Drabble set sometime after "only for so long". Title from "Careful" by Paramore.
Quinn's always been looked at like she makes no sense, like she's a cryptic, burdensome puzzle to be solved by the bravest volunteer. Like she's an enigma to be put up with.
Spencer's different. Spencer looks at her like she's safe, like Quinn is her relief, and Quinn likes that; it's the reasons why that scare the shit out of her. Spencer's used to not trusting people, to suspecting ulterior motives, to the point where "What are you hiding?" is her default setting. She's used to people saying they are and then finding out they aren't, used to that other shoe dropping the moment she lets herself believe she won't be stomped on this time.
Spencer knows she won't find a prepaid phone in Quinn's bag, or a Radley ID badge in her bedside table, or leather gloves in the back of her car, because Quinn is exactly who she says she is. She doesn't lie or evade; she's much too blunt for that.
(These are Spencer's words, not hers. If Quinn said any of it herself, she'd be lying.)
She hates that the things Spencer finds the most comfort in are the things that are the least true. She hates that Spencer wouldn't recognize last spring's yearbook photo, that the name Lucy means nothing to Spencer.
Most of all, she hates that Spencer hates people who pretend to be someone they're not. Because even though Quinn isn't sneaking around in a black hoodie or sending Spencer anonymous texts, there's still so much about herself she hasn't told her.
Sometimes she wonders if Spencer would want to tangle her fingers in blonde hair instead of pink, to unbutton a sundress instead of pulling a worn black t-shirt over her head, to kiss a mouth that doesn't taste like cigarettes.
Sometimes she wants to ask, but then Spencer's hands explore her skin and the words in her throat turn into breathless gasps, and she's kind of grateful to Spencer for the excuse.
The only confession coming out of her mouth is Spencer's name.
