Things Happen
Nothing good happens after 2 AM. – How I Met Your Mother
"I don't think you quite understand the definition of Prom Queen." Quinn said, spinning around and scrutinizing herself in the dressing room mirror. The fabric was too tight, too pink and too itchy for her taste, something she couldn't imagine anybody was willing to wear. Scratch that, she could name one.
Leaning against the changing room door, Santana fiddled with her phone. "A cute girl who makes bad choices at a young age and ultimately is remorseful of those decisions as she grows up?"
Laughing scornfully, Quinn began to shimmy out of the fuchsia, tulle nightmare. "It means being the most popular, most loathed girl in the room."At this, she heard the Latina's obnoxious snicker from out the stall, and she frowned.
"No, Q. I'll be the most popularly loathed girl in the room even if you take the freaking crown and then pull a move from a Prom Queen Massacre." Preemptively, the Latina caught the pink gown as Quinn tossed it over the door separating them.
"At least you have a date." Quinn said only a little jealous, as she fitted another gown. Honestly she was happy for her friends, but the unanticipated break-up still had her peeved. Who breaks up with someone a week before the Prom? "The girl of your dreams, no less."
Airily, Santana drew her attention away from the phone and grinned. "Jealous? Don't worry we'll find you a hot lady friend too." The Latina whirled as she felt the door to dressing room opening. Quinn stepped out, sated with the strapless, emerald corset style dress.
"Like that would ever happen, Santana." She chuckled, flattening the fabric against her stomach. "How does this look?"
"If I was straight…" Blaine began to say hours later at the dance, only to have Kurt shoot him a fuming glare. The Warbler bit his tongue immediately and turned conspicuously towards the refreshments table and added lamely. "I'm going to get some punch."
"We will never know the end to that sentence." Kurt shook his head disapprovingly, sneaking beside the girls animatedly. His particular strides reminded Quinn of one of the sugarplum fairies from the play Kurt had taken them to last year.
"Gotta look for another boy toy, Hummel." Santana hummed, half-heartedly. "Preferably, one who doesn't put his affair with the spotlight ahead of his own boyfriend."
"Blaine's perfectly fine. He's smart, dreamy..." The boy shook his head again. "And he can sing on pitch."
The Latina raised a questioning eyebrow. "He's the first gay guy you've met in this town. You don't think you're just settling?" At this Brittany pouted indignantly.
"San…you didn't settle for me, right?"
"Baby, you're settling for me. I'm lucky to have you." For good measure, the Latina gave Brittany's hand a squeeze in her lap and watched as the blonde brightened instantly. The Latina corked her head up from their joined hands, and scouted the room. "Hey, check out Trouty Mouth."
Kurt's eyes widened as he watched the said blonde boy checking out his reflection in the punch ladle, quaffing his hair. "Okay, Santana - just because I had a small, insignificant crush on him when he first joined Glee club doesn't mean that I'm willing to drop my boyfriend for him." His voice faded at their sudden silence.
"You had a thing for Trouty Mouth!"
Blushing profusely, the boy face-palmed, listening embarrassedly to Mercedes snicker beside him. He could practically feel the wave of Santana's horror over the situation and daringly, he stole a glance at Quinn, who was gawking and then apologetic. As expected, Brittany acted as if Kurt had just told her he thought it was going to rain.
"When did this happen?" Santana asked frantically, almost leaping out of her seat.
Mercedes spoke reflexively before Kurt could stop her. "When we did those duets for Breadstix."
Quinn froze. Wasn't that about the time she and Sam had gotten together?
"Long before Blaine," Kurt hissed under his breath, his blush intensifying. "It was just a crush. Okay? Completely minor, brief crush on his… hairstyle."
"He liked a lot more than his hair." Brittany said dazedly, tired for reasons none of them wanted to inquire. Santana's growing smirk was…discomfiting at the very least. The Latina nudged Quinn, who was suddenly so absorbed by her drink rather than the conversation.
"Sorry, Kurt. I had no idea, I swear." She apologized, unable to make eye contact. Kurt smiled generously, and gave Quinn a quiet 'it's okay' before patting her hand comfortingly.
"Come on, hot mama. No need to get down. We're the finest ladies at this dance." Mercedes started, checking out some boy who had ventured into the room. "And Kurt."
"Not for long." Kurt's voice echoed and Quinn raised an eyebrow confused, lifting her head slightly. She blinked. Twice. Then gawked. Was this real life?
"Oh." Santana's jaw unhinged.
"My." Mercedes continued for her.
"God." Quinn finished, dropping her drink completely, letting the cup swivel to the floor.
She raked her eyes up and down the petite brunette rapidly. Thankfully, there was no sight of argyle or pantsuit or bedazzles anywhere – just black silky fabric clinging against her petite body. The dress was low cut enough to be revealing, but not trampy or overbearing and the length was short enough to display an ample amount of those tan legs. In the dim lighting, Rachel looked absolutely iridescent and at this thought, Quinn squinted in disbelief. She wasn't even wearing any make-up. Well, she doesn't need it.
Embarrassed at the thought, Quinn coughed awkwardly and readjusted the hem of her dress for no apparent reason. Wait, what was that?
By eleven, no one needed to resort to spiking the punch – the atmosphere of the situation was enough to get drunk off of. The shimmering music, the faint, multitude of pastel lights in the darkness, the gentle brush of elbows and hush dance steps were enough to maintain a constant buzz. Quinn wasn't sure why anyone would bother getting high when a feeling like this existed.
Finally, the most anticipated moment of the evening had arrived – the crowning, and everyone watched motionless as a heavily-built boy made his way to the microphone, and unfolded the slips of paper containing the winners. "Sam Evans, as Prom King." The announcer boomed. Applause thundered as the blonde football player stole onto the stage. "And...Kurt Hummel as Prom Queen."
The girls, who had preemptively stood up, expecting their names, fell down dejectedly. There was a quiet, shocked clapping followed by a roaring of applause and catcalls and wolf whistles, and seeing the mixed shock and amazement on Kurt's face, Quinn cracked a smile blissfully.
The porcelain boy was presented with his crown, evidently on the verge of tears. "I had no idea, I was even…nominated. I mean I just transferred back and I know a lot of girls who would have wanted this so much more -"
"Hey, let's get this show on the road," The announcer intervened, obviously a little buzzed off something more than the ambiance, he cued the DJ with an abundance of hand gestures. "This one's for all the lovers, out there."
The announcer affectionately nudged the boys towards the dance floor, ignoring Kurt's pleas that Sam wasn't his boyfriend, that his actual boyfriend was that young gentleman staring wide-eyed, jaw-dropped from the punch bowl.
"Not anymore!" Santana hollered obnoxiously before turning towards the blonde at her side, sneeringly nudging her. "Why don't you just ask her?"
"Ask who what?" Quinn sputtered rather defensively, crumpling the plastic cup in her hand.
"I don't know…" The Latina mocked, barely concealing the scorn in her voice. Quinn frowned. "Ask Berry if she wants to 'get it on' in the girls' bathroom."
"No!" The blonde snapped a little too quickly, a light blush suddenly taking over her. "Why would you even think that?"
"You've been staring at her ass through her dress since she stepped foot in the area. And you just lost Prom Queen without so much as applauding. And-" Santana raised a finger, preventatively stopping Quinn's expected denial. "You've been drinking away your denial all night."
"Have not." Quinn retorted, though, much to her annoyance and to Santana's growing smirk, she took another sip.
"After party at my house, ladies." Puck shouted, rushing past them, his eyes flicked between Santana, Brittany, Mercedes, and Quinn, smirking before fleeing to another part of dance floor. Quinn's eyes narrowed as she watched the football player make his way across the floor to the petite brunette she'd been eyeing all night, chatting with her animatedly. Her face flushed with envy.
Rolling her eyes, Santana motioned towards Brittany, offering her hand. "Care to dance?"
"Yeah," Quinn nodded absently a few drinks later at Puck's after party. She was vaguely aware that her two best friends had gone off somewhere to make-out while Kurt was calling Blaine on his phone, apologizing plentifully for the misunderstanding, leaving her in the care of one Mercedes Jones. Apparently, she 'was not to be trusted' after having consumed so much alcohol. "Yeah, she's definitely hot."
Shocked that any of those words could have come out of the head cheerleader's mouth, Mercedes followed Quinn's gaze to the short brunette situated across the room. Her jaw dropped. "Are you talking about?"
"Yeah." The blonde nodded in the direction of the brunette, growling angrily when she spotted Finn approaching her. He was so tall, so freakishly tall, he seemed so out of place, practically crouching down to hit on her. "Her."
"Hey," Mercedes waved a hand in front of Quinn's glazing eyes. "You must be completely wasted, girl."
Quinn slumped over her chair deranged, an awkward arrangement of limbs. "What…are you 'alking about? I'm...fih...nine." She motioned to the tall boy leaning suggestively over the small girl she'd been watching all night. "Oh no, Frankenstein's about to attack Mary Shelley."
The self-proclaimed diva gave her a quick 'girl, you crazy' look, before watching in horror as Quinn explosively leapt from her seat and lifted Rachel from her legs, hoisting her over her shoulders before running off to another part of the house.
"Well, I'll be damned."
A little before midnight, she was hazily aware that she had kidnapped someone very small, over her shoulders, and thrown them into a closet. But that was absurd…She thought, until she noticed the abundance of leather jackets, a trench coat and what appeared to be a small, girly raincoat hung in the dimly-lit encasement. Maybe, this was a closet.
"Quinn why did you do that!" The furious, small person hissed in the darkness. Her face tingled, feeling this person's peppermint breath on her face.
"I..don't...know," Her voice said abnormally slow, fumbling over the pronunciation. "I've been…staring…hat…you all night. And I all I could think of was…why can't I talk her…?" The words slurred thoroughly, but they sounded perfectly clear in her head when she snapped her fingers as if she was having an epiphany. "Then, I realized it's because I'm such a bitch."
Rachel softened. "Quinn, you're not a -"
"No, I am." Quinn shook her head. "I'm sorry, you didn't deserve it. Any of it." The blonde cheerleader said, slurring her words together as she dropped another plastic cup on the floor. They seemed to be everywhere. Rachel smiled thankfully and the blonde felt the warmth of that smile, tingling on her face.
"And you are soooo….pretty to-night."
Rachel shivered at the surprising compliment. "Quinn, I think we need to get you home. Sober."
Giving in, Quinn reached for the door knob and twisted it rapidly to no avail. "Well, look at that."
"What?" Brilliant eyes pierced through the darkness.
The blonde whirled around. "It's locked."
Quinn's phone caught ablaze in the darkness, beeping that the time was already two in morning. She had given up trying to call Mercedes the fifth time she hadn't answered her phone, and the one time she called Santana a mixture of Spanish slurs just rang through the receiver. She slumped against the wall dejectedly.
"My mom's going to kill me."
She heard Rachel shifted uncomfortably somewhere in the opposite side of the closet. The music was still pumping thoroughly through the closet door, drowning their voices to the rest of the world. "My dads are going to kill me. I'm never going to be allowed to even see my play bills ever again."
"And then I'm never going to be allowed to leave the house again."
"My dads are going to make me go to an in-state college because I've totally violated their trust and they will never see it fit to trust me again. I'm never going to live this down."
"I have a headache."
Rachel shifted towards her. "How does that even compare to my problems?" And Quinn scoffed, feigning indifference.
"Is this a joke, Quinn? Do you think I wanted this?" Rachel spat angrily into the night. "Do you think I wanted to be stranded in a godforsaken closet on prom night with gum on the bottom of my shoe, Quinn? Maybe, I didn't plan on winning Prom Queen with the prettiest boy on my arm but I wanted something to remember. No, I wanted to be remembered."
Her eyes welled up at this, and Quinn felt that all too familiar pang of guilt. "Do you know why I sprung for this dress out of all the other, significantly less pricier, dresses in the store? Because I wanted someone to look at me like I was the most beautiful girl in the room. For once in my life. And I know it's selfish…but I…but I'm…"
She could relate. "That's not selfish. That's human." Quinn said, hesitantly placing a quiet finger on Rachel's lips, leaning in subconsciously. She could hear Rachel's jaw drop in the darkness. "And you already are the most beautiful girl in the room."
"Quinn?" The diva asked, wavering.
"Yes, Rachel?"
Their faces were so close, so painfully close. At the last moment, Rachel hesitantly shifted and Quinn's lips fell onto her shoulder lamely. "Listen, Quinn. I think we're equally both drunk enough to make some mistakes tonight that we might regret tomorrow. And I…I know the regrets you've had as an unfortunate result of consuming too much liquor. Even now, you're just beginning to sober up and it'll only be a little longer until you'll be just fine and... I just can't possibly hold myself responsible for taking advantage of you like tha…mmhhmm"
Quinn's hands cupped her face affectionately, and pressed her lips against Rachel's firmly. After a few minutes, she pulled their bodies apart, much to Rachel's chagrin, and licking Rachel Berry's lip gloss from her lips, breathed out. "You talk…so much." She swooped in for another unanticipated kiss.
Who needed to be Prom Queen? This was the greatest rush in the world.