…
The first time they saw each other since leaving Lima was in New York, at 5 in the afternoon. It seems like it was given that one of them would see someone from Lima in New York.
Maybe it was the way the doors closed and vibrated through the train cart that he was jerked out of his foot-tapping zone. He looked up and saw her, a messenger bag slung on her right shoulder and a Starbucks frappucino on her left hand, looking for a spot to sit on but since it's obvious that there are a few people already standing that there were no more seats left. He wasn't sure at first but when she turned to lean on a pole that probably has a million germs in that he was able to confirm it.
"Quinn?" He barely said it out loud and the train jerked suddenly, probably a bad track, that she saw him. She wasn't sure though. "Quinn!" He said once more with a little more volume. The blonde acknowledged him with a nod and a small smile, surprise evident on her face. He motioned for her to take his seat.
She did take it. And they ride was silent, after all, they never really talked much in high school even when they were paired off for dances.
"Well, this is me," she said with a smile as she got out of the seat. "Thank you."
…
The second time they saw each other was a month later. Neither anticipated it but as Quinn rounded the corner with her messenger bag swishing through the streets of New York and a cup of Starbucks' hot white chocolate mocha did she see him. He was going down the steps to the subway and called out to him. People were bustling in and out of the system so he probably didn't hear her, she assumed. Add that to the fact that she saw a thin cord peeking at his pockets that connected to a set of ear buds stuck in his ears.
She caught up to him just as he got in line for his metro card and she went behind him in line. She tapped his back softly, smiling lightly as he turned around. He immediately pulled out his iPod's earphones from his ears. He motioned the card machine as the woman in front of her left it, as if asking if she has one already but she shook her head.
"It's on me," he said nonchalantly as he punched in her station.
"No, no," she protested but it died as soon as her card came out of the machine.
It was quiet again for a while until the train came by. This time, there were no seats left.
"Thanks," she mumbled. The ride was slightly bumpy but he didn't think she'd notice that he didn't let any guy touch her every time someone went too close. He would squirm his way in between. It was a bit packed inside and it was a trait he grew up to apply to his female friends. He was that kind of guy. She was squished beside the women inside. But she did notice and smiled at the thought.
Once again, their ride home was silent until she had to get off her station.
…
The third time they saw each other was after two weeks when he was on his way out of the subway and across the street. She was sitting on a window-side Starbucks table reading a script when she spotted him on his phone as he crossed the white lines. She hesitated before waving her hand to get him to try to notice him. For some reason, he did and smiled at her, motioning a finger up as if to tell her to wait for a while. She smiled and took a bite out of her afternoon cheesecake.
The door clanged open and he smiled at her. She motioned for him to sit down at the spare chair. He put his backpack down by his feet and looked up only to see her looking at him with a mix of smirk and smile on her face but it seemed to him that there's questioning in her eyes.
"What?" He said, breaking the silence that always enveloped them after a few lines of exchange. They may actually have some sort of conversation this time.
"We keep meeting like this," she said in that voice that hinted obviousness and curiosity as she shook her head.
"What? With you sporting a Starbucks and me in a subway station?" He joked. She chuckles. He wasn't close to Quinn that much in high school even when they were paired off with dances but he never falters with his confidence whenever he's around the people he actually knows.
Her smile, he decides, is infectious. It warms his heart for some reason and he etched that dimple on her face in his mind because it made him happy. Even when after his comment that they once again were unable to form any sort of conversation, it felt enough.
On their way home, she slipped a piece of paper in his hand, just before she got off her station.
Goodnight, Quinn. He texted the number just before he went to bed that night.
…
They text about random stuff every night almost every day after that.
...
"Where do you live?" He asked one day when they met up at that same Starbucks a few days later. He just got back from the counter and is now sitting on the couch in front of the round table they shared.
"Few blocks off of my station," she answers as she highlights something on her notebook and closes it to take a sip from her drink. "You?"
"Near the river," he shares as he sat back on the cushion of the chair. He looked at her smile again, it was infectious even if it wasn't that wide or that splitting, it was simple, but it bore a good amount of happy weight.
"Isn't that far from Broadway?" she asked now that she learned that he teaches at BDC from one of her conversations. She squints as the door slams quite loudly, proof that some New Yorkers have no manners. It's one of the things that irritate her. That and a cold cup of coffee.
"Yeah, but I go to Pratt in for my classes so…" he trailed off. "I thought I had to be somewhere in between." It was so typical of him, to calculate his movements, to look for each detail, everything.
"What do you do there?" She asks, trying to make a friendly conversation aside from saying his name and then staying quiet through out the train ride home. Quinn wasn't that interested but she figure, Mike felt like home and she liked the way her fingers tingle whenever she sees his Adam's apple move as he talks.
"Dance Movement Therapy," he answers simply. Both of them know that they raced to the top of the class back in high school and it was no surprise that he's studying that. "I figured I'd make my dad happy even when I chose this path. It's the closest thing to med school and what not," he added as an after though when a short silence enveloped them again, or rather, the busy streets of New York enveloped them.
She thinks it's still thoughtful of him to at least give back to his parents and do what they want after doing what he wants. They short conversation ended and somehow, he ended up buying her metro card again. And it was no big deal to him.
She likes how he had his arm to lean on that ride home as they stood near a pole.
…
She was nearly an hour late. This time, Mike waited for her, her metro card in one hand and his bag in one side of his shoulder. After a few times of meeting up at the subway, it's become a habit – not the buying of metro card – but the waiting part. They have gone home more than ten times or so and they'd text when either one is on their way but today, he thinks she might have forgotten to text him.
He tapped his foot out of habit as his iPod blasted something hip hop and as he turned to look around, he saw her and to his surprise, she was with someone else. A black haired dude that looked way too smug in his opinion. She was clinging to his arm happily and that dimple that always made him feel warm in his tummy was flashed to the guy.
She didn't see him so he just walked farther from the two, wishing that a train would come by soon and that she wouldn't see him. He didn't know why he felt disappointment. It was a two way street, he could've asked her instead of waiting for her. He rode the next train that stopped immediately since she and the guy she was with was still in line.
It wasn't until that night as he was settling for bed to turn in early and be grateful that it's Sunday tomorrow that he receives a text from her.
Sorry, I wasn't able to text you. Hope you didn't wait for me.
That's the stupid part; he was willing to wait for her, for some reason.
…
He just finished rehearsals to help choreograph an off-Broadway show when his iPhone pinged. He sat down; legs stretched and with his back to the mirror as he wiped a towel vigorously in his hair.
I'm at the lobby.
The Asian dancer was caught off-guard. Be there in a minute, he texted back.
That was the thing with Mike that Quinn finds different. He never asked a lot of questions. She was expecting a 'why?' or whatever but instead, he texts her that. She decides that she likes that.
The blonde sits down on one of the plush red sofa when he emerges from the elevator. He was quite out of breath in her opinion. Her eyes lingered on his still chiseled body that hid underneath a white wife beater and jogging pants paired off with some Dunks.
"You're here," he said with a surprised tone as he sat beside her, a grin in place. He wiped his hair, trying to dry off the sweat from dancing all afternoon.
Still not questioning me. She smiled at that thought.
"I was around the block," she said, not elaborating. It's not like he had to know her business. Besides, she was just looking for a new dress. And well, he's a guy; they're programmed to not give a damn about those.
It was quiet for while before he asked if he wanted to grab something to eat before they went home.
"Yeah, sure," she agreed. He told her to wait for him for while so he can get cleaned up.
He's never been this glad to pay for another woman's meal since Tina. Even if all she ordered was some grilled chicken salad and chowder soup.
…
"Will you come to my show?" she asks over lunch one day. "I mean, if
you're not busy and all, I have a ticket." She fumbled a bit for words but managed to keep all her composure intact and Quinn-like.
"Sure," he replies swiftly, nodding his head for emphasis. "Which part are you playing?"
"You'll have to watch it," she says as she smiles at him before drinking her water.
…
He buys her a bouquet arrangement of Jasmine and pink Tulips for her that weekend for her show. He thinks it's customary when she gives her front row seats and a backstage pass two days before.
He doesn't want to think why he has to look up the meaning of the flower but he does anyway.
Mike gives it to her after the show outside her dressing room.
"You did great," he said with that proud look on his face as he goes to engulf her in a giant hug. It warms her heart and she doesn't ignore it but decides to ponder about it later. She likes the way her arms fit snugly on his shoulders and that he smells like peppermint. They pull apart after a second.
She kisses him on his cheek as he hands her the bouquet.
That night, she looks up flower meanings online and she falls asleep serenely.
...
She gets herself tagged on Facebook with pictures at the after party. He sees them and even if he declined her offer to come because he has finals due the next day, he smiles because Santana has a wallpost on her.
Bitch, to whom did you give your only ticket to your show? I know you only get one and that single ticket always goes to me! Call me!
He knows it was a friendly wall post and he smiles at the thought that she chose to give it to him.
Quinn comments back at that moment.
;)
It said. He has no fucking clue why she replied with an emoticon but it sure sent tingles down his spine.
He likes it.
He calls her one day with good news. He ignores the fact that he called her first than his mom.
"I got it!" he exclaimed with an ear splitting grin.
She was panting, exhausted from her drama class that day, "Sorry, what?"
"Oh you sound preoccupied," he says half-heartedly but tries to maintain the balance in his voice. "I can call later."
"It's fine. Class just finished."
It was silent for a bit. She can hear noise in the background and she figured he must be braving the after lunch streets of New York.
"Well?" she asked. She wasn't impatient, she just wanted to really know what he got that made him call her all of a sudden. They never really talk much in between classes.
"I'm choreographing a Broadway show!"
She's wholeheartedly happy for him and congratulates him knowing that he has worked his butt off for this. Quinn can feel her heart beat and she doesn't know if it was from exhaustion or because she likes the way his voice sounded over the phone.
"And guess what?" he adds, pauses for a bit and doesn't really let her reply because it's rhetorical. "Tina's in it too!"
She's never been so glad to have this conversation over the phone because she knows her smile falters for a bit but she regains her composure because she's Quinn Fabray and Quinn Fabray never falters.
It takes a second for her to answer back – and well, she ignores how it doesn't really come from the heart.
"That's nice."
…
He's been so busy with rehearsals and she's been preoccupied with the musical they're doing for a project that they haven't seen in each other in almost a month. Unsurprisingly, he found himself hanging out with Tina after rehearsals. Things are smooth between them and though they've split apart during his sophomore year in college, they've managed to be friends.
Because that's how they do things. They know they were the most solid pair back in high school but that was just that. What they had had its run and they're fine with it. They agreed that what they had was perfect and that doing it over would just ruin the whole high school experience they had.
He found out she's been going out with people but she wasn't looking for anything serious. He wishes her the best.
…
Quinn visits him during rehearsals one night. He was spinning Tina around the stage when she entered the theater. It was quite an intimate number and so she sits at the back, careful not to let him notice her. She watches them dance around and it brings back memories of the former lovers back in high school, during glee. The blonde knew they were the best pair in high school.
She leaves the theater three minutes later.
…
The opening night of Tina's Broadway show was successful. Mike and Quinn sat front row, thanks to Tina. The Asian girl has yet to see the blonde.
They meet her at her dressing room afterwards and the two girls squeal like they haven't seen each other in years. Well they haven't, but still. They talk and talk and talk, leaving Mike out of their girl conversation.
He watches them interact, thinking how nice they are as friends when they didn't even mingle a lot back then.
She gets invited to the after party and somehow, Quinn gets drunk. She doesn't know how many shots she's done but she feels sick. Mike calls for a cab and takes her back to his apartment because he doesn't know where she lives and he has the nearest place.
He takes her up to his room and he goes downstairs to sleep on the couch. Her purse starts emitting a noise, a ringing from her phone. Mike ignores it the first two times but on the third try, he fumbles for it and answers it as the caller ID said Santana.
"Santana?" He says.
"Who are you?" The Latina answers back, fear in her voice, he traces.
"It's Mike. Quinn's asleep right now," he answers her.
"Chang! Oh my God, you're doing Q!" The Latina exclaims.
"No, San. Why would- she was just drunk after Tina's Broadway show after party. I took her here in my apartment because I didn't know where she lived!"
"Whatever, Chang!" Santana throatily replies with a hint of smugness in his voice. "Tell Q she has to come with me and pick up Britt at JFK on Monday."
In the morning, he tells her that just as she apologizes for behavior. It's funny how he thinks it's cute when she's drunk because she was so clingy in the cab ride home the night before.
Because that night, Mike comes to decide that he likes the way she snuggles up to him because they fit together just right.
...
Mike gets two tickets to a gala opening of a play through a friend. He decides to ask Quinn to the show. Not Tina, because Tina was still in her own show.
Quinn apologizes profusely because she had a date that night.
He instantly feels like he's carrying a shit load of books on his back when she rejects his offer. He still goes to the gala though.
…
She calls him two hours later.
"Is it too late to come over there?" she asks, her voice dripping with annoyance and it sounds so much like the pissed HBIC he witnessed years ago.
"No, I'll meet you outside." No questions asked.
They see each other in front of the theater when the second act ends.
She's wearing a black dress that ends up a little's past her knees, heels, and her hair was in a ponytail – because she grew it back. He thinks that they complement, like yin and yang, because he's wearing a white button up, trousers, and shiny black shoes. He also thinks that she looks stunning that night.
Even when he always thought that Quinn was the most beautiful girl in McKinley ever – Tina included. And no, his high school sweetheart didn't need to know that.
She likes how he doesn't question why she's suddenly there when she just told him a few hours ago that she has a date.
He doesn't think about that too. He doesn't want to wonder if she ditched his date or if her date was an asshole that should be kicked or whatever. But he's there, he knows it, and he's going to listen.
Even if it takes him two more acts later and a late French dinner (and yes, Starbucks) to find out that his date was a douche bag who showed her off like some prized trophy.
The way he puts his hand on his arm on the way out the restaurant, she decides that she felt safe.
And damn it, it only lasted ten seconds but she's come to that conclusion already.
…
It was her birthday. They celebrated at a bar with Santana and Tina. He felt quite out of place because he was the only guy – and yes, even with Santana around, he thinks. He gave her a new book, because she's always talking about them. He read but she wasn't a bookworm like her. It just makes him happy whenever she goes on about a story and the way she narrates them – he likes it.
Santana winks at him when she pushes Tina to get them drinks.
"Happy birthday, again," he says in a slurred voice as Quinn smiles and mumbles another thank you to him. She was nursing a drink as he takes a swig of his drink. He was a bit tipsy, and it was only his third glass of scotch. On the rocks.
About two hours later, she's not counting or anything but she's pretty sure that after all the rejected drink offers and dancing offers from strangers, seven and four respectively, that Mike was on his twelfth glass of scotch and was dancing uncontrollably with Tina. It was crazy dancing and it was like high school all over again.
"You like him, huh?" Santana comments, a smirk forming on her face as Quinn furiously shakes her head in denial.
"No," she denies, but she fails because she's flat out lying to her best friend.
"I'll take that as a yes," Santana eyes their Asian friends on the dance floor. "Don't worry, he likes you too."
"What? No-"
"I'm not blind, Q. Even Tina knows so just go for it."
…
The three girls help hail a cab for him and Quinn's place because it's the nearest. Santana gives her knowing smile. Tina sends a wink her way.
Nothing happens.
Well, if you count the fact that he throws up in the trashcan she put beside the couch he was lying down at and she soothes his back and gives him some water after. He apologizes and she thinks it's adorable how he tries to take off his polo because he couldn't do it at that moment.
So she unbuttons it for him and oh my Lord, she knows his body is sexy as fuck but she didn't expect him to still be that sexy as fuck. It takes her so much strength to leave him on the couch because he's suddenly just lying on her shoulders.
She didn't want to leave though because the weight on her shoulders felt right.
"Nighty, night Q," he mumbles as he felt Quinn leave him and he drops his head on the armrest. She chuckles and ruffles his hair.
"Goodnight, Mike," she says. It takes her a moment until she decides to leave a kiss on his temple, her heart hammering against her chest.
…
She has to go somewhere in Brooklyn to meet with a director who wants to work with her on a show over the summer break. He accompanies her to where she was supposed to be and they decide to just meet afterwards for dinner at this Japanese place he loves.
He brings her to this shabu-shabu place that had an assortment of raw foods you can cook on your table, a shit load of sushi, and lots of Japanese specialty. In her mind, this is a date because right now, the tempura that Mike recommended might've made her admit that she actually likes him like that. Not only because of the shrimp she just ate but yes, she likes him.
They head back to his apartment about two blocks away from the restaurant, where she's staying the night because neither refused to go home alone at that ungodly hour. It's New York. He places his hand on her shoulder on their walk home like it was nothing but he knows he's taking a leap of faith right now or else his heart wouldn't be beating that fast and that he wouldn't feel his neck sweating with anxiety right now.
He lends her a pair of jogging pants he grew into and a giant shirt and gives her a spare toothbrush. She looks at herself in the mirror afterwards and decides that she'd like to see herself wearing something like that in the future.
He admires her when she comes downstairs and thinks she looks adorable but beautiful. How can she be like that at one time boggles his mind but he likes it. He likes her, actually, so he stops questioning it.
They argue over who takes the couch and his bed upstairs and because he's a gentleman, he takes the couch.
Quinn thinks she could get used to hearing his soft snores the next morning while she makes breakfast (bacon duh) for them. He smiles like a kid with a new toy when she wakes him up to eat.
She elects that she likes the way she feels when she knows she's the one who put it on his face.
…
They were both drunk during Santana's birthday and they were at the bar with a few friends. It wasn't until two in the morning that most of them (except Santana who has an amazing alcohol tolerance) were so out of it that they hail a cab and decide to go home.
Until Quinn stops him from walking the other way and tugs him to her place.
Inside the cab, she leans towards Mike who was silent and quite sleepy and ready to pass out. She fumbled with her keys when they got out the cab and when they were both inside her apartment, Mike grabs her by the waist and cheerfully drops her on her big ass couch.
She giggles like the drunk she was and Mike takes off both their shoes and it never felt so good. He lays his back down on the couch as she sits up, Indian style, facing him and leaning sideways on the couch. They were just looking at each other.
Mike decides he likes her hazel eyes a lot more than he should. And that's saying something because the only way he saw them was because of the streetlight that illuminated Quinn's living room.
It wasn't until a few minutes later that by some intoxicated instinct that they furiously kiss, hands fighting for dominance as she grabs his face and hair closer to her and he pulls her by the waist until she's straddling her.
He really couldn't control it anymore and even when they both smell like vodkas, it didn't matter anymore because she was kissing Quinn Fabray and somehow, she still managed to smell like she just put on vanilla body spray. He settles on the fact that he now has an affinity to the lips pressed on his and the way they moves against each other was just addictive.
She pulls him closer, her eyes shut and she's actually getting out of her drunken funk little by little. She can always blame it on the alcohol so what the fuck, right? So she fumbles for his zipper and he pulls down the straps of her dress because really, this was it.
That night, no matter how unromantic she thinks it is, when their skins are pressed tightly together, grinding graciously, she knows that being intimate with Mike was something she's longed for and even if she denies it, her body reacts otherwise. When their muffled excitement and were trapped by their mouths and when they come undone with tingles sent down their spines, they both decide that they like how they're spooning afterwards.
…
She wakes up a little late, around ten in the morning, surprisingly on her bed with a note and some water and aspirin by her bedside.
I have to go. I left some bagels in the counter.
They haven't talked for a while – three weeks but she's not really taking count - since that night because really, who can confront each other when either of you has these feelings for each other you don't know what to do about and then have mind blowing drunken sex? Well she could because she's about sent him nearly a dozen messages and a couple of phone calls but it seemed to her that he's dead set on ignoring her. Like what happened was nothing. Like they didn't put their friendship on the line.
Quinn hates how he's not talking to her and it's not yet taking a toll but she's done her part and if he doesn't want to talk then it's fine by her. She tries to forget and by the time she's sobbing her heart out over some sappy chick flick, she's royally pissed at him.
Because she hasn't been this pathetic over a guy. Not since Sam.
…
Mike on the other hand, doesn't know what to do about what happened. Because he's a guy and even though he knows how to respect women, he knows he has overstepped boundaries with Quinn – even when it has her consent.
He felt bad for ignoring her calls and messages, but really, what was he supposed to say? He likes her and he can't just have a one-night stand with her and go on with their friendship. No, he needs some big ass gesture to show her that it wasn't just a one-night stand, that there was more to it as to why he responded to her ministrations, not just because he is a guy who has needs.
So first step? Take his Prius out to try and apologize for being a dick and not talking to her and then take her out on a real date. Even when it's very impractical to be driving a car in New York city.
…
He knocks on the door gently because he thinks doorbells made unnecessary noise.
It shocks her, even him, because her face was all red and it was so obvious that she's been crying and it's seven o'clock at night and she looks pathetic.
"What are you doing here?" she spats out, leaving him by the door as she snuggled back to her couch. The couch where they did glorious things, he thinks.
"I'm so sorry I wasn't answering your calls and all," he started softly, his keys dangling in his hand. "I just-I didn't know what to do."
"Obviously or you would've responded," she said bitterly as she shut the television off. He steps inside her warm apartment and shuts the door. He takes an audible deep breath.
"I just, I didn't wanna screw things up and make you feel like I used you," he explains, still looking at her. He walks over after she doesn't reply and tries to wrap his arm around her when he sits down beside her.
She squirms her way out of his arm though even when she just wants to be wrapped around it and cuddled by him. She thinks how for an Asian honor roll candidate, he's dumb because he made her feel like he's used her.
He sighs. "I can't just let that be like that, Q. I… I don't… I don't know how to say this but, I like you and I keep blaming myself that I took advantage of you because what normal person does that?"
She still wasn't talking. She wants to look at him, tell him he's forgiven but she can't because she has a goddamn pride that just won't go away. It's part of her and without it, she knows she's not Quinn Fabray and without it, she wouldn't be where she is right now.
"I just… I need a chance with you and just…" he trails off, not knowing what else to say. "Will you please have dinner with me? Tonight? Or you know any night…"
…
She decides that they go to that shabu-shabu place they went before because she can't not let him have a chance or else she'd be fucked too. He teaches her how to use chopsticks properly that night.
He sleeps over just for that night. Not together though.
And he tells her how beautiful she is and hugs her goodnight.
…
And he does that day, not exactly, it didn't include the sleepover part, but different every time, for the next forty-seven days.
Because it makes him genuinely happy especially when he pulls over and she's waiting for him patiently behind the door with a smile on her glowing face.
…
And well, on the forty-eighth day, he asks her if he could be her boyfriend. Because asking if she could be his girlfriend? That's not what he considers gentlemanly.
She buys him his metro card on their way home that day because she kissed him her way to it.
…
"Where are you? !" she says on the phone, full on HBIC mode. Her eyebrows are knitted together in annoyance as she stood at the bottom part of the stage, pacing. "Well hurry up! It's not like the curtains don't open in two days!" She ends the conversation and sits down in the front row and leans back down. She looks over the clipboard and takes it to double check some other things. Because really, why would her star, a talented but unprofessional undergraduate, on her directorial debut at NYU, be late when it's four in the afternoon? It's not like this isn't her portfolio project and it's not like her undergraduate cast didn't need this to move on to their next year – because it is.
She feels familiar hands, big ones, suddenly apply pressure on her shoulders and she leans back on the touch.
"How do you always know what to do?" she asks rhetorically, still not looking back.
"Because it's my job to know so, babe," Mike says as he leans forward to kiss her temple. He applies more pressure to this massage session before handing over a brown package. "Frappe?"
She turns to smile at him before taking it and it makes his heart flutter because he put it on there.
…
FIN
A/N: That was my first Fabang fic. They're my crackship :) Review?