"Hey, Q. I need a favor."

"Lovely to hear you too, Santana. I'd ask to what do I owe the pleasure, but you've already skipped the pleasantries." Quinn replied, adding an eyeroll even if it did nothing more than to further displace her on this new jogging route around the public park in New Haven. The campus got a bit boring, and she was always bumping into exes on her morning workout - a given when the run was how she met most of them.

"Oh, wait, where are you?" Santana forewent a response with the hurried question, her request being pushed back for the moment as her crisp but smooth voice buzzed from the public restrooms she'd ducked into just North of Hell's Kitchen through the waves to the fancy sports earbuds hugging Quinn's ears and plugged into the iPhone she'd had since senior year of high school. Being a junior at Yale now, she would be due a replacement in a few months (rather than in May, for her birthday, thanks to the new phone she received shortly into said senior year. Yes, it was still odd to think of how far she'd travelled both physically and mentally but only since this new phone was presented to her when she was deemed safe to be left alone for any period of time again after the accident.)

"I'm on a run, in the park." Quinn was partially lying, stopping at a tree with a park history signpost drilled into it (National Preserve issue, oh the irony) to actually focus on the conversation and not how far she may be from school with a guest lecture this evening.

"Can yousit down?" Santana asked, hesitantly, turning the empty toilet paper tube round its holder.

"Sure. What do you need?" Quinn, instead leaning back against the tree and then moving around and off the trail when a young family indicated their aggravated desire to read the sign, nodded.

"Will you marry me?" Santana bit her lip. Quinn might have done the same, if her mouth wasn't trailing the floor.

"The fresh air must be getting to me, or New York's fumes are getting to you, because it sounds like you just proposed."

"I did."

"to me." Quinn was in utter disbelief. This was her and Santana. They didn't do this. Sure, Kurt and Blaine were married - though on a break right now - and Artie was well on his way to charming Tina, again, with Sam getting serious with some Akron chick who bears a shocking resemblance to herself, Quinn still can't reconcile the idea of Santana and getting married anytime soon. Nor herself, any more, not at this age. And together? That was the strangest part.

"Yeah." Was the grand explanation Santana provided.

"Come on," Quinn laughed, "we're not old and out of options yet. We're not even prepared or old enough to really be looking for options in the first place, yet."

"Oh, Fapray, you know you're not my last choice," Santana began, Quinn adding an 'oh, really?' at the same time she finished, "Close, but still above Berry."

"Oh, gee, thanks. You sure know how to do this proposal thing. And don't call me Fap-ray!" Quinn growled, joking on both accounts, as she giggled and sunk to the ground - squatting because there's nothing that can get the stench of dog fowl out of yoga pants.

"So will you? Marry me? I kinda need you to." Santana bit her lip again, moving the phone to her other ear for something to do that wasn't kicking the questionable trash around the stall. Though she was unusually subdued, what she said had set alarm bells ringing and put Quinn on alert.

"Oh, god, what did you do now, Santa?" Quinn sighed. They'd grown into actual friends during college, though Santana could get herself into some serious stitches. 'Santa' itself was a nickname that Santana let only Quinn use - Quinn insisted on shortening her name for affection, and even if she doesn't want association with the jolly red Christmas mascot, she'd rather that than 'San'. At least Quinn knows Spanish, and does say it in a passable accent.

"Nothing!" Santana cheered, proud. "I want to get an apartment of my own."

Though Quinn didn't quite follow, her amusement was more prevalent than her intrigue, "In New York City? Are you serious?!" The young mother gave her a glare that she ignored before the family walked off and left her effectively alone.

"Er, yeah. And I don't, actually, want any of your money," Santana hesitated. Quinn hadn't even thought of that, actually now fairly certain that Santana had free access to a lot more money than herself, "I've found a nice place, Upper East Side of Manhattan, and it's a rental plan. However,"

Quinn had been dutifully listening but now added, "I guess this is where I come in?"

"Yeah," Santana confirmed, sliding her free hand in and out of her jeans pocket, "you know the NYC population housing restrictions? No. Well, because there's not like, loads of space, the government or whatever puts restrictions in certain areas so, like, if a single is suitable for two people, landlords can't rent it to one. So, you need to be a couple. A lot of the landlords, duh, are skeezy and don't care so much so longs as they get paid and get no trouble, but the one I like. It's, well it's only as cheap as it is cos this guy is pretty strict on the rule. He even only takes married couples, because he can't trust that anyone else won't break up and then not live together."

"Now why me?" Quinn absorbed all the information, actually pleased she's the first to hear about Santana wanting to strike out on her own and so really growing wings but planting roots of her own, finally, and proud that she'd worked this hard in that regard, but - besides being the first choice friend to tell, though Santana has plenty of closer friends in the city - not still a little confused with the her part of Santana's plan.

"Well, it's not like I could really ask anyone else," Santana started, in comfortable and do confident ground, "First, we have to cross through all the gay guys and straight girls I know, and it's kind of abysmal just how many straight guys and lezzos I'm close to," though Quinn tried to interrupt here with a defence of her sexuality, Santana kept going, "then we can role most of those out straight away because it'd be weird or awkward, and then I got to thinks about who isn't going to get into a serious relationship for the duration of me wanting to live there, and you said yourself, you're too young to even start looking."

Quinn was kind of in shock. That was well thought through, and completely unromantic, which for some reason massively disappointed her.

"And, you know, if I have to say I'm married to someone, you're not half bad." but hearing that brought a smile to her face, because it is probably the sweetest and most romantic Santana has been since she was dating Brittany.

Still, Quinn was a serious relationship kind of girl, and even if the marriage (even thinking the word was heavy) was just for practical purposes, it would still be real. It'd be a black mark for any future relationships, and though recently she'd mostly been dabbling in the world of sapphic romance, she could pretty much kiss goodbye to ever dating a decent and non-pervy guy again. She was the marriage forever person, or at least the go-into-a-marriage-thinking-forever person that was bred into her, despite forgetting much of that breeding. It's part of her idea of romance.

"I don't know, Santa. Try and romance me." She eventually settled on replying. She wouldn't have given an answer after that, anyway. Santana smiled as she left the little cubicle, having thoroughly washed her hands during Quinn's little self debating.

"Six months until the lease comes up." Santana cheerily signed off. "Hasta, Quinnie."

"Adiós, Santa."

Quinn was about to hang up, walking back to the trail, when she heard a 'te amo' in her ears, followed by the dial tone signaling that the call had been ended for her.