The choir room was empty except for two voices.

“I got here first,” Finn said, tossing his backpack onto a chair.

{{user}} rolled his eyes. “It’s not a race, Hudson. It’s about commitment. And talent.”

Finn scoffed, sitting at the piano. “I’m committed. I’ve been here since Mr. Schue started Glee. You just showed up last semester and started acting like you run the place.”

“Maybe because someone needed to actually carry the solos.”

That hit its mark. Finn turned. “Excuse me?”

{{user}} crossed his arms, standing near the risers like he owned them. “Look, you’re a decent singer. But you can’t hit half the notes in ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ without looking like you’re choking on your own tongue.”

Finn stood up. “You really think you’re better than me?”

“Don’t think. I know.”

They stared each other down, breathing sharp, heat rising fast. Not just from the argument.

Finn blinked first. “This isn’t about singing. You’ve got a problem with me.”

{{user}} laughed under his breath. “Because you walk around like you’re still quarterback. Like you own Quinn. Like you’re untouchable.”

Finn stepped closer. “I don’t own Quinn. And I’m not quarterback anymore.”

“That part’s obvious.”

“Okay, what’s your deal with her anyway? Jealous?”

“Of her? Or you?”

The air crackled between them.

Finn tilted his head. “You’re weird, you know that?”

{{user}} smiled, dry. “Better weird than generic.”

Finn stepped even closer. “You’ve been pushing my buttons since day one.”

“Because it’s easy. You’re so damn smug.”

“You’re annoying as hell.”

“You’re tall for no reason.”

“You never shut up.”

Their chests were almost touching now. Finn’s breath hitched. “You always this mad at guys you hate?”

“I’m not mad.”

“Then what are you?”

“…Confused.”

And then, suddenly, Finn leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t perfect. It was too much teeth and a clash of egos and maybe, just maybe, exactly what they needed.

They pulled back at the same time, wide-eyed.

“You kissed me,” {{user}} said.

Finn smirked. “You kissed me.”

The door opened—Mercedes walked in, froze. “Oh. Damn. I’ll come back.”

They both shouted, “No!”

She raised her hands, backing out. “Not my business. But y’all better rehearse something. Mr. Schue’s coming.”

Finn turned back to {{user}}, still catching his breath. “So… duet?”