Chapter Text
She's a co-worker at your job, and she's absolutely gorgeous. Her eyes are chestnut brown; not almond or coffee or dark chocolate, but chestnut. Her hair is so shiny that when the sun hits her at that perfect angle, you hear angels sing.
Her smile can make the most unhappy person feel like they've won a million dollars. When she smiles at you, it's the best day ever. When she actually touches you, just a brush of the shoulder, it's like getting shocked by an electric fence.
But in a nice kind of way.
You once told yourself to stop falling for people at work. It just makes things super awkward and uncomfortable, especially when one person doesn't feel the same way about the other.
On most days, you're so nervous to be around Rachel, you don't even talk to her. Watching her stock books and organize inventory from the other side of the bookshop is the only way you can get through the day without embarrassing yourself.
Patting you on the back, Santana snickers, "You've got it bad, girl." And she's right. Whatever this is, you've got it worse than you've ever had it before.
"My stomach hurts," you say, leaning over the cash register. "Whenever I look at her, my stomach starts to hurt. Is that a sign?"
"It's a sign that you should stay away," she tells you, shaking her head as she loads a stack of books behind the counter. "Besides, I heard she's as straight as a picket fence. You don't wanna mess around with that."
You raise an eyebrow, suggestive. "And how do you know what I want to mess around with?"
Santana laughs. "Alright, fine, she could be a good lay," she considers, shrugging a shoulder. "Rachel looks like a fun girl, if you know what I mean."
You scrunch up your nose at the wink she gives you. "Did you just call her a slut?"
"But," Santana ignores your previous question. "If you find yourself wanting something long-term and serious-" she pauses to give you a look- "I'm always available."
You can't tell if she's being serious or not. You can never tell. Santana's been making sly comments like this ever since you first met after moving to New York for college. She's a naturally flirtatious girl, but you can never tell if she's joking or actually considering you.
Over the years you've been told that you have a habit of being oblivious, blind, and naïve when it comes to relationships, so you hope this time isn't one of those times.
"Wait, did you just call yourself a slut?"
--
From across the shop, Rachel flips her hair over her shoulder and giggles at something Kurt says. You wonder if he's really as funny as Rachel makes him out to be.
Sure, he has that whole sarcastic gay thing going for him, but you can be funny too; if only you had the courage to actually go up and talk to her.
She's right there, only ten footsteps away, just waiting for you to approach her, but all you can do is sulk behind the cash register and stare at her like a lost puppy.
It's kind of pathetic. You're a pathetic human being, and if Santana was on this shift right now she'd tell you to stop being a little bitch and do something about it.
It really doesn't even matter what you say. Rachel's one of those girls who can turn thin air into a full blown debate. You don't even have to worry about carrying the conversation when it comes to her, so why are you still hiding out in your corner?
Your eyes follow her as she walks across the shop, towards the iPod dock, and changes the song. She smiles to herself when the next artist that shuffles on is Adele.
She has good taste in music. There's a conversation starter. Conversation about music is a good icebreaker, right?
No matter how hard you try, you can't take your eyes off of her. She makes the most mundane activities look sexy—eating an apple, flipping the pages of a magazine, chewing a piece of gum, reapplying her mascara, vacuuming the shaggy carpet in the back of the shop. Everything she does makes you sick.
But in a nice kind of way.
Picking up a book from out of the romantic fiction section, Rachel carefully scans the first page before flipping to the back of the book. You wonder if she's one of those spoiler readers; the ones who like to know how the book ends before they've even started.
Before you can look away, Rachel peeks up from under her bangs with this contemplative look and tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. She catches your eye and smiles, but you're so caught off guard, all you can do is stare back.
She looks at you for another moment—lopsided smile still intact—before shaking her head with this quizzical look, and you want nothing more than a bolt of lightning to strike you dead as you watch her head back over to Kurt.
She's probably going to tell him about that weird girl behind the cash register who randomly says hi to her and stares at her every time you share a shift. She's probably cringing at the thought of you watching her from afar.
Kurt's probably laughing and shaking his head at the sad display of hope written across your face whenever Rachel brushes passed you or says your name with that twinkle in her eyes.
Holding her stomach in laughter, Rachel hits Kurt in the shoulder with a magazine before placing it back on the rack beside her. You'd do anything for her to hit you with something.
Her face gets red whenever she laughs too hard. You can see the joy in her eyes. The harder she laughs, the glassier her eyes get.
Behind the counter, you smile to yourself, but your cheeks feel stiff and your lips are trembling, so you look away, down at the thick novel opened in your hands.
--
You find her on Facebook under Rachel Barbra. It took you about four hours to find the right Rachel, because, for the first two hours, you searched through almost every Berry on the entire website.
Once you locate her, you don't know what to do. You probably stare blankly at her profile picture—a playful selfie of herself and a close friend—for a good five minutes before you click out of the page and slam your laptop shut.
--
Santana's talking your ear off, and it's really starting to give you a migraine. You don't even know what she's talking about, but by the high register in her voice you can tell she's complaining about something or another—most likely inventory or the restocking of used books.
You don't really care what she's saying either way. Rachel's on shift today, and it's the first time in maybe a month that Kurt isn't here at the same time.
"I'm gonna go talk to her," you declare, most likely cutting off whatever it is Santana's saying.
"Why are you telling me? I don't give a shit," she mutters, disinterested, and then clears her throat when she catches the look on your face. "I mean, sure, whatever. She's all alone. Go talk to her then."
You weren't really asking for her permission, but you go anyway before Santana can call you back and talk you out of it, like she tends to do every time you build up the courage to approach Rachel.
You fix your hair. Check your breath. Smooth out your blouse. Lick your front teeth. Smack your lips together. And say, "Hey, Rachel."
She smiles at you, as if she's actually glad you're here. "Quinn, I'm glad you're here," she says, and you think something just popped in your chest, but in a nice kind of way—until she adds, "Kurt was supposed to put these books on the top shelf in the storage room yesterday, but it must have slipped his mind. As you can see, my lack of height limits me when it comes to reaching high objects, so it would be truly appreciated if—"
"Sure," you say, taking the box out of her hands. The shock you feel in your fingertips when your hands brush against hers is worth the stab of disappointment in your chest. "I don't mind."
You smile, but only because Rachel smiles at you first as she says, "Thank you, Quinn. You came around at just the right moment."
Instead of speaking, you nod, because words can't really express how you feel right now as you head towards the storage room and away from Rachel, yet again.
Passing Santana on your way there, you can just feel the sly comment radiating off of her skin. Before she can utter a word, you narrow your eyes on her and hiss, "Shut up."
She laughs like it's the funniest thing she's heard all week.
--
You're still on Rachel's Facebook page the next time you open up your laptop. Your mouse must hover over the friend request button for a full ten minutes before you laugh out loud at yourself.
This is so stupid. You're an attractive girl. Rachel's an attractive girl. The both of you could be two very attractive girls together if you'd just click the damn button.
Your pointer finger hovers over the left button on the mouse before you end up just signing out of your account completely.
Sure, Rachel would easily be your friend, but that's only because she's a nice person. She's friendly and bubbly and kind, and of course she'd be your friend.
But you don't want her as a friend. You want her as a lover, a girlfriend. You've dreamt of kissing her, holding her, loving her, cherishing her. And you can't do that being Quinn.
Rachel's straight; she likes Patricks and Henrys and Franks and Tylers. There's no way she'd ever fall for you, so with a few clicks of a button, you become everything she'll ever want.
You give her a man.
You give her Derrick Emerson.
--
Derrick Emerson's favorite season is autumn because the leaves remind him that change is a part of life. Nothing quite makes his heart soar like a classic Queen song.
Rainbows remind him of The Wizard of Oz. He is an extraordinarily gifted whistler. He used to have the hugest crush on Meg Ryan. He doesn't understand the significance of kite flying.
He spends his off time memorizing license plates. His greatest fears are crows and apple pies. He broke his wrist as a child doing gymnastics. Sometimes he stares at the sun, but only because it's just so big and shiny.
He has short blonde hair and sexy hazel eyes that make the ladies melt into puddles on the floor. Jogging in the early morning helps him stay in tip top shape. He likes being outside on windy days and inside during thunderstorms. His favorite animal is the great wooly mammoth.
He gets nauseous when he reads in the car. Hospitals make him pensive. He's studying Creative Writing and Philosophy at Georgetown University. He finds it uncomfortable to sleep with a pillow underneath his head.
He loves reading old dusty books with missing pages. Writing is the only thing he truly lives for, other than love. Sex is the other thing he truly lives for, other than strawberry milkshakes.
Derrick Emerson is just like you, yet the two of you are nothing alike.
--
It's not long before she starts liking your fake pictures, commenting on your pretend status updates. At first you don't know what to do, so you ignore her attempts at conversation.
You know that what you're doing isn't right. After all, you're not who she thinks you are.
This is identity theft or fraud or something. Regardless, it's just plain slimy, but you do it anyway, because this is Rachel, and she's finally your friend, and maybe if you play your cards right, she might even end up being more than that one day.
--
It's fifteen minutes past midnight. You're up late, typing diligently on your laptop as you try to finish a report for your Introduction to French Poetry class, when you get an instant message in a separate tab on your browser webpage.
It's usually Santana at around this time, either messaging you because she's drunk and lonely, or because she's wondering what time her shift starts tomorrow. Tonight, though, it's neither of those things because it is not Santana.
Rachel Barbra [12:17am]: hi, i know this message may seem out of the blue since we've never spoken online before, but do i know you from somewhere?
She wants to know if she knows you from somewhere. The bookshop, you almost write, but no, that's not right. She's never met Derrick before in her life, obviously. No one has.
You have to reread and edit your response four times before pressing send because your fingers are shaking so much on the keyboard.
Derrick Emerson [12:21am]: hey there, and no we've never met, but it seems we're mutual friends. i've just been really into branching out ever since starting college. is that cool with you?
You stare at your screen for three minutes straight and wonder if she's having just as much trouble replying to you as you have replying to her.
Rachel Barbra [12:22am]: yes, of course, it's definitely cool with me! i love getting to know new people, even strangers ;)
Wow. This is actually a lot easier than you thought it would be with the barrier of Derrick between you and Rachel.
You still know it's not right, but the thought of talking to Rachel in the middle of the night is clouding your judgment.
Smiling, you crack your knuckles and type out a response.
--
It starts off like the beginning of a book; slow but with purpose.
Rachel Barbra [7:32pm]: hi :)
Derrick Emerson [7:34pm]: hey, what's up?
Rachel Barbra [7:34pm]: just got back from work. so tired of books right now
Derrick Emerson [7:35pm]: lol i don't think i could ever get tired of books
Rachel Barbra [7:35pm]: you enjoy reading??
Derrick Emerson [7:36pm]: only as much as I enjoy breathing
--
Then, it sprouts like a flower, inch by inch.
Rachel Barbra [2:12am]: and that's how I broke my pinky finger.
Derrick Emerson [2:12am]: you are kind of awesome. you know that, right?
Rachel Barbra [2:13am]: just kind of?
Derrick Emerson [2:13am]: just kind of ;)
Rachel Barbra [2:13am]: then you are kind of lame -_-
Derrick Emerson [2:14am]: then why are you friends with me? kind of bad judgment on your part.
Rachel Barbra [2:14am]: :P
-----
Next, it unravels like a loose rope; vulnerable, but still strong.
Derrick Emerson [10:13pm]: it's your turn.
Rachel Barbra [10:14pm]: ummm, where did you grow up?
Derrick Emerson [10:17pm]: in a small midwestern town where the sky is always blue and the cows always moo.
Rachel Barbra [10:17pm]: lol sounds exciting.
Rachel Barbra [10:21pm]: how about your parents? are they good people?
Derrick Emerson [10:22pm]: ugh, my parents.
Rachel Barbra [10:22pm]: i guess i'll take that as a no...
Derrick Emerson [10:25pm]: i've always dreamt of being a writer but my close-minded parents wanted me to be a lawyer or a doctor. they never really accepted my path in life.
Rachel Barbra [10:27pm]: that must've been difficult. them never accepting you for who you are, i mean.
Derrick Emerson [10:29pm]: eh. it wasn't so bad once i started school and learned that my life choices aren't really about my parents.
Rachel Barbra [10:32pm]: that's really mature of you, derrick. from what you've told me, i think you're on the right path.
Derrick Emerson [10:32pm]: that really means a lot coming from you
Rachel Barbra [10:33pm]: <3
--
And finally, it takes off like a fueled rocket; fast and a bit out of control.
Rachel Barbra [12:56pm]: i really like you.
Derrick Emerson [1:00am]: is that so?
Rachel Barbra [1:01am]: more than so :)
Derrick Emerson [1:03am]: like a best friend?
Rachel Barbra [1:03am]: no...
Derrick Emerson [1:03am]: a special friend?
Rachel Barbra [1:04am]: lol you're getting warmer.
Derrick Emerson [1:04am]: hmmm...
Rachel Barbra [1:04am]: Derrick!
Derrick Emerson [1:05am]: RACHEL
Rachel Barbra [1:06am]: lol fine, i'll be the mature one and ask. will you go steady with me?
Derrick Emerson [1:08am]: LMAO. steady? really???
Rachel Barbra [1:08am]: you know what I mean :P
Rachel Barbra [1:19am]: ?
Derrick Emerson [1:22am]: of course, but only because i like you too.
--
It's quiet enough where you can hear bits and pieces of their conversation from the other side of the bookcase.
"His name is Derrick, and he's so damn charming," Rachel gushes, holding her phone up for Kurt to see. "And look, here's a picture of him. Isn't he good-looking?"
Kurt smiles stiffly. "I must admit, he is very handsome," he says hesitantly. "But I never took you as the online dating type, Rachel. I mean, how do you even know this guy?"
"We're mutual friends," she huffs, smiling down at her phone. "And this isn't online dating. It's Facebook. We're just Facebook friends...who talk all of the time and tell each other everything."
You bite your bottom lip and slide against the bookcase to the ground. She's lying to him, of course, because you and Rachel have been technically dating for two weeks now.
Or maybe you should say Derrick and Rachel have been dating for that long.
This is the first time you've ever heard Rachel willingly lie to Kurt. You're not sure if it's a good sign or not.
"Everything?" Kurt murmurs, worried. "Rachel, I'm happy you found someone, but maybe you should be careful about what you tell this guy."
"Kurt, I am the epitome of careful," she insists, pocketing her phone with a roll of her eyes. "Derrick is the nicest guy. He's sweet and sincere and very mature for his age."
You peek through the spaces between the books, and Kurt doesn't look too convinced. You know it always comes down to the best friend, so you hold your breath and cross your fingers.
"Actually, I think you'd like him," Rachel continues, giggling excitedly as she tugs on his arm. "He's a closet poetry nerd just like you."
Unconvinced and eyebrows raised, Kurt mutters, "Hemingway?"
"Indeed."
"Dickinson?"
"Of course," she laughs, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "And I didn't even mention the best part yet. His last name is Emerson."
"You mean," he starts, swallowing thickly. "Like, the great Ralph Waldo Emerson?"
Wiggling her eyebrows, Rachel grins slyly as she singsongs, "The one and only."
Kurt purses his lips, fidgets from one foot to the other, and scratches the side of his head in thought. "Alright, I'll give it to you. He's kind of perfect," he sighs, folding his arms over his chest. "I just want you to be safe, okay?"
"I'm being safe," Rachel insists, grinning up at him with those eyes no human being can resist. "I used a screen protector and everything."
Holding back his laughter, Kurt lets out a snort. "You really think you're funny, huh?" he says, squeezing Rachel's arm comfortingly. "You're cute, but not funny."
"Derrick thinks I'm cute too," she whispers, smiling from ear to ear.
Kurt makes a gag face before going back to work, and you try your very best not to feel guilty about the bashful smile spread across Rachel's cheeks as she hums happily to herself.
--
"Hey," Santana whispers, sneaking up behind you. You jump back, startled, until you realize it's just her, and then you roll your eyes. "I just got the scoop. Rachel's dating this cyber dude named Roderick or something. Seems to me it's time to give up and move on. So sorry."
She sounds a little too cheerful about this notion to actually be apologetic, but you shake it off and try to hide your smile.
"Did you just hear me?" she says, leaning an elbow on the counter, dark eyes practically dissecting you as she looks you up and down. "Why the fuck are you grinning? Rachel would rather bone a computer monitor than you. I think this is a sign."
You've heard it all before. "A sign for what, Santana?"
"A sign that the two of us are made for each other."
This is usually when you'd accuse her of joking, but she actually sounds serious this time, and when you look down at her, Santana's picking at her nails, all nervous-like, and it's kind of making you nervous as well.
Wow, this is awkward. "Santana, I'm really—"
"Please don't say you're flattered or whatever other fucking bullshit you always manage to pull out of your ass," Santana mutters, locking the register as she closes up shop. To say you're taken aback by the number of expletives she can use in a sentence would be an understatement. "If you wanna grovel over a chick who doesn't even know you exist—rather than be with a smart, beautiful woman who will treat you right—be my fucking guest, Fabray."
She slams the cabinet door shut—you cringe—she struts away—and you're not sure whether you should feel bad or not.