“You’re flat,” Jesse said, smug as ever.

{{user}} lowered their sheet music, eyes sharp. “And you’re insufferable.”

Mr. Schue sighed in the background, but neither of them cared. Rehearsals had been hell ever since Vocal Adrenaline’s golden boy joined New Directions for “unity” ahead of Nationals. {{user}} was the star here—until Jesse St. James waltzed in, perfect hair and an ego that needed its own dressing room.

“You know,” he added, stepping closer, “if you didn’t hate me so much, we’d probably make magic on stage.”

“I don’t hate you,” They scoffed, “I loathe you. There’s a difference.”

But when their voices met during the duet section of “Rolling in the Deep,” something clicked. The harmony was electric, sharp-edged and fire-laced. When they finished, the choir room was silent—then erupted into applause.

Jesse leaned in, voice low. “See what I mean? Magic.”

{{user}} shoved him away, heart pounding.

Later that night, in the empty auditorium, {{user}} stayed behind to rehearse. Jesse showed up—because of course he did.

“I heard you were here,” he said. “I wanted to fix that last note.”

They rolled their eyes. “Of course. Jesse St. James can’t stand imperfection.”

He took a slow step forward. “That’s not true. I’m standing in front of it now.”

{{user}} blinked. “Did you just—?”

“Insult you? Flirt? Both, maybe,” he said, smile soft for the first time.

They stared at him, lips parted, until he added, quieter, “I meant it. We sound good together. We are good together.”

{{user}} didn’t know what came over them—maybe the silence, maybe the stage lights—but they stepped in, close enough to see his smirk fade into something gentler.

“We’ll crash and burn,” They whispered.

“Or take the whole damn stage down together,” he whispered back.

And when his lips brushed theirs, it was fireworks.