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This World Was Never Meant for One as Beautiful as You

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You're not supposed to want to rescue her, not now, not ever. You're her brother, her confidante, and moreover, you both have boyfriends. More importantly even than that, you're gay, and you've never, ever pictured yourself as anyone's knight in shining armor, have always been the damsel in distress, waiting for your Blaine to rescue you and pull you free of the flames of the reality that hate someone like you for loving another.

But isn't this similar to that? Listening to Finn go on about how he has nothing special in his life is mortifying when he's sitting right beside the supposed love of his life, and the look on Rachel's face is a clear-cut reminder of what he's apparently missing out on.

Maybe Rachel doesn't mean anything, isn't special to him somehow, because he can't appreciate her like you can, like you always have. Rachel has always been the most amazing little sister to you, a bright, vibrant shining star, ever since the day she was born and you learned how to fight over fashion and your tendency to steal her Barbies away. Being raised by two dads has always made you question-- just a little bit-- whether this inclination towards men is more nature than nurture, and ninety-nine percent of the time you're certain you were always meant to be that way.

The remaining one percent wants your little sister, and you starts to wonder whether the remaining ninety-nine are there purely as a defensive mechanism to save you from your desires for her.

But even if, a good big brother could never ignore the way Finn seems to have dulled her, the way she's looking at him now as though his words ring true. That she's not special, that she won't be joining you and Blaine in New York as soon as she graduates. To you, her acceptance into NYADA has always been self-evident.

Apparently, the same isn't true for Finn, a truth you reluctantly acknowledged the day you came home from New York over winter break to her confession that Finn gifted her a star named after himself instead of after her.

How can't he see how she shines? Even sitting beside Finn, she should take his breath away. As much as a performer as a person-- she's beautiful, talented, intelligent, driven.

When she meets your gaze, you slowly nod towards the bathroom, Finn too wrapped up in himself to notice. She winces as she inclines her head to her buffoon of a boyfriend, and you reluctantly acknowledge that she's right with an inclination of your head, staring down at the table. As his friends, you're not supposed to leave him now, in this time of distress. But-- later.

In your opinion, later takes far too long to come, but back at home, Rachel having retreated fairly swiftly to her bedroom, soft, sock-padded feet creep quickly down the hallway to gently knock on her door, just waiting for her to answer you.

"Rachel," you slowly tell her when she opens the door just a crack, leaning her head against the door she's holding close, almost as if to protect herself as you shake your head, lips drawn into a thin line. "How can you be okay with being with someone who can't appreciate how special you are?"

She's quiet for a long moment before her gaze falls to her feet, bare and restless. "I'm breaking up with him. Not... today, not now, but... sooner rather than later."


It's only a few days after that you find Rachel alone on stage. It reminds you a little too much of New York, as though she came here just to feel safe, comforted, and you're by her side in an instant, leaning your head on her shoulder as you sit by her.

When she speaks, her voice is small, choked just slightly with unshed tears all too desperate to come out.

"Finn asked me to marry him."

"You didn't actually say yes-- Rachel, tell me you said no!"

There's a pregnant pause, and for a few moments you're not even sure you're still breathing, if you even still know how to.

"I-I broke up with him."

You've always known this moment might come-- she's weak now, and vulnerable, unlike her usual self, and you-- pathetic and hopelessly in love with your little sister-- are so desperate to save her that you can't seem to think of happier words she might have uttered, the sharp exhale of relief far too palpable, too telling.

"... of course you did."

"Because I'm in love with you."

It always comes around in the end. When your sister leans in and kisses you, it's everything you could have ever hoped for, and if there was another way to be happy without her, you want nothing to do with it, want nothing but her lips on yours, your hands running up her thigh, your breath gently tickling her stomach, tongue tracing the dip of her hips.

You've never been good at saving her.

You've been too small, too frail to jump in and save her from the deep water of the pool, to save her properly from the bullies at school, to do much of anything but brush her hair later that night and whisper to her that she's the prettiest, most amazing girl in the world in your eyes.

But there's a first time for everything.

And later that night, when she gasps out loud and whimpers as you enter her in her bed with one smooth roll of your hips, it's the first time you've felt like a hero.

Her hero.