He’s in such a hurry to step out of the train, he stumbles on the last step and almost sprawls to the ground. He grabs the handle at the last second, breathing a sigh of relief when he’s still upright. The man behind him swears up a storm, grumbling that he needs to hurry the fuck up and a wry smile touches his lips.
Welcome to New York City.
Finn moves a little to the side, smiling politely as he lets the impatient man move past him. Sliding the strap of his sling bag over his shoulder, he moves in with the rest of the crowd, looking up in confusion for signs that could tell him where to go.
He almost misses her voice, the murmur of the crowd almost drowning out the familiar, melodic tone that has been playing like a broken record throughout his mind for the past year.
He stops in the middle of the crowd, looking up, head straining to look for its owner. From the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of pink, a hat connected to a head that’s bobbing up and down, trying to rise above the crowd. There’s a peculiar feeling in his chest, a lightness that seems to go through every end of his body as the crowd thins out, and Rachel Berry stands before him, seven feet away. She stops jumping, rooted to the ground just like he is, her hands to the side, warm brown eyes burning into his.
There’s a vacuum of silence, and he can hear his heart beating in his ears.
One beat. Two.
“Rachel,” he calls out, her name pushed right through his throat, raw and strangled.
She snaps out of it. He sees her eyes widening for a fraction of a second before she becomes a blur, a cannonball hurling straight towards him. He sees her pink hat falling to the ground a second before she jumps onto him.
The force of her body is disarming, and his hands settle on her hips to hold them both steady, her arms a vice grip around his neck. Finn closes his eyes, breathing her in, fingers familiarizing themselves with the curve of her waist, her breath hot against his skin. His mind is telling him that it’s Rachel, that she’s here and he’s here, and this is real.
This is real.
“You’re late,” she mumbles against his ear, her voice filled with the emotion that’s overwhelming them both. His train was right on time, but he knows that’s not what she means.
“Sorry for the delay,” he tells her quietly. She pulls back, tries to get down, but he holds her steady, his arms tightening around her waist. She looks up at him, and the solemn look on her face gives way to the smile he’s been missing for so long.
“Welcome to New York City,” she whispers. It pulls a smile out of him as he leans his forehead against hers, listening to the words she didn’t voice out loud.