A/N This is just a quick twoshot I wrote, explaining why Quinn went pink. Been done before I know, this is just how I imagine it.

RPOV

I swallowed several times in an attempt to repress the overwhelming urge to vomit. Quinn was the only person who had ever managed to make me feel nervous.

I waited for her on our bench in the park. Since Prom, and more so after Nationals, we had taken to meeting here: the seat underneath the sycamore tree. I gulped back tears as I thought of the night we had sat out here just talking and singing and holding each other, more tenderly then I thought possible. It had been so still, removed from the drunks and the insistent growl of the road. There had been a full moon- I know because Quinn had sung 'Dream a Little Dream of Me' in her delicious alto as we looked up at it. I had, in fact, dreamt of her every night since then; but I would never swell her ego by admitting that. I suppose I should have known then that it was too rosy to last.

I looked up as she approached me, elegant as ever, but more relaxed; she'd taken to wearing jeans recently, saying she wanted to me "more herself" now.

She was carrying her battered copy of Jane Austen's 'Emma'. She'd been reading it aloud to me, a chapter or two every evening of the summer as we sat here on our bench.

I was enjoying it far more than I had expected, though mainly, I suspect, through hearing it read by Quinn.

Guess I'd never know what happens now.

QPOV

I smiled as I saw her. She was always earlier than me, usually leaning back with her eyes closed and patiently humming by the time I arrived. I liked to try and sneak up on her and listen if I could, but more often or not she caught me.

My smile dropped as I saw her tense, upright posture.

"Rach?" I greeted uncertainly.

She gave me a tiny, sorrowful smile, and fear shot through me. She wouldn't?

"Read to me, Quinn", she pleaded.

Perturbed, I began. I savoured the warmth of her head on my lap, her velveteen hair falling into my hands, her cinnamon scent rising to mix with the sweet sycamore to fill my senses with the perfume of heaven. I savoured it like I never had before, somehow sure that this was the last time.

"Then do not speak of what will only hurt us both!" I read, sounding hideously desperate even to my own ears.

I had always thought of 'Emma' as a tragedy. A girl stuck in small-town life, corseted by manners, caged by etiquette and gossip, and imprisoned by an over-protective father. This horrible timing of chapters only confirmed my opinion of it as one of the most heart-breaking books ever written.

RPOV

Her voice cracked as she read Emma's line, and I knew she was begging me. Begging me not to end this.

Tears began to force themselves out and I turned my face, burying it in the soft, vanilla-scented hoodie that Quinn was wearing.

Her slim fingers gently soothed my head. Even now, she was trying to comfort me, even when I was about to break her heart.

I couldn't listen to the rest of the chapter. I sat up.

At once, Quinn closed the book, pages thudding together with a soft "phut".

"I'm sorry, Quinn". My whisper was almost inaudible even to me, but her whimper told me that she had heard.

"Why?"

I searched for the words. Because I couldn't take the heartbreak every time someone mentioned homosexuals and hell and Quinn tried to hide her conflict. Because when her Dad found out, I would be too far in to survive the loss. Because somehow, one day, the worry would be too much for her and she would leave me to marry some pleasant, Christian man. I couldn't bear to think of it, even now after mere weeks. I couldn't imagine my anguish in two, three, five years time when it actually happened.

"We're just not… good for each other" I came out with, haltingly, begging her to understand even a little of what I truly meant.

Her body folded as if someone had physically crushed her in the palm of their hands.

Instantly, I wanted to take it back. Hell, I'd wanted to take it back even before I had done it. But I didn't. I just left.

QPOV

I stayed on that seat all night, unmoving.