Please read the author's notes.

a (1): first and foremost, I would like to thoroughly apologize for waiting nearly a damn year to finish this story. a shit ton of stuff has happened in my life in the past few months and I've had to deal with all of it basically alone, but anyway, I digress. this chapter was so hard for me to write, because I love this story so very much. unfortunately, for my readers, there is so sexy times. perhaps I'll write an extra chapter some time down the line as a side one shot. (perhaps, sneaky sex when they have a kid? hmmm..)

a (2): as always, I have no beta so any mistakes here are mine (even though it's pretty much always been AU.)

a (3): now, this chapter is dedicated to all my muses throughout this entire journey. you know who you are.

enjoy the last installment of this wonderful story that is/was my first faberry fic! (reviews are always welcome.)

Sometimes, you look back and think of what you could have done differently. You know, that question: if I knew then what I know now...

You think, maybe I should have worn better clothes or been more into 'today's fashion'. Perhaps, if you would've been nicer, talked to someone, or found a healthy way to release anger…

But, then again, these are the things that guide you down a path to your future. Sure, you have choices. We all have choices. And even if these choices weren't necessarily great ones—or ones that would have launched you in the popular crowd—these choices are what lead you to the present.

Little by little, however, you start to pick up on things. You realize that, the world doesn't revolve around you. Not everyone needs to cater to your wants and needs.

You realize that, not everyone is to blame for the things you've been through. You start to see that your anger only blinds you.

And you want to be better. You want to be nicer. You want to be considerate. You want to care.

You want to love.

So, you come back to the day you first met. The bright red cheerios uniform; the knee-high's and the animal sweaters. The menacing glance; the scared look away. The fierce shoulder bump in the middle of the hall; the comments you'd receive on your MySpace videos.

The slow but sure change in attitude as you confront each other. You'd torture her if roles were reversed, but she smiles back and walks away. The way your masks falls right off your face when you turn to watch her go.

The second she joins the glee club—and even under false pretenses—you think to yourself that she, deep down, was starting to enjoy it. (And when she shows that quiet smile during the routines, you know.)

The quivering you felt deep in your stomach when you stood up to Sue Sylvester and demanded the yearbook pages. (And the blushing in your cheeks when you realize you've done something for another girl.)

You close your eyes, and then suddenly, it's lightning fast and you feel like you can almost catch it; like raindrops or sand, slipping through your fingers. There's no real control or knowing what will happen. Not until it does. It hits you hard. And you fall. But you land on soft clouds of God knows what. And you float and you smile and you cry and you feel.

You feel.

It's hard to really know when it starts or see where it will end. Most of the time you don't even want to catch a glimpse of the finish line. You want to stay on the same track forever and never have it come to a close. On the way you see flowers and sunshine and butterflies and rainbows and sometimes it rains but even if it's a terrible thunderstorm, you make sure your eyes never leave the sunlight.

It's scary for some and beautiful for others. And sometimes it's a bittersweet mix of both. It humbles you and lifts you and you can fly high above the rest. It's a feeling unlike any other, really.

There are smiles and laughter and snuggles and pillow fights. Then there are real fights. There's silence. There are tears and small cracks along your heart. But, don't worry, they heal in time.

There are apologies and there are hugs and there are 'I love you's and there are screams. There are pants and there's sweating and there's touching and trips to the moon and back.

The sun rises and it sets. The moon is bright and the stars shine. And you hold hands and kiss lips and whisper things and drink champagne.

Nights on the town, sitting in cabs, and sharing a bike at the park. Ice cream (vegan) and bacon—but there won't be kisses until teeth are brushed. Noses scrunch and lips are bitten and lashes are batted and cheeks are flushed.

Words about moving away or escaping are shared. Words about the future and kids and weddings. Words that might not seem like much of anything now, but in retrospect, are all serious and hopeful. Words about family and values and pride and love. Words that mean a heck of a lot to one and the other squeezes a hand and reassurance is understood.

There are spotlights and flowers and songs to be sung. There are words to be written and acted and critiqued. There are train rides and time spent away. There are noses in books and piles of notes to be studied; tests to be taken and classes to ace. There are lonely nights. And there are lovely nights. There are embraces and tangled limbs and kisses and hello's and see-ya-later's. But you survive and you long for the next time.

Graduations, congratulations, celebrations, and happiness. Bliss. Joy.

Boxes filled with things file empty hallways and paint buckets and stains on faces and smiles and laughter echoes. Picture frames with familiar faces, on mountains and in cheerleading uniforms and holding microphones, all along the walls. Candles and music play at night, and in the day, the dog barks at the cat. After long work days, there's a couch to lie on and a television to watch and popcorn to be made and sometimes there's wine in crystal cups.

Bills may pile up, but 'where there's a will, there's a way' and you plow through the rough times and you tell them to kiss your ass. Friends come over to talk, to visit. Other times fathers come and surprise their daughter and other times a mom comes to bond. A few times, a sister as well.

Life is good. You work hard, you come home, you have dinner, and perhaps watch one of her reality tv shows.

You lie in bed and you ask her, "Do you ever think about the past?"

"How so?" She replies.

"Would you ever want a redo?"

There's a bit of silence, while she thinks. Finally she whispers, "Never."


"Of course, baby. I wouldn't be here... With you."

"With me?" You fish.

"Yeah, silly." She grabs your arm and wraps it around her. "There's no where else I'd rather be than right here. In this shitty apartment, in this beautiful room, and on this lovely bed, with the most beautiful woman in the world."

You blush, but it's too dark to tell. Her fingers intertwine with yours and you smile, squeeze her tight for a few seconds, and before you close your eyes, you think, you must be the luckiest girl in the world.

And all you have to give thanks for, was that day in the choir room, where one of you stayed by the piano and where one of you took those three steps forward.