I should go,” he said her name, stopping her.

“Rach?”

“Mm?”

A breath, the tiniest break. “I love you.”

The words slipped under her ribs and settled where the ache had lived. Tears spilled warm into the cotton at her chin. She closed her eyes and let herself have this, just this. “Goodnight, Noah.”

She ended the call before she lost the nerve not to say it back.

Noah stayed on the line a few seconds after the disconnect tone, the quiet hum of his room suddenly too loud. He pressed the phone to his forehead and let out a laugh that wasn’t one. Across town, Rachel tucked herself smaller inside the hoodie and finally slept, the last thing she heard the echo of his voice saying love like a promise.

Santana brushed her teeth that night with the satisfied calm of someone who had all the edges of a puzzle and didn’t mind making the middle bleed. Quinn’s reflection had flinched. Her phone call had cracked. The lie was a tight drum stretched over the truth, and Santana could already feel where her fingernail would pierce.

“Boom,” she told the mirror, and winked at herself.

Noah lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, replaying the phone call in loops that made him breathe easier each time. She’d called. She’d said she missed him. She’d called him Noah. He didn’t know what tomorrow would be, but for the first time in too long, the future didn’t feel like a fight he’d already lost.

Rachel slept with the phone on her pillow and his hoodie over her heart. The rumor still hung in the air like smoke, but the room didn’t smell like fire anymore. It smelled like laundry soap and the boy who had stood between her and the worst parts of the world, and—even if she couldn’t say it yet—that had always felt like home.

Chapter Text

Rachel woke with Noah’s voice still inside her chest.
I love you.
It had followed her into her dreams, wrapped around her like the hoodie still pressed under her chin. She hadn’t said it back, couldn’t yet, but she had whispered his name when she hung up, and it had been enough to get her through the night.

At school, the whispers were still there—sharp, cutting—but today, they didn’t tear her apart. She wasn’t humming full-volume down the halls like old Rachel, but a faint tune left her lips when she thought no one was listening. When she caught sight of Noah across the hallway, leaning against the lockers like he always did, her heart stumbled. He didn’t corner her, didn’t push. He just tipped his chin and murmured, “Morning, Rach.”

Her cheeks warmed despite herself. She looked down, pretending to fuss with her books, but the fragile spark of hope glowed brighter inside her.

Noah was bruised and exhausted, but steadier than he had been in weeks. Sam and Mike caught it right away.

“You look less like you’re about to throw someone through a wall,” Mike said dryly as they crossed the gym.

Noah only shrugged. “She called me,” he muttered, quiet, but the words carried.

Sam and Mike exchanged a glance—hopeful, supportive—and didn’t press. Noah carried their look with him like armor. She had called. She missed him. That was enough to keep him breathing.

Finn Hudson’s breathing was nothing but fury.

He muttered under his breath in the choir room, his voice rougher each time he looked at Puck. “Guy wrecked everything. Got Quinn pregnant. Still walks around like nothing happened.”

The humiliation chewed at him. Everyone looked at him like an idiot, like he’d been played for a fool. He could feel it in every whisper, every sideways glance. To him, Puck was the center of it all, the reason he was humiliated, the reason Quinn slipped away, the reason Rachel wasn’t back where she “belonged.”

The day’s rehearsal was already tense.

Jesse leaned against the piano, sharp and smug as always, tearing into everyone with his critiques. His comments turned pointed when he looked at Noah.
“Commitment,” Jesse said, the word dripping with meaning. “That’s the real test of a performer. Some people just don’t have the focus to juggle music with… other responsibilities.”

Noah’s jaw clenched, but he stayed in his seat. Rachel’s chest burned, torn between fury and heartbreak.

When Mr.Shue tried to gather them for a group number, Finn snapped. He shot up, his voice cracking with rage. “I’m not standing next to the guy who knocked up my girlfriend like nothing happened!”

The room froze.

Rachel’s breath hitched, her heart racing.

Noah was on his feet in a heartbeat, his eyes blazing. “I don’t know who knocked up your girlfriend,” he spat, voice sharp enough to cut steel, “but it sure as hell wasn’t me!”

The words hit like a bomb. Finn lunged, shoving Noah hard enough that chairs screeched across the floor. Noah shoved back, harder.

The room erupted into chaos.

Kurt shouted at Finn to stop. Mercedes gasped. Artie wheeled himself out of the fray as Sam and Mike dove in, trying to wedge themselves between fists. Finn swung first, knuckles catching Noah’s cheek. Noah didn’t hesitate, slamming his fist into Finn’s jaw. The sound cracked through the air, gasps following it.

They grappled, shoving, throwing punches until Mike and Matt pinned Noah back and Sam and Mr. Schue dragged Finn in the other direction. Their chests heaved, their eyes burning holes into each other.

And Jesse? Jesse smirked from the piano, his voice a taunt over the chaos. “Figures it’d end like this. Animals in a cage.”

The shouting was a storm until one voice sliced it apart.

“Enough!” Santana Lopez’s voice cracked like a whip.

Everyone froze. Even Noah stilled, breathing hard, as her eyes scanned the room like blades.

She glared at Finn first. “You’re wasting your breath. He’s not the father.”

The silence was deafening.

Every head turned toward her. Rachel’s heart stopped. Noah blinked, stunned. Finn’s expression crumpled in confusion.

Quinn went pale, her mask slipping just for a second.

Santana shifted her glare to Quinn, her tone sharp as glass. “And I know you’re lying. I’ve got proof. So maybe stop acting like Saint Quinn before I blow this whole thing wide open.”

The room gasped. Whispers erupted. Mr. Schue opened his mouth, closed it again, unable to process what just happened. Quinn’s lips parted but no sound came out.

The world tilted.

Rachel’s heart was still hammering when the fight broke apart. Mr. Schue’s voice blurred into the background as she scanned the room. Finn had stormed out, Quinn had gone pale, Santana was smirking like she’d just dropped a bomb. But Noah—where was Noah?

By the time the group spilled into the hallway, Rachel realized she couldn’t breathe without seeing him. Her chest tightened. She pushed past clumps of whispering students, her shoes clicking too fast on the tile. Where is he?

“Rachel,” Jesse’s voice slid in, too close, too smooth. “You shouldn’t get dragged into this. You need someone—”

“Not now,” she cut him off, sharper than she’d ever been, brushing past him without a glance. Her feet were already moving before her brain caught up. She had to find him.

She spotted him finally, down one of the quieter hallways near the back stairwell. He leaned against the wall, head bowed, fists clenched, his whole body taut like a bow ready to snap. He was Puck here—hard edges, dangerous, braced for anyone dumb enough to come at him.

But then his head lifted and his eyes met hers. The tension in his shoulders softened in an instant.

Rachel slowed as she approached, her frantic energy bleeding into relief at the sight of him, but her eyes still raced over his body. His cheek was red and split where Finn’s fist had landed. His knuckles were bleeding, skin torn and raw.

“You okay, baby?” His voice was rough, but softer than she expected.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, distracted, because she barely registered the question. Her hand moved on instinct, reaching for his. She turned his palm up gently, studying the battered knuckles with wide, worried eyes. Her thumb brushed over the bloodied skin like she could erase the pain. “Are you okay?”

He let out a low laugh, humorless but soft. “I’ve been worse.”

“That’s not comforting,” she murmured, still focused on his hand. She reached higher, cupping his cheek next, her fingertips grazing the cut at the corner of his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut briefly at the touch, the fight draining out of him with every second she held him.

For a moment, it felt like the world narrowed to just them, their breaths syncing in the quiet. Her hand lingered, his own rising to cover it.

His throat worked as he watched her. Her touch, her worry—it was undoing him. “You have no idea how much I needed to see you,” he admitted quietly.

Her eyes flicked up, wide and vulnerable. “You scared me,” she whispered. “When I couldn’t find you after everything—I thought—”

“I’m here,” he said firmly, cutting her spiral off before it could start. His other hand lifted on instinct, hovering like he wanted to touch her cheek but waiting for her to let him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The air thickened between them, a heartbeat stretching too long, their faces tipping closer. Her gaze flicked to his mouth, his eyes dark and soft all at once. For a fraction of a second, it felt inevitable.

And then the bell rang.

They jumped apart like they’d been burned. Rachel’s cheeks flushed pink, her hand dropping quickly. She gave him a small, shy smile—fragile but real—before clutching her books tighter and hurrying down the hall.

Noah stayed against the wall, watching her go, his lips curving into the smallest, dazed smile despite the blood still on them.

That night, three different worlds fractured in silence.

Rachel walked home, Santana’s words echoing like a lifeline: He’s not the father. For the first time in weeks, she let herself believe it might be true.

Noah sat on the hood of his truck long after the sun dipped, knuckles throbbing, lip stinging, but all he could feel was her touch—her hand on his, her hand on his face. He clung to it like oxygen.

And Quinn stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, pale and hollow. The lie sat like a noose around her neck, guilt bleeding through every crack in her mask. She gripped the sink and told herself she could hold it. But her reflection whispered otherwise.

Chapter Text

The hallways of McKinley were louder than usual, buzzing with fragments of conversation that Rachel couldn’t quite catch but felt all the same. Eyes lingered on her, whispers ghosted in her wake, but instead of shrinking into herself, she held her head higher than yesterday. The bruises of words still lingered, but something inside her had begun to shift. Santana’s voice from the fight still rang in her ears: He’s not the father.

She clutched her books tighter, weaving past lockers until she spotted a familiar dark head by the stairwell. Santana. Rachel’s steps quickened before she could second-guess herself.

“Lopez,” she blurted, and her voice came out sharper, more desperate than she’d intended. Santana raised a brow, unimpressed, but didn’t walk away.

“Berry. Come to thank me for saving your boy’s ass yesterday?”

Rachel flushed but stood her ground. “I came to ask how you know. How do you know Quinn’s lying? Please—just tell me.”

For a moment, Santana just stared at her, arms folded, like she was measuring how much Rachel could handle. Then her smirk softened into something sharper. “Because I’ve got ears, Berry. And a brain. Quinn can’t keep her own story straight to save her life.”

Rachel’s chest tightened. “So you’re certain?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.” Santana leaned closer, her voice dropping. “But let me make one thing clear: I’ll deal with Quinn. She won’t get away with this. You just… figure your shit out with Puckerman. Don’t let her wreck something that real.”

Rachel’s throat ached. For once, Santana’s bluntness didn’t sting—it soothed. She nodded, whispering, “Thank you,” before walking away, clinging to those words like a lifeline.

Across the school, Noah sat on a bench in the locker room, elbows on his knees, fists balled so tight his knuckles throbbed. Sam and Mike sat with him, giving him space until he finally broke the silence.

“I don’t know what else to do,” he muttered, his voice low, ragged. “She looks at me like I’m someone else. Like I’m… him. And I’m scared, man. Scared she’ll never look at me the same way again.”

Sam clapped his shoulder, steady. “Then don’t just sit here. Stop waiting for it to blow over. Fight back. Prove she’s lying.”

Mike nodded quietly. “You’ve been letting this story control you. Don’t let Quinn win.”

Noah’s jaw set, a fire sparking in his chest. They were right. He’d been drowning in the rumor, waiting for it to die on its own. But that wasn’t who he was. He wasn’t a coward. He wasn’t gonna lose Rachel to a lie.

He grabbed a pen and notebook from his locker, scrawling what he knew: Quinn’s story about the hot tub, the supposed timing, the night she swore it happened. The details were already crumbling under his pen. He’d find the cracks. And when he did, he’d rip the whole thing wide open.

Rachel sat in the choir room later, spine straight, chin lifted. The whispers still brushed against her, but she didn’t crumble. Instead, she reminded herself of what she knew. Noah wasn’t Finn. He wasn’t Jesse. He didn’t make her feel small or disposable. He made her feel… chosen. Every look, every touch, every whispered “baby” told her she was his.

When she glanced across the room, Noah was already looking at her, eyes burning with something unspoken. She quickly turned away, but the flicker of hope remained.

Quinn, on the other hand, was unraveling.

Santana’s smirk followed her like a shadow. The timeline she’d stitched together was fraying fast, and she knew it. Every time she caught Rachel’s eyes across the room, guilt gnawed deeper into her chest.

Later, in the hallway, she snapped. “Face it, Berry,” she hissed, venom sharp. “Every guy you’ve ever dated wanted me instead.”

Rachel’s breath caught. For a heartbeat, the words cut deep. But instead of breaking, she clutched her books tighter and walked past, her heels clicking with quiet defiance. She wouldn’t give Quinn the satisfaction.

Quinn’s smirk faltered as Rachel disappeared down the hall. The cracks were spreading.

That night, three stories unfolded in quiet rooms.

Rachel curled under her covers, replaying Santana’s words, holding them close. For the first time in weeks, she thought maybe she wasn’t wrong to trust Noah.

Noah sat in his truck, flipping through the messy scrawl in his notebook. Every inconsistency he circled gave him another spark of hope. He whispered into the dark, “I’m getting her back.”

And Quinn stared into her bathroom mirror, mascara smudged, muttering excuses under her breath. But Santana’s voice echoed louder: You’re lying. The truth pressed against her chest like a weight she couldn’t hold much longer.

Chapter Text

The air in the choir room felt electric, sharp and dangerous, like the seconds before a storm breaks. Every chair scraped as people sat down, whispers curling around the walls. Rachel sat in her seat, back perfectly straight, though her knuckles were white around the edge of her notebook. Noah slouched beside her, jaw tight, his eyes fixed on Quinn with an expression that promised violence if she said one more word.

Mr. Schue tried to start rehearsal, but it was useless. The air buzzed with unsaid words.

It was Quinn who snapped first. “Maybe if someone here started taking responsibility instead of pretending it isn’t his problem, we could focus on Regionals."

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, voice cold and mocking. “You all want the truth? Fine. It was Saturday night. He came over after we rehearsed our duet. We talked, one thing led to another, and—” she paused, her eyes flicking toward Noah, daring him to react, “—it happened. That’s how this started.”

The room was dead silent, the words slicing through the air.

Rachel’s head whipped toward Noah, searching his face. He looked stunned, then furious, then disgusted, but before he could open his mouth, Rachel’s voice cut through, trembling with both rage and heartbreak.

“That’s not true,” she said, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “He was with me. The entire night.”

Quinn’s smirk faltered.

Rachel shoved her hand into her bag, pulling out her phone with trembling fingers. She tapped quickly, pulled up her camera roll, and turned the screen for the room to see.

On the glowing screen was a photo—Rachel perched on the hood of Noah’s truck, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her smile wide, joy radiating off her like sunlight. The timestamp was unmistakable.

Another swipe, another picture—Rachel leaning against him in the cab of the truck, the two of them laughing so hard they looked breathless, foreheads nearly touching. His dimples showed, hers did too, and there was no mistaking the happiness in either of their faces.

“He was with me that night,” Rachel said again, her voice steadier this time. “All night. So stop lying.”

The photos made their way down the rows. Brittany softly whispered, “That’s cute,” before Quinn’s voice cut through again, sharp and cruel, desperate to regain control.

“Of course you’d say that, Berry. You’ve never been enough. You don’t put out, so your boyfriends go looking for someone who will. Every guy you’ve ever had wanted me more—” her eyes flicked toward Jesse, “—even him.”

Rachel’s chest seized, tears threatening to spill, but before the words could land fully, Noah shot up out of his chair. His voice thundered through the room.

“You don’t get to talk to her like that. Not anymore.”

Rachel instinctively reached out, her hand brushing his arm, grounding him. But he was vibrating with fury, shoulders tense, fists clenched, eyes locked on Quinn like she was the only target in the world.

“Sit down, Puckerman,” Quinn snapped, her voice shaking now.

But it was Santana who stood next, her eyes flashing, her tone deadly.
“Why don’t you sit down, Fabray? Because I’m tired of watching you spin lies like you’re auditioning for a soap opera.”

Quinn froze.

“You say it was Saturday,” Santana said, circling her like a shark. “Last week you swore up and down it was Thursday. Which is it? Or do you just pick nights out of a hat?”

Quinn’s throat bobbed. “I—it doesn’t matter which night, it happened—”

“No, it matters,” Santana cut in, stepping closer. “Because you can’t even keep your own story straight. And everyone here knows it.”

The room grew tense, whispers rising again. Quinn’s face flushed, her mask slipping.

“Fine!” she finally screamed, the word tearing out of her. “Okay, fine! You’re right. It’s not his. It was never his. I lied, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

The room gasped, the truth crashing into everyone at once.

Rachel let out a sharp sob, her shoulders trembling. Noah’s hand found her arm instantly, warm and steady, rubbing up and down to soothe her even as his own chest heaved with the effort of keeping his fists unclenched.

“You lied,” Rachel whispered, staring at Quinn with tear-filled eyes. “You almost destroyed us—destroyed him—for what? What did I ever do to you?”

But Quinn didn’t answer. She sank into her seat, pale and shaking, her mask fully shattered.

The choir room was silent, everyone stunned, the storm finally breaking. And in the quiet, Rachel leaned back into Noah’s side, allowing herself—for the first time in weeks—to trust his touch again.

Chapter Text

Rachel POV

The room doesn’t breathe.

Quinn’s confession still hangs in the air like smoke after a match, acrid and undeniable. No one moves. No one even shuffles their music. Thirty eyes ping between Quinn and me and Noah, and I feel all of it—the shock, the pity, the dawning realization that I wasn’t crazy to believe him—all of it press against my ribs until something inside me finally snaps free.

“Why?” The word rasps out of me before I know I’m speaking. “Why would you lie about him? About me?” My throat burns, but I don’t stop. “What did I ever do to you that made you hate me this much?”

Quinn’s mouth opens and closes. Guilt flashes, then stubbornness slams down over it like a visor. She looks smaller than I’ve ever seen her, pale around the mouth. “I—” She cuts herself off, jaw tightening. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” I say, and my voice steadies. “You almost destroyed him. You almost destroyed us.”

Behind me, heat. Noah, close enough for me to feel the static coming off his skin. He doesn’t speak, not yet—he just lets his hand find my arm, warm and steady, the weight of it a tether. I lean back the tiniest bit. It’s instinct. It’s oxygen. A collective intake of breath ripples through the room when I don’t pull away.

“Tell us who the father is,” Finn barks. His face is blotchy with fury, his voice hoarse. “If it’s not Puck, then who? How are we supposed to believe you now?”

Quinn shakes her head hard, ponytail snapping. “It’s none of your business.”

“How is it not my business?” Finn’s laugh is ugly, wounded. “You lied to me. You lied to everyone.” His hands flex open and closed like he doesn’t know where to put them. “You made me the joke.”

The room shifts again; whispers ripple at the edges. Brittany mutters, clear as a bell, “She’s lying again. You can tell.” Jesse sits forward with a reptile’s stillness, eyes taking everything in like he’ll use it later. Santana looks like a blade that’s learned to walk.

Quinn tries to stare Finn down. She doesn’t win. Her eyes flick, fast and terrified, toward Jesse.

I see it. So does Santana. So does Noah.

Something cold slips down my spine. Did she really—?

“Out,” Mr. Schue says at last, voice thin and failing. “Everyone—just… take five. Cool down.”

We don’t take five. The club erupts into scraping chairs and stunned silence, bodies filing out in ragged clumps. I gather my bag with shaking hands and step into the hall that feels too bright, too loud.

I barely make it to my locker before the world catches up with me. Every second of the last few weeks presses against the back of my eyes—the whispers, the doubt, the night I almost gave up on the one person who’s ever made me feel chosen—and I press my forehead to the metal, breathing like I’m learning how.

“Rach.”

I turn. Noah’s there—split lip, raw knuckles, bruises shadowing his cheek—but the look in his eyes is what undoes me: terrified and soft all at once. He stops a breath away, careful, palms open like he’s approaching a wild thing he doesn’t want to spook.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, voice roughened to gravel.

The endearment scrapes something sweet out of my chest. “I don’t know,” I whisper honestly. And then the part of me that has been clenching around fear for days finally unclenches. “Are you?”

He shrugs, one corner of his mouth quirking like he can’t help it around me. “Been worse.”

“That’s not comforting,” I murmur, reaching without thinking. I take his hand, turn it palm-up. The bruises are a constellation, the splits bright along the knuckles. My thumb moves on instinct, slow circles along torn skin, like touch alone could knit it. “You shouldn’t have to fight to make people believe the truth.”

“I’ll fight for you,” he says simply.

Heat floods my face. I set his hand down gently and reach up, fingers ghosting along the cut at his mouth. He stills. For a second, the corridor falls away; it’s just his breath against my wrist, my pulse hiccuping under his thumb when he lifts his hand to cradle mine against his cheek.

We hover there, suspended, the pull between us a live wire.

The bell detonates the moment. I jerk back, startled, cheeks burning. “I—I have calc,” I say stupidly.

“Yeah.” His smile is small and real, wrecked and beautiful. “Go get an A, Superstar.”

I nod, and because I can, because it feels like staking a flag, I squeeze his fingers once before I go. The look that follows me down the hall lives somewhere behind my sternum, warm and devastating.

Noah POV

Noise. All day it’s been nothing but noise—whispers with my name in them, locker clangs that sound like punches, the phantom ring of Finn’s jaw under my knuckles, Santana’s “Enough” still cracking through my skull like a gavel. But now the hall’s thinned and the quiet that follows Rachel out of sight scares me more than any fight ever did.

“Puck.” Sam’s voice grates in, then softens when he clocks my face. “You good?”

“Yeah.” I flex my fingers; the skin pulls and stings. “No.”

Mike leans a shoulder to the lockers beside me, watching like he does when choreography won’t sit right on your body. “You did good. Not the punching—” he tilts his head, okay, maybe a little approval there—“but the… being there. She leaned on you.”

“She found me,” I say, like I can’t quite believe it. “After everything.”

Sam taps my notebook where it sticks out of my bag. “Keep digging,” he says. “But maybe today, start with her.”

I grunt something like thanks and peel myself off the lockers. My feet take me where I was always gonna end up anyway.

The auditorium’s dark when I slip in—house lights down to a low hum, that velvet hush that makes you lower your voice even when you’re alone. She’s there on the apron, knees tucked to her chest, staring at nothing like it’s telling her secrets.

I don’t walk straight to her. I sit two steps down and a few feet over and make a show of dropping my bag. She hears that, turns her head just enough to know where I am. We let the quiet sit with us like a third person.

When she speaks, it’s a scrape and a ribbon. “You told me you didn’t do it.”

I look at the scuffed floorboards because I don’t trust what’ll happen if I look at her when I say it again. “I didn’t.”

“I wanted to believe you,” she whispers, and now I do look because my name is in that ache. “I think I always did.”

Something gives way in my chest. I drag a hand over my buzzed hair and let the words I’ve been swallowing since the rumor broke finally come up. “I thought I lost you.” My voice goes hoarse, truth finding raw edges on the way out. “And I deserved to if you wanted to walk. I get it—after him and St. James using you like a prop—” I cut myself off, jaw locking. “But, Rach… the way you looked at me. Like I was him.” I shake my head, a humorless breath of a laugh. “It killed me. I hated that I couldn’t make you see me.”

Her breath hitches. I hear it like a cue. “I can’t believe she lied about something like this,” she says, and the first tear slides over her cheek, glittering in the dim. “I can’t believe I almost let her take you from me.” She scrubs at her eyes with the heel of her hand and fails. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” She says it like a confession and a vow. “I wanted to believe you, I really did, but—” Her voice breaks. “Finn. Jesse. Every time I trust someone, I end up humiliated. I couldn’t survive being wrong about you.”

I move before I decide to. Two steps and I’m in front of her, dropping down until we’re eye to eye. I take her hand where it’s fisted in the fabric at her knee and unfold her fingers gently, like a paper star. “You don’t have to survive being wrong about me,” I say, working to make it steady, make it something she can stand on. “Because you’re not wrong. I would never do that to you. Not ever.”

She searches my face like she’s memorizing a map. Her other hand lifts, tentative, and then cups my jaw, thumb catching at the corner of my mouth the way it did in the hall. It’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt that still manages to knock the wind out of me.

“Okay,” she breathes. Then, again, steadier. “Okay.”

I kiss her like I’m afraid to wake her. Just the first press, careful and clean. She answers with a small sound I feel in my bones, and then everything that’s been locked tight and strung wire-high between us loosens at once. Her hands frame my face, fingers slipping into my hair, tugging me closer; my palms slide to her waist, then her back, then splay wide like I could hold every shaking inch of her. The kiss deepens—not frantic, but full, relief and grief and promise all tangled. She tastes like salt and breath and home.

When we break, it’s not far. Foreheads lean together, noses brush. We breathe each other’s air until my head stops ringing.

“I love you,” I say, because it’s the truest thing I’ve ever known and I want it in the world with the rest of the truths we just dragged into the light.

She gasps, a tiny sound that turns into a wet laugh. Then she kisses me again—quick, sure—before whispering against my mouth, “I love you too.”

Lightning doesn’t strike. The roof doesn’t cave. All that happens is the tight band around my ribs snaps, and I can breathe like I’m sixteen and not already used up by bad choices and worse reputations. I fold her in, arms wrapping around her with a care that still says mine, and she tucks into me like she’s been trying to get back to this angle forever. We sit on the edge of the stage with the empty house holding us and let the quiet do what it does best—make room.

“Finn’s gonna blow up again,” I murmur into her hair, because reality is a rude friend.

“Probably,” she says, voice already steadier. “Santana will handle him.”

A huff of something like a laugh shakes out of me. “Yeah. She will.”

She tilts back to look at me, those dark eyes fierce and soft all at once. “We’ll handle the rest,” she says. “Together.”

“Together,” I echo, and seal it with the kind of kiss that isn’t about proving anything to anyone—not even to ourselves—just about keeping a promise warm.

Rachel POV

By the time we leave the auditorium, my hand has learned the shape of his again. The halls are thinner now, after-school quiet smudging the edges of voices. We draw a few looks—curious, guilty, relieved—but they slide off me like water over glass. I don’t need their verdicts. I have the only one that matters.

We pause at the double doors, caught in that soft, awkward sweetness that comes after you’ve said everything and still want to say more.

“You, uh…” Noah rubs at the back of his neck with his unbruised hand. “Text me when you get home?”

“Only if you text me first.” My smile tilts, a secret shared. “I like the way you say goodnight.”

Color touches his cheekbones. He leans in and kisses my temple, lingering like he’s blessing a place. “Goodnight, Rach,” he murmurs, even though it’s daylight. I pretend not to melt.

He heads for the lot. I watch him go, the line of his shoulders finally loose, and let myself breathe out a laugh that tastes like freedom.

The last sting of the day waits by the trophy case: Quinn, small and pale, staring at her reflection like it might give her an answer. For a heartbeat, I consider stopping. Asking again: Why? Not for me this time, but for her. Then I think of Noah’s hand finding my arm, of the photos in my phone, of the choke-collar of doubt that finally slipped. I think of the word together.

I keep walking.

Outside, the sky is a low, forgiving gray. My phone buzzes.

Noah: Home?

Rachel: Almost. Stop worrying.

Noah: Not happening. Also—love you.

My fingers shake in the best way.

Rachel: Love you more.

The lie is dead. There will be fallout—fights, apologies, the truth rearranging the furniture of everyone’s lives—but the center has shifted back where it belongs. I tuck my phone into my pocket and pull my bag higher on my shoulder, humming under my breath as I head for the curb, certain of exactly one thing:

We’re going to be okay.