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Jesse St. James didn’t do love or romance. Or at least, that was the truth he’d settled on. He’d filed it neatly, labeled it, and tucked into the mental cabinet where he kept things he refused to interrogate too closely.
He’d experienced attraction and lust, sure. He wasn’t a monk. But that inexplicable need to be with someone? That bone-deep ache? That breathless, ridiculous yearning people wrote epic poems and breakup albums about? Completely foreign. The idea of longing for another person almost made him feel…well. Kind of sick.
The notion of being so far gone for someone that you’d commit irrational, humiliating acts in their name? A nightmare. It clashed violently with every part of his carefully curated identity - particularly his control-freak tendencies and his pathological need to be the orchestrator in every situation. Grand gestures? Unthinkable. The very thought of them made his shoulders twitch. What could possibly compel someone to debase themselves like that?
Just last week, he’d had to endure the sight of a freshman performing an a cappella version of “I’m Yours” in the quad for what Jesse assumed was their boyfriend. He had plastered on his best “supportive upperclassman” smile as he passed, but internally he was screaming.
His friends, in their infinite condescension, insisted it was simply because he “hadn’t met his match.” A tired cliché. He had met people - plenty of them - and he’d enjoyed many of them. But that elusive spark everyone swore existed? He was convinced it was just an elaborate societal prank.
He’d cycled through a few girlfriends in high school and even dated someone briefly during his freshman year at NYADA, but nothing stuck. He grew fond of his partners - he wasn’t a monster - but he never felt incomplete without them. He didn’t see them as missing puzzle pieces.
He’d been called a heartbreaker. Emotionally unavailable. And, most insultingly, “emotionally constipated.” (He still bristled at that one.) He felt emotions just fine, thank you very much - why else would he have spent years in therapy unpacking his abandonment issues? The only parental figures he’d ever had were his housekeeper Dorota and his old show choir director, and he loved them both with a fierce, protective loyalty. He’d also do anything for his friends.
Obviously he wasn’t hollow.
Though eventually, he began to wonder if maybe romance just wasn’t for him. Enough so that he questioned whether or not he was aromantic. When he brought it up with his therapist, she’d said the orientation could possibly fit given his experiences. And, slowly, Jesse accepted it. It made sense. It gave him structure. It was something he didn’t have to fix.
Until the day he heard that voice echoing through the NYADA halls. It was so pure, so heartbreakingly crystalline that something in him he had long assumed dormant suddenly, unmistakably…stirred.
Someone was singing “Hello” by Lionel Richie; one of his favorites. And they weren’t just singing it. They were transforming it.
Before he realized it, he was moving - racing down the practice room corridor faster than he’d ever admit, propelled by a pull he couldn’t name.
He’d heard countless talented voices at NYADA, but this was different. This voice didn’t just impress him. It captivated him. Possessed him. Called to him.
But just as he closed in, the music stopped.
The hallway fell silent.
The only person who exited a room was Brody Weston.
A talentless hack.
And absolutely not the singer.
Rachel Berry, despite her reputation as a gleek in high school, had been surprisingly successful in the romance department. In fact, one might even argue she was a little too successful. She loved romance and she loved being in love. Why else would she have nearly gotten married before college, for Sondheim’s sake? Why else would she have bounced from her ex-fiancé, to said ex-fiancé’s best friend, back to the ex-fiancé, and then into an open relationship with her dance-major TA?
Her therapist finally called her on it right before midterms, after the somewhat disastrous breakup with the TA. Rachel had bristled at the bluntness, but she’d been under Dr. Katie’s care for years, and she trusted her. Dr. Katie suggested she might be addicted to the rush of romance, and that she had a tendency to not fully commit to the actual people she dated. She told her she had a tendency for limerence. At first Rachel didn’t understand the term, but a quick dive down an internet rabbit hole fixed that. According to WebMD, limerence was “an involuntary, acute state of longing accompanied by obsessive feelings, intense idealization, and a dependency on the object of your affection.”
Rachel frowned the moment she read it. It made her sound shallow, as if she preferred the chase and the safety of fantasy over anything real.
Because that couldn’t be true…could it? She had been with Finn for most of high school, minus that brief detour with Puck. If anything, maybe the limerence had been with Brody because he was shiny and new.
But then she asked Kurt what being in love actually felt like, and his answer differed so sharply from anything she’d experienced that it left her shaken. He said love went beyond butterflies. It meant accepting someone completely and choosing them every day, even during the mundane parts of life. Something steady, but never complacent. Still romantic, of course, but not anchored in grand gestures.
By the end of the conversation, Kurt saw right through her.
“So you’ve finally realized you’ve never actually been in love?” he teased.
Rachel hated being wrong, but as she mulled it over she realized her therapist might be onto something. She romanticized her partners until they became near-mythic. She never accepted them as they were. She loved the thrill of the chase, the will-they-won’t-they uncertainty, but once things got real she either bent herself out of shape to make them fit or tried to force them into her idealized narrative. It never worked. Maybe that’s why she and Finn had imploded so spectacularly. She was always trying to cast him as her leading man, but he wasn’t that. He was a sweet boy with small, earnest dreams. He was never going to be what she needed him to be. Still, she’d loved the idea of him, especially the way he always pursued her, even at her most impossible.
The revelation made her skin crawl.
She wanted to love someone wholly and completely. How could she be eighteen and never have experienced real love?
Half the semester had passed and she’d tried going on dates after the Brody fiasco, but no one captivated her. Whenever she caught herself mentally embellishing someone to make them seem more interesting, she took it as a clear sign she was “limerencing” again.
Dr. Katie told her limerence wasn’t inherently bad. Romance could start with a spark like that, as long as it eventually developed into something deeper.
But how was she supposed to let anything evolve when she had no healthy blueprint for it?
Rachel was frustrated, caught somewhere between self-reflection and self-doubt, when a voice drifted down the hall. Not just any voice - the voice. A glorious, velvety tenor that filled the corridor like warm honey. The sound came from one of her favorite spots on campus, a stairwell known for having better acoustics than some of the practice rooms.
The voice was rich and grounded, and it did something to her. Goosebumps rose along her arms; a familiar tug of heat pooled low in her stomach.
They were singing Lionel Richie’s “Hello.”
She warned herself not to jump to conclusions, not to let this become the beginning of another fixation. But her pace still quickened as she followed the sound, longing to glimpse the source of that rapturous voice.
Then it stopped.
She pushed open the stairwell door, confused to find it empty. The only thing left was the fading echo of footsteps.
Boots.
Leather.
Designer.
Jesse tried not to think about the girl with the voice. He’d only heard her once, but that was all it took for her velvet-and-wildfire tone to brand itself into his mind with infuriating permanence.
So what if his search was starting to resemble a Camp Rock cliché? He was already too obsessed to care.
He began his investigation by speaking to every voice professor he could corner. Each one gave him the same maddening response: all of their students were talented, and it would be impossible to pinpoint who “the girl with the voice” might be. The answer irritated him beyond belief, so he, of course, took matters into his own hands.
He started frequenting the practice rooms at different times throughout the week, hoping to catch even a hint of that rapturous sound. He told himself it was a reasonable strategy. It absolutely wasn’t stalking.
He even considered posting flyers around campus, but quickly abandoned the idea. First, it would make him look unhinged. Second, it would attract more admirers, and he already had enough of those for a lifetime.
When he told his best friend Andrea about the girl, she laughed straight in his face. She said it was about time he was “down bad” over someone, and that the fact it wasn’t based on looks but on singing made the entire thing “diabolically on brand.”
Down bad.
He scoffed. He didn’t romanticize people. He was aromantic. He’d come to peace with his orientation months ago.
Yet Andrea’s reaction lingered, irritatingly persistent, until he finally brought up “the girl with the voice” in therapy. Dr. Johnson introduced him to the term limerence, which involved romanticization so intense it bordered on obsession. Those weren’t her exact words, but they were close enough. They also effectively dismantled his entire aromantic theory.
He sighed. Maybe he was demiromantic?
Either way, none of this was going according to plan.
Rachel truly was trying to avoid the other “L” word, but she couldn’t help herself. That voice stayed with her long after the echo faded.
She spoke to every professor in the vocal department, hoping to narrow her search. Each one gave her the same bland, diplomatic answer: they couldn’t possibly identify the singer given the depth and breadth of NYADA’s talent.
Unsatisfied, Rachel went straight to Dean Tibideaux. The dean offered the very same non-answer, but Rachel noticed something - a flicker in her eyes, subtle but unmistakable, the moment Rachel described the voice as an incandescent tenor. It was the look of someone who knew exactly who she was talking about.
Rachel wanted to push, to demand names, to insist that this was important. But she was only just clawing her way into Dean Tibideaux’s good graces, and she wasn’t about to risk falling out again.
So she bit her tongue.
For now.
Part of the junior acting intensive final involved partnering with the freshman acting intensive class. Jesse had been on the receiving end of this tradition his freshman year, and he was not looking forward to repeating it from the other side. He trusted that everyone at NYADA was talented, but that didn’t stop him from dreading being paired with a dud. He also dreaded whatever scene their professor might assign. Sure, he could manufacture chemistry with anyone, but it would be a tragedy if he had to carry the entire performance.
He was an egalitarian, after all.
When he learned that Professor Marks had paired him with a freshman musical theatre major, he braced himself. He was an MT major too, but freshmen often struggled when asked to act without the safety net of a melody.
Her name was Rachel Berry. It sounded vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t pinpoint why.
They were supposed to meet today.
Rachel could hardly believe it. She was being paired with Jesse St. James. Show choir legend.
She felt a flicker of awe despite herself. He was practically mythic in Ohio, though a loyal part of her, the part that still bristled on behalf of New Directions and refused to acknowledge Vocal Adrenaline on principle, had never allowed herself to watch any of his performances online. He was the enemy, after all.
They had never crossed paths in high school; New Directions hadn’t made it to Nationals her sophomore year. A tiny part of her had been relieved. She’d heard his performance that year had become the gold standard for Nationals until she graduated. It was irritating, really, to be that talented.
Not that she wasn’t annoyingly talented herself.
Still, she lifted her chin and walked into the rehearsal space with confidence. His back was turned, and he was absently playing the opening chords to “The Scientist.”
A spark of anticipation skittered up her spine.
“Hello,” a light soprano voice interrupted.
He stopped playing and rose from the piano bench. When he turned, he found himself looking at the most adorable, diminutive brunette he had ever seen. She couldn’t have been more than five-three, with rounded cheekbones, bright brown eyes, and soft, pouty lips.
Adorable? Bright? Where on earth had that come from?
He frowned slightly, doing his best to ignore the strange, metaphorical bells chiming somewhere in his head.
Rachel tried to ignore it, but the moment her eyes met Jesse’s, something shifted. A sudden flutter bloomed in her chest…and was that the sound of bells?
She’d never experienced such an immediate, visceral reaction. It startled her so much that she barely registered his outstretched hand.
“Hi, I’m Jesse.”
Instead of taking it, she stared at his hand for a beat, tongue-tied.
“I know who you are,” she blurted, the words escaping before she could reel them back.
He lowered his hand, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Oh, really?”
“You’re a four-year show choir national champion,” she said.
Now Jesse was intrigued. Who exactly was this Rachel Berry?
“And how would you know that?”
“Because I’m a two-year national show choir champion from Lima, Ohio,” she replied, then added a small, sardonic smirk. “Plus, every year after you graduated, the judges wouldn’t shut up about your ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ performance.”
The moment she mentioned Ohio and championships, pieces began to fall into place. They’d never competed in the same county-level solo circuits, but Ohio was small enough that reputations traveled fast. If he remembered correctly, she’d won her first competition at something like eight months old; utterly absurd, but perfectly plausible.
Regardless, she intrigued him instantly. Maybe it was the Ohio connection, but talking to her felt strangely easy. Natural. Almost like they were always supposed to meet.
“No one realizes I lost ten pounds during that performance,” he said.
They were supposed to be running their scene, but somehow they ended up talking for hours in the rehearsal space. A few other performers poked their heads in and attempted to kick them out, but one glare from Jesse sent them retreating instantly.
Being that talented had its perks.
When they finally turned their attention to the scene assignment, Rachel was surprised and intrigued to find that they’d be performing a musical scene with no singing.
Spring Awakening.
She’d always loved it.
Walking through the lines of the hayloft scene was seamless - dare he say it, electric. It felt like he didn’t even have to try; she matched him beat for beat, anticipating his movements and emotions in perfect sync.
They hadn’t reached the kissing or full blocking yet, as it was customary to work with an intimacy coordinator, but they practiced light physical gestures to keep the scene alive.
Jesse felt a strange flutter in his stomach, a sensation he had never experienced before.
Maybe it was just a bad lunch.
Okay, so maybe Jesse St. James wasn’t the big bad wolf after all. Rachel felt a twinge of disloyalty for taking an instant liking to him, but they just clicked in a way she couldn’t deny.
He matched her arrogance effortlessly and never flinched. He actually got her barrage of musical references - and, more impressively, tossed them right back at her with pinpoint precision.
When she had walked into the rehearsal space, she’d expected a battle of egos. Instead, she felt warm and oddly comforted, like she’d stumbled upon a new friend.
But then she thought of his lips, and a decidedly unfriendly sensation coiled in her stomach.
No.
Absolutely not.
You cannot have a crush on your new friend.
So, maybe he kind of liked her. Jesse was picky about his friends and tolerated very few. He wanted genuine connections, not the manufactured relationships he had waded through during his freshman year. Too many “hanger-oners” to weed out, too much noise. He had arrived at NYADA with a “ringer” reputation, so the scrutiny wasn’t surprising. He’d dealt with the same thing at Carmel; why had he expected NYADA to be different?
Luckily, Andrea was here too. She was an excellent sounding board and undeniably talented in her own right.
When he brought Rachel over for lunch, Andrea took to her immediately. She found Rachel hysterical, a perfect match for Jesse. Andrea even tossed her a high compliment: Rachel would have made a formidable addition to Vocal Adrenaline, even if she was only a two-time national show choir champion.
It didn’t surprise him that Rachel took the backhanded praise in stride. What did catch him off guard was that she fired it right back at Andrea, joking that it was a shame they never got to compete against each other, or she might have finally been humbled.
He didn’t think Andrea was capable of laughing that hard.
That’s my girl.
Wait. What?
After two weeks, Rachel finally worked up the courage to introduce him to Santana and Kurt. It didn’t surprise her at all that they hit it off immediately. Of course, they teased him a little for being the former leader of Vocal Adrenaline because old rivalries die hard.
She suspected he won them over when he shot back, “If I’d competed against you, you’d have realized you weren’t even worthy enough to be called my rival.”
Kurt was annoyed but secretly impressed, while Santana practically devoured the audacity. She had always admired people who were unapologetically themselves, even when she didn’t agree with what they said.
It helped that Jesse didn’t flinch at Santana’s abrasiveness, and that Kurt respected his unapologetic “theatre straight” energy.
When Santana and Kurt launched into a heated debate with her over Barbra Streisand’s longevity, Jesse immediately took her side. Rachel felt a weight lift off her shoulders as he passionately detailed why and how Streisand was iconic.
When he finished, she noticed Santana and Kurt exchange a pointed look, as if silently conceding something they weren’t ready to admit.
“So, have you given up on your search for the girl with the voice?” Andrea asked, tilting her head knowingly.
The truth was, he hadn’t. He was still determined to find her. Jesse had even gone so far as to hire a freshman to loiter outside the voice lesson rooms, recording snippets at various hours and days of the week. He had made some progress by eliminating suspects, but had to call off that particular scheme when Madame Tibideaux caught wind of it. It was a minor setback, but he was confident he could devise another strategy.
“Andrea, my dear friend, you should know how determined I can be.”
Her perfectly manicured raven eyebrow shot up, and her signature cackle filled the room.
“Oh lord. Aren’t you interested in Berry, though?”
Immediately, his heart rate picked up.
And what was that? Were his palms starting to sweat?
He thought of her bright smile, the way her laughter lingered in his ears long after she left, and he shook his head.
“Rachel’s my friend,” he said, voice steady and confident.
Andrea rolled her eyes. “Maybe your ex was right - you are emotionally constipated!”
Kurt [11:30am]
I got some vocals from the senior seminar, and that dweeb from Dance 101 gave me tapes from last year’s spring showcase
Rachel [11:32am]
Thanks, Kurt. I know you think this is a hopeless endeavor, but I can’t get this boy’s voice out of my head.
Kurt [11:33am]
I mean, I thought you would’ve let it go, considering it’s incredibly obvious you like Jesse.
Rachel [11:35am]
What? Absolutely not.
Jesse was just her friend.
They’d been hanging out for over a month (not that she was counting), and she had come to think of him as one of her closest confidantes. He was… well, amazing. He challenged her, understood her, and wasn’t at all threatened by her talent.
And today was the day they would fully block and rehearse the hayloft scene.
They had walked through the lines several times, and their delivery was flawless. All that remained was the physical element. She’d been looking forward to it, but as she drew closer to the rehearsal room, nerves bubbled up in her chest.
Or maybe she had always been nervous. She and Jesse had grown close incredibly fast, and she had far more thoughts about kissing him than she cared to admit - even to herself.
Because they were friends. She didn’t like him. Not like that.
And besides, he didn’t think of her that way.
Right?
Their intimacy coordinator was a TA named Elyse. Jesse had worked with her before and was pleased that Professor Marks had paired them with her. When he played Jamie in The Last Five Years his sophomore year, Elyse had helped him and Tracy - his Cathy - block a non-traditional, more intimate version of “The Next Ten Minutes.”
Though he felt excitement at the prospect, he was also a little nervous. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but being around Rachel always seemed to set off a strange, fluttery sensation in his stomach.
Usually, he could ignore it. Today, however, it felt like a swarm of something was buzzing wildly inside him.
When they ran the scene, Rachel couldn’t understand why she’d been so nervous in the first place. Jesse was a consummate professional, and Elyse guided them with patience and kindness throughout.
When they finally reached the inevitable kiss, it was - much to her dismay - electric. She hadn’t expected it to feel like this; after all, they were just friends. Still, she tried to push the thought aside, reasoning that it almost made the scene easier. Like Wendla, she felt like a naive girl discovering kisses and intimacy for the first time.
And his mouth.
His mouth was… glorious. She couldn’t help herself. When they reached the moment that required simulating penetration, she deepened the kiss with a slip of her tongue, silently praying Elyse hadn’t noticed.
They ran the scene four times, and each repetition left her breathless and increasingly keyed up. By the third and fourth take, she realized it wasn’t her who had added in tongue.
Jesse was, to say the least, confused. He prided himself on being a consummate professional, yet rehearsing with Rachel had been decidedly unprofessional.
Their kiss had been too intense, too personal. And when he hovered above her, watching her react to the simulated intimacy, he felt more than he was comfortable admitting.
Needless to say, he was very grateful for the fact that he was wearing tight pants.
But her mouth.
Her mouth was glorious. Jesse had always enjoyed kissing and physical touch, but it had never felt like that. He was acutely aware of every nerve in his body, every beat of his heart. It raced, hammering in his chest, and every reaction from her sent a burn coursing through him.
It was just acting.
Right?
Rachel was thrilled to discover that Funny Girl was playing at one of the vintage theatres. Kurt and Santana had politely - well, not so politely - declined her invitation. Apparently, they were completely Barbra’d out.
So naturally, she asked Jesse to go with her.
To her delight, he agreed and even offered to dress up as Nick Arnstein. She didn’t even have to beg!
He just gave her that amused, slightly roguish smile and said, “Only for you, Rachel Berry.”
When they stepped out into the quad dressed as Fanny Brice and Nick Arnstein, Jesse was surprised to find he didn’t feel embarrassed. In fact… he felt oddly proud. It was different, yes, but he wasn’t opposed to it in the slightest.
He was a theatre person after all, and could appreciate the fun of dressing up - but he did have a reputation to uphold. He was known to be effortlessly suave, mysterious, artistic without pretension, and far from the stereotypical theatre kid who thrived on this kind of attention.
Yet somehow, holding Rachel’s hand and seeing her beam at him did something entirely unexpected.
It wasn’t embarrassing.
It felt… just right.
Rachel wasn’t entirely sure how it happened, but Jesse ended up in her dorm after the Funny Girl screening.
It wasn’t completely unusual. They were friends, after all; he practically lived at her dorm after classes.
The difference this time was in the tone. It was uncomfortably charged. Electric even. They were on her bed, cuddling like they often did, when a tiny, intrusive thought flitted through her mind: break the ice.
She suggested, almost casually, that they run the scene a few times - just to be sure it was perfect.
Jesse, much to her surprise, didn’t hesitate. They began rehearsing immediately, and somewhere along the way, the lines from the script fell away.
Neither of them mentioned it the next time they saw each other.
They just talked animatedly, while Rachel fiddled with her scarf, subtly hiding a very large hickey.
Sometimes Jesse resented being attractive. He just wanted to roam campus in peace without being accosted by eager fans.
So when Ashley from Dance 202 approached him - blatantly on a mission to ask him out - he panicked.
Normally, he wouldn’t have hesitated to reject her, but lately he was sensitive about his reputation. His ex, Jessica, had been bad-mouthing him loudly, despite their breakup being ages ago. Sure, they’d had a few physical backslides during his sophomore year that might have sent mixed messages, but he thought they’d cleared everything up.
At least, he thought so.
It became abundantly clear a few weeks ago that things were far from settled. Jessica had gone live on Instagram and TikTok, listing the “Top Five Heartbreakers at NYADA”, and had the audacity to rank him number one.
Number five, maybe. Even number three, he could have tolerated. But number one? Absolutely not.
Luckily, Rachel appeared just in time, all bright smiles and easy charm, and planted a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Hi Ashley! How are you?” she asked cheerfully.
The tall blonde grimaced through a smile, clearly retreating from her mission. After a brief, stilted conversation, she excused herself for class.
“So,” Rachel asked innocently, “want to go practice?”
Yes. Oh god, yes.
Rachel was surprised to find Jesse in the quad, fully absorbed in something. His laptop was open, and he was clicking the letter ‘x’ on his keyboard with almost lightning speed.
When she closed his laptop, he let out the biggest, most exasperated sigh.
“Whatcha working on?” she asked.
The moment she spoke, his demeanor shifted. He looked almost sheepish - something she wasn’t accustomed to seeing.
“Just a final project,” he replied finally.
She raised an eyebrow but let it go. Final project or not, it was clearly something important to him, and she trusted she’d find out when he was ready.
Rachel decided not to press, instead pulling out her own laptop. She had hours of footage to sift through if she was going to find the boy with the voice.
“Well, St. James. I too have a final project I need to work on. Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all, Berry,” he said.
She grinned, opening her spreadsheet and activating the noise cancellation on her headphones. With each voice she heard, she, too, methodically clicked the letter ‘x’.
It was a Wednesday when Rachel asked him for a huge favor: she wanted him to come on a group outing to Callbacks.
Admittedly, he used to frequent Callbacks quite a bit, but had taken a hiatus after Jessica dumped a drink on his head. (Yes, she was the one who’d once called him emotionally constipated.)
The purpose of the outing was clear. He was meant to act as a buffer between her two exes. Her ex-fiancé was going to be in town, and the other ex - Brody Weston, apparently - was trying to worm his way back into her life via this New Directions reunion.
He felt a prickling heat of irritation as she laid out the scenario. He barely listened, distracted by how incredibly tacky her exes were.
Rachel deserved someone effortless, talented, someone who truly understood her and recognized exactly how extraordinary she was.
Maybe someone with perfect hair, with a voice that could make angels weep… yes, that would be worthy of her.
He tried to shove the thought aside, but he couldn’t ignore the idea of the perfect song selection.
He planned on killing two birds with one stone: showcase what a genuinely talented singer sounded like to give Rachel a proper standard - and maybe, just maybe, the girl with the voice would be there too.
None of the footage she’d gotten from Kurt revealed anything about the boy with the voice. It was disappointing, to say the least. She had also bribed a TA in the contemporary voice class for recordings, but no one matched that rapturous, haunting sound.
Even as she wrestled with her complicated feelings for Jesse, she couldn’t get that voice out of her head.
Maybe when Jesse sang tonight, it would finally drown out the memory of the boy with the voice.
But then… if he was just as good, that would mean she’d have to confront even deeper feelings for him.
Fuck.
Jesse felt a wave of relief when he spotted Kurt and Santana at the outing. There were others too - Kurt’s ex, Blaine; a somewhat clueless blonde named Brittany; and a girl from Yale named Quinn. Honestly, they were a strange mix for a show choir, but he found them oddly endearing.
He did notice, though, that Kurt and Blaine kept shooting each other glances, and Santana kept staring longingly at Brittany. He’d have to confront them about that later - he was sure there was a story there.
Before he could ask, Santana and Kurt launched into a briefing on “Finchel” and, naturally, STD Weston. He was already unimpressed with Brody, but the other half of the pair - well, Jesse was even more nonplussed. Finn looked like a lumbering Neanderthal, and his singing was somehow weaker than Brody’s, which Jesse didn’t even think was possible. He wasn’t being overly critical - at least Brody had the decency to get proper training.
“This pissing contest is embarrassing,” Kurt muttered, clearly unimpressed, as all three of them turned their attention to the stage.
Finn and Brody were hogging the spotlight, trading numbers back and forth in a desperate bid to impress Rachel.
Santana laughed so hard she snorted. “It’s funny because she has no interest in either of them.”
“It doesn’t even look like she’s enjoying being fought over, which is so unlike high school Rachel Berry. She looks pissed,” Kurt added.
Jesse shook his head. “I’d be pissed too if I realized I’d dated down that hard.”
Santana and Kurt doubled over in laughter. “Dear God, you two are perfect for each other.”
He ignored the comment - they’d been making them for weeks, and it was getting tedious.
“I’ll show them how it’s done,” he said coolly. He would show those two insipid idiots what true talent looked like.
Jesse was ready to hand his song selection to the emcee when a familiar girl stopped him.
Rachel couldn’t bring herself to watch the absurd dick-swinging contest her two exes were putting on. It was too much. She had broken up with both of them for reasons she considered completely valid. They were very much over, no matter what either of them seemed to think.
Honestly? She’d much rather be hanging out with Jesse.
She scanned the crowd and spotted him near the emcee, but someone was yelling at him.
She sighed.
At least she wasn’t the only one dealing with ex drama. Jesse was gesturing wildly, clearly trying to manage the situation, so she knew she had to step in.
“Leave him alone.”
Jesse visibly relaxed at the sound of her voice. He didn’t need saving, but it was reassuring to know Rachel had his back.
Relief deepened when she slipped her arm through his in silent solidarity.
“Jessica, don’t you think banning me from here is a little… ridiculous? You don’t own the place.”
His ex rolled her eyes and ignored him, before turning her attention to Rachel.
“Let me guess - another skank to fall for your tricks?”
Jesse let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Can you leave Rachel out of this? This is between you and me. It’s not my fault my feelings couldn’t grow for you.”
The raven-haired girl just scoffed. “Whatever, Jesse.”
She started to leave, but not without delivering one final, bitter warning to Rachel. “He’s emotionally inept, girlie. Don’t waste your time.”
Rachel made her way to the stage as Jesse leaned over to discuss his song selection with the emcee.
Much to the relief of everyone nearby, she gently steered both of her exes back toward the tables where their respective friends waited.
“I didn’t know you were that friendly with St. James, Rachel,” Brody muttered, clearly trying to needle her.
Santana shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “And what’s it to you, NYADA Ken?”
“Wait… who’s St. James?” Finn asked, looking genuinely clueless.
Kurt side-eyed his step-brother. “Jesus, he’s been with us this whole time.”
“Oh, theatre boy. How good could he possibly be?” Finn added defensively.
Rachel’s patience snapped. She leveled them with a glare sharp enough to silence a room.
“Shut up,” she hissed. “I want to hear him sing.”
Her eyes flicked to the stage, and her breath caught. The piano had been rearranged to face the audience better, and Jesse was seated, running through a few rapid scales to warm up.
And then he looked out - and for a heartbeat, she swore his eyes locked with hers.
He started to play and she froze.
Those were the chords that had haunted her for nearly two months, looping endlessly in her mind. And when his voice finally rose over the piano, crystalline and velvety, she felt it all - the fluttering, the liquid heat, the same electricity she felt around him even when he wasn’t singing.
Drawn forward, almost as if by instinct, she began to move toward the stage, ignoring Kurt’s giddy, “Oh my god!” echoing behind her.
Jesse had always loved singing this song. It landed perfectly in his range, letting him focus on emotion rather than the powerhouse belts that had earned him his reputation.
He noticed the audience had gone silent, rapt in attention. Then something caught his eye. Rachel was moving toward the stage, a mic in hand.
What on earth was she planning?
Before he could react, she slid onto the piano bench beside him, just as he hit the chorus.
Then her voice joined his.
Velvet and wildfire.
Effortless. Seamless. Their voices intertwined like they’d been made to harmonize together.
If he weren’t such a consummate performer, Jesse might have passed out from the sheer exhilaration coursing through him.
Rachel couldn’t believe she’d found him.
The boy with the voice had been Jesse all along. It was exhilarating, but somehow, even after all her searching, it didn’t feel like a chase. It felt inevitable.
She loved everything about him: his big ego, the way it took him at least thirty minutes to get his hair perfectly “floofy,” his unflinching honesty in critiques, even his sometimes exasperating devotion to Sondheim.
She loved -
Wait.
She loved him.
Jesse wasn’t prepared for this, but somehow it felt utterly right. Like it was always meant to be.
He’d been enraptured by the girl with the voice - but the truth was, he’d been enraptured for weeks, maybe since the beginning. She was the only one who could get him to do ridiculous things - like go to a Wiggles concert in matching sweaters, dance to “We’re All In This Together” in the quad, or dress as Nick Arnstein for a Funny Girl screening.
Wait.
These were embarrassing, cringe-worthy things. Things that would normally make him shudder.
And he did them for her, no questions asked. Almost like he -
Oh my god.
Almost like he loved her.
Rachel and Jesse didn’t stick around at Callbacks. After the raucous applause, they slipped away, hand in hand, making their way back to the NYADA dorms.
When they reached Jesse’s dorm, a different kind of singing lingered in the hall.
fin.