They hadn't spoken in weeks, since the day at the skate park.
Quinn had turned to roll away without so much as a backwards glance. Because she knew if she looked back, she'd go back. Back to the only person she actually wanted. But she couldn't. As she left, Artie had sat, eyes squeezed shut in an effort to will away the image of her wheeling away. It hadn't worked, though; he still thought about it every single day. His words were meant to help her, to ease her into accepting that her recovery wouldn't necessarily be as accelerated as she desired. And she knew that, as much as she couldn't admit it to herself.
Weeks had passed. Every time their eyes met in the choir room their faces would heat up and their gazes would flit away to observe some non-distinct doorway or floor tile. Anything but each other. And she slowly gained back her mobility, until one day she walked into the choir room with a radiant grin on her face. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to laugh simply because of the joy on her face and cry because she had healed and he'd be stuck this way forever. And Quinn, amidst the tears and claps of her friends, found herself merely wanting to go to Artie.
But he sat, gaze once again focused on the opposite side of the room, and she stood, receiving the praise of all of her peers except the one she wanted.
Quinn walked down the nearly empty hallway that afternoon, deep in thought. This was what she had wanted, right? A fast recovery. To be walking again. Why did she feel so damn awful? The familiar whoosh of a pair of wheels sent a pang to her heart, her head snapping up in worry. There he was. She quickly headed down the nearest hallway, desperately avoiding the boy, turning right into.. a slushie.
Artie's eyes caught hers briefly before she spun away. No. He couldn't keep dwelling on her. Yet he rolled by just in time to hear the familiar smack of the slushie followed by her sharp gasp, and all of those thoughts flew away.
"Quinn!" he called out, arms pumping hard to roll quickly over to her. "Quinn, are you okay?" Her face- and outfit, sadly- were coated with the slick, orange liquid. She couldn't open her eyes for fear of irritation, but she'd recognize that voice anywhere. "No. No, I'm not." He debated internally for a moment, wanting nothing more than to help him but knowing there was a small part of him that still held a grudge and wanted to leave. With a sigh, he pulled her arm and tugged her onto his lap. "C'mon then."
He wheeled them quickly to the girl's bathroom by the gym; it wasn't like anyone used it anyways. Moving to the sink, Artie wet a paper towel to wipe her face. As soon as she could, her eyes slowly opened, catching his gaze. And he stopped wiping, because they were finally looking at each other and- oh god- this made up for everything they had tried so hard to ignore.
They spoke at the same time, each murmuring the other's name softly, reverently. She leaned forward slightly, a small smile crossing her lips and one hand going to rest on his shoulder. And then he leaned forward slightly, micmicking her expression. Neither knew who really prompted it, but their lips met. It was shy, almost hesitant, but so, so perfect.
Until he pulled away. Eyes wide with fear, Artie quickly wheeled back, whispering, "Sorry. I'm sorry." With that, he spun around, and- before she could mutter a word- he left. Artie wheeled quickly outside, frantically looking for somewhere, anywhere, to be alone.
Quinn sat in the bathroom for a while longer, red lines trailing down her cheeks and one finger resting over her lips where his had just been.
They went back to their sad glances in the choir room. It was possible- probable, even- that no one else even noticed. Life was just funny like that sometimes.
