Most people don't realize how absolutely and infinitely unhappy she is. Quinn puts on a good show, she knows she does, and she doesn't blame most people for not seeing. But it's when they don't care, that is what hurts Quinn the most. Quinn doesn't think she can stand one more person not caring—or maybe it's that she can't stand that he doesn't care—so she runs. She runs and runs and runs until her lungs feel as though they will burst and her feet skid heavily across the ground in exhaustion. She slumps onto a bench and breathes in heavy, aching breaths for what feels like hours.

And then she looks up.

And it is his face staring back at her. She has not noticed but it is Finn's house across the street and he is looking out at her from his bedroom window.

Quinn doesn't process that he looks sad—face dark with regret—but only that she is seeing him again for the first time in months and it is as acutely agonizing as she thought it would be, only worse. Because he is seeing her like this. This sad, sweaty lump of a girl who he probably can barely recall was his once—or maybe he just doesn't want to admit that you were his and he was yours and he misses that, misses you.

They both stare for a long time before Finn drops his heated gaze—an intensity that only she has ever been able to procure—and when he looks back up after a few moments, he is smiling goofily and waving.

Before she even realizes that she is moving, Quinn is standing before his front door and knocking. When she comes back to herself, she stares at her hand like it isn't her own—does her body know something her mind does not or maybe it is something she doesn't want to know?—before contemplating whether it would be best to run away now or act her way through it like she does with everything else.

But Finn is answering the door now—and it really is Finn and she's missed him so much and—and he seems to be struck dumb by shock.

Seeing his face—the arches and plains and dips that her fingers have memorized a thousand times—allows the flood gates to open for the first time in what she knows was a very long drought.

"I loved you." Finn's face freezes in shock and he opens his mouth to—say he's sorry, say he still loves her, say anything to avoid this excruciating moment of regret—reply but she cuts him off coldly. "I loved you and you spit on it, on everything we had, on me. You broke my heart and I'm not sure if I can ever get over that. You spent our whole relationship pining after someone else. You're an asshole and you don't get to wave at me like an idiot!"

She stops herself with a sudden gasp of air and then she is crying and this is so, so embarrassing—and exactly what she needs— and she feels rather than sees Finn trying to figure out what to do. Finally, he seems to think it would be a wonderful idea to hug her—he knows it's not but he can't see her like this without wanting to touch her, to comfort her—and she slaps his hands away.

"Don't you understand?" her voice breaks. "You can't be nice to me. You can't try to wave at me, or smile at me, or hug me. Because I can't take that. I can't only have parts of you when all I want is everything, the whole fucking thing even though you make me insane. I just—I can't, okay?"

"I—I understand, Quinn," Finn replies lamely, staring at his shuffling feet the whole time. "I'm so sorry… I just wanted to be friends like we were in freshman year, before we started dating. I get that you don't want to be though; I really was an—an asshole, like you said. And we probably both need some time, anyway."

Quinn doesn't smile, only nods to show him that she understands that he understands and she really needs to leave before she does something stupid like kiss him—and, oh, that image will haunt her—but he grabs her hand. "Are you… are you doing okay though?"

Quinn almost laughs. Because he doesn't really understand at all, does he? "No, I'm not going to be okay for a very long time, Finn. That's sort of why I was running, that's why I had to say those things to you. I'm not going to be okay—and that's mostly your fault, remember?—and I don't want to be friends. Do you hear me now, Finn? Can you see me for the mess that I really am? Aren't you blissfully happy that you got away when you had the chance?"

He stares at her for a long time and she drinks up every second of his eyes' warm embrace because it is all she will have for a long, long time. Finally, and it is only in the form of a breathy murmur, he speaks. "No. No, I'm not."

She runs again—from his regret and longing and the love guarded so carefully in his eyes that she can barely see it… but they both know it's still there.