i made a drabble table on lj, consisting of 30 words, so i'm just going to put them on here as well i figured.
this should be updated with a new drabble daily for 30 days if things go according to plan.
Rachel's the only person he knows with a record player, but he thinks it's kind of cool. She plays some records the first time he ever goes over to her house, getting one out of a box in her closet, tapping her fingers against her knee as the music wafts over the room.
"Joni Mitchell," she tells him before he can ask, and he nods like he knows who that is when, truthfully, he's never even heard of her. "She's a very emotional performer," Rachel continues, "like me."
He just smiles, but he doesn't doubt it.
"One day, your voice will be coming out a record player."
She blushes, ducking her head, and his eyes widen when he realizes that he just said that out loud.
"I doubt it," she laughs, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "They don't exactly make a lot of records anymore."
"It'll happen," he says, his voice confident, although he's not entirely sure why. "You'll see."
She just shakes her head, her cheeks still tinged pink, and then she suggests they start on their homework, so she zips open her backpack, peeking up at him from beneath her long eyelashes.
He smiles. He'll show he's right. She'll see.
It's their first Christmas as a married couple, and they make the decision to stay in New York, just the two of them. Carole's a little disappointed but agrees to visit them toward the end of December, because she understands that it's their first Christmas in their new apartment and that they just want to spent it together.
"Your father and I were the same way," she assures Finn, so that's that. They stay.
Rachel's humming as they sit by the tree on Christmas morning, humming a Joni Mitchell song under her breath.
Finn smiles, reaching for a particular package, the paper crinkling as he grabs it, handing it to her.
"I wanted to go first," she pouts.
"Just open it," he prods, and she sighs, but she tears into the paper, a smile already on her face.
"Finn," she gasps, looking up at him once it's fully unwrapped. She looks up at him, slight tears in her eyes. "You – you didn't."
"It wasn't easy," he admits, "but I managed to get it done. All of the Rachel Berry classics are on there – 'My Man,' 'On My Own,' 'Don't Rain on My Parade…'" He grins sheepishly. "I may have even managed to get a hold of an audio recording of 'Pretending' from Nationals our junior year."
She whispers his name again, her eyes scanning the back of the record where he's listed all the tracks in his messy scrawl. "This is perfect," she breathes, and then she reaches over to hug him, pressing her lips soundly against his.
He kisses her back easily, one hand sliding up her back underneath her pajama top, and then other one cupping her cheek. She pulls back to wish him a Merry Christmas, and he just kisses her on the nose, picking up the record from where she discarded it on the floor.
"I know just what we should put on while we open the rest of the presents," he tells her, and she blushes, kissing his cheek.
"You're the best husband ever."
He thinks he could definitely get used to hearing that.