You hated Jesse St. James.

It wasn’t some petty jealousy over his perfect hair, ridiculous Broadway confidence, or the way he always wore sunglasses indoors. Okay, maybe a little. But mostly, it was how he constantly acted like he was better than everyone else—including you. Especially you.

You were the only person at McKinley who dared to challenge him in glee club auditions. While everyone else either fawned over his solos or shrank in his presence, you matched his pitch and ego with your own fire. The tension between you was so thick, even Mr. Schue winced whenever you were paired together.

So of course, when the setlist for Nationals dropped, you and Jesse were assigned the duet.

“You’re kidding,” you said, staring at the sheet music. “‘Come What May’? Really? From Moulin Rouge?”

Jesse grinned, leaning against the piano like he was posing for a magazine shoot. “Don’t worry. I’ll carry us.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’ll carry nothing. We’re partners, not your backup.”

“That’s cute,” he said, voice dipped in sarcasm. “But this isn’t a walk in the park. This is Broadway-level, and I don’t know if you’re ready for that kind of intensity.”

“You mean your kind of over-the-top theatrics?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Says the person who added a key change to ‘Don’t Rain on My Parade.’”

You opened your mouth to snap back, but Mr. Schue clapped his hands, oblivious to the fire brewing. “Great! Let’s start rehearsals after school today. Jesse, {{user}}, you two are going to be electric.”

“More like explosive,” you muttered under your breath.

⸻

The music room after hours was quieter, the usual buzz of students replaced by a charged silence. You stood on opposite sides of the room like rivals in a western, sheet music clutched in your hands.

Jesse sighed dramatically. “Let’s just get through this, okay? Try not to fall for me mid-verse.”

You rolled your eyes. “Trust me, I’d rather fall into a volcano.”

“Romantic.”

The first few notes played. You sang your parts, eyes locked like it was a battle, not a ballad. Every line felt like a challenge. Every harmony turned into a tug-of-war.

And yet…

Somewhere between “Never knew I could feel like this” and “Come what may,” something shifted. The intensity was still there—but it wasn’t all hate.

You both fell silent after the last note.

He broke the silence first. “That… didn’t suck.”

You raised an eyebrow. “High praise, coming from Jesse St. James.”

He chuckled. Not mockingly. Not arrogantly. Just… laughed. “You’re better than I expected.”