A/N: So this is a little bit like I Know Her So Well, only this time, it's 7 things Jesse hates about Rachel. I wanted this to be 10 things (in fact, I wanted them both to be 10 things) but I could only come up with 7, so it's a little on the short side. I'm trying to write a few more of these drabble-esque stories, a) because I have severe writer's block for Leading the Way and am trying anything to get back into it and b) because they're rather fun to write.
Also, I don't doubt the fact that Jesse would probably never want to watch the film I inputted for him, but it's fiction, so just roll with it ;) Secondly, the last drabble is awfully OOC (and I know I say this is a lot, but this one is so bad, it kills me) but I needed an uber-cutesy one to finish this off and that was all I could come up with. (Inpso is running low and I have no idea how to recharge it.)
But I hope this is (at least slightly) enjoyable and don't be afraid to let me know how awful these are ;) (No really, tell me. Reviews make me squee.)
He hates the way she's as stubborn as he is. The way that she will never, ever back down, but expects him to anyway. Take last night: he wanted to watch I, Robot but she wanted to watch Breakfast at Tiffany's. They pitched their respective arguments, only to realise they had no judge to make the final, important judgement and crown the winner. But he wouldn't back down and neither would she, so they decided to let fate take over and played rock, paper scissors.
"No! You say one, two three and then you go. You don't go on three."
"Rachel, I've played this game longer than you-"
"Oh, so you played this at the age of 2?" He sees the flaw in his argument. Damn her, her stubbornness and her annoyingly adept ability to notice his every mistake. The triumphant smirk that highlights her cheek bones informs him he's lost and so he gives up completely (he was already losing 2-1: he had an odd tendency to always go for paper) and watches Breakfast at Tiffany's.
But she gives in anyway and they watch the wonders of Will Smith late into the night, and he discovers it's not always a bad thing to give in (but only when Rachel's around. Because you can never beat the Berry.)
He hates the way her hands are so unusually small. Because when he sees her unusually small hands, all he wants to do is hide them in his. But that would make him look desperate and uncharacteristically needing a constant reassurance that Rachel is indeed his girl. So he tries not to notice when she casually tucks her hair behind her ear. Or when she reaches up to wipe a speck of dirt from the side of his mouth. And he most definitely tries to ignore how well his hand envelopes hers every time she slips her fingers beside his because if he acknowledges it, he'll suffer the desire of wanting to hold her hand forever.
And Jesse is more than aware that nothing lasts forever.
He hates the way he's able to finish her sentences and she seems to just stare at him, like it's the oddest thing in the world. (Although for her, it probably is. She's a bit of a talker.)
He hates how they're so in tune, how he knows what she's thinking and what she's saying at the same time she does and if he's going to pull off this air of a laidback romantic, he's got to stop finishing her sentences. Because people might start to think he's actually really into her.
But the only way he can stop finishing her sentences is by not listening to a word she says. But if he doesn't listen to everything she ever says, he's afraid he might miss out on a vital piece of Rachel Berry trivia and he's not sure why, but he can't bear the thought of that.
So instead he tries biting his tongue, biting his lip, biting his nails, all to no avail. It seems Jesse is destined to finish her sentences, in the same way Rachel finishes his dreams.
He hates how she had him at hello; literally. He should have known it was a mistake to sing with her all those many moons ago, because once you hear Rachel Berry sing, you hear nothing else until you die. And now, every time she greets him he gets a slight (and very unwanted) flutter in his stomach, and he's reminded of that (fateful) day she said (and sang) hello and he's never looked back.
He just hopes Shelby doesn't make him sing goodbye.
He hates the way she insists on wearing the clothes that she does. Not only because she could wear clothes that were much more in fashion and she might finally stop the cruel whispers that creep around the canteen, but because she doesn't even realise what the (lack of) length of her skirts does to him.
It drives him to insanity and back again because every time she walks or shimmies or embarks on any sort of movement, he catches a glimpse of her legs. Along with the rest of the school. And call him old-fashioned, but he'd rather the entire male population didn't gawp shamelessly at his girl (even if he did think she deserved to be shown to the entire world.)
He hates that she will always critique herself and hardly ever criticises him. Even if she's note-perfect, she claims she could have been better, and if he misses a breath, she tells him the performance is better without it. (Not that he often misses a breath, you understand; sometimes he does just to see her reaction and it's always the same.) He knows she knows how good she is, but that doesn't stop her from wanting to be better. And though he believes her determination to be admirable, he wishes she'd give herself a break (once in a while at least.)
"That was perfect," he tells her firmly, frowning to inform her he's being totally serious.
"It was flawed. I missed two breaths during the chorus and I smiled too much during the first verse and I-"
He kisses her then because she really needs to stop beating herself up. And he's discovered, after much trial and error, that kissing her is the foolproof way to do so. (He's not going to complain: it means he gets to kiss her all the more.)
But most of all, he hates the way she's infected his mind beyond cure. The way she's the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up and how he likes to send her a good morning message before he even fully opens his eyes. He hates that he can't walk anywhere without spotting something that reminds him wholeheartedly of her: a pair of yellow tights in a shop window; a star-embossed bracelet that would suit her arm so well; a bench that they'd sat on one evening in the winter.
Yes, Jesse St James hated how sick Rachel made him, how very lovesick she made him feel.