There's nothing I love more in this world than a good cup of hot coffee. The first and most obvious step in my conquest for Rachel Berry's heart was, no matter how painful it was, to admit that I had feelings for her. There was this wild, fanciful part of me that actually thought there was a good chance of her reciprocating my strange and tortured love. That she might completely forget about Daniel the Perfect just to be with old, run-down Quinn Fabray. I know I'm supposed to be smart, but sometimes I can be very, very stupid.

To catch Rachel's fancy, I knew I had to go big, so I invited her out to Café Lalo, one of the most popular coffee houses in New York City. It was the first weekend after she had told me about Daniel, and I was still raw and stinging from some nonexistent betrayal she'd dealt unto me. That was the only thing that powered me into this crazy scheme of telling her that I was kind of sort of in love with her. We sat down at a table inside the bright, beautiful and cosy interior that was the infamous café, with me watching her face all the while.

"Do you like it?" I asked her lightly. "It was featured in some movie – You've Got Mail. I thought that would appeal to the glamorous diva that is Rachel Berry."

"Wasn't that…" Dear Rachel's face creased briefly in thought, then lit up in happy realisation. "Tom Hanks and…and Meg Ryan! Oh, this is wonderful…"

"One of my friends from Yale suggested it to me." That wasn't true, actually. I had come up with it all by myself, but for some reason I didn't want to admit that. Dropping my eyes to the menu, I cleared my throat and brushed my hair out of my face. "Let's get some coffee."

A short while later (with a café-au-lait for me and an extravagant double mocha cappuccino for Rachel), we were both sitting with our wrists and legs crossed, unconsciously reflecting the other, neither of us quite knowing what to say. I think Rachel realised that something was up, and as for me? I was quietly beginning to chicken out of my whole plan.

"So," I finally said. "How's rehearsals?" And, before I could stop myself, "And Daniel?"

"Rehearsals are great, and…and Daniel's just wonderful," Rachel murmured, lowering her face modestly, her dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks. "He's been so supportive of me, Quinn…if I thought Jesse was a kindred spirit, well…"

"Ah," I said calmly. "The infamous Jesse St. James."

"He's really not that bad, Quinn. We talked at our last nationals. I think he's changed for good."

"Well, it's not Jesse you're head over heels for right now. Is it?"

"No! No, not at all." This brought Rachel's beautiful face back up, her eyes boring earnestly into my own. "I know it's too soon, Quinn – way too soon – but I really think…I can really imagine spending the rest of my life with Daniel. Or, at least, someone like him."

My heart slowly drowned further against my ribs while, somewhere in my mind, Adele struck up an annoying tune.

"Rachel, you're talking like a lovestruck schoolgirl," I said, irritated, dropping my eyes away from her and taking a bitter little sip of my coffee. "I think that's your problem. You fall in love too easily. I still don't think you even know what love is."

"I loved Finn," Rachel said vehemently. It stunned me, just a little bit. So I challenged her.

"Then tell me," I snapped. "Tell me how you felt around him. Did you think about him night and day? Did you feel like half of you was missing every time he wasn't around?"

"Yes. And I feel like that about Daniel as well."

Even now? I wanted to scream. Even now that you're sitting here with me?

"And what about now Finn's gone? You've suddenly stopped feeling like he's your other half? Like every waking moment that he isn't there with you, you just want to quietly go back to sleep and never wake up?"

"Why are you doing this?" Rachel demanded, and there was a strange wetness to her eyes. "B-Back in Lima, all you wanted to do was break us apart. You kept telling me I deserved so much more."

"And you do!" I felt half-crazy, wondering why the nail wouldn't go into her head when I was hammering so hard. "Rachel, you deserve – "

"What? What do I deserve?"

I had been about to say Rachel, you deserve me! Like I was some sort of prize that only the luckiest people won. Then it all flashed in front of my eyes – the chaste cheerleader who wouldn't give out for her kind, handsome boyfriend, but went and got knocked up by his rebellious best friend. The pregnant brat who got kicked out of her own loving, Christian home. The cheater, always unable to stay faithful to one man. All the biting, horrible things I had said to Rachel, who was supposed to be the love of my life. The words choked up in my throat, and I could only stare across at this oblivious, confused girl opposite me. Nobody deserves me! I'm not a prize! I'm horrible. Horrible, horrible, horrible. Who could ever want me?

"You deserve your dreams," I finally said, softly. "You deserve only the greatest things waiting in store for you. Romance isn't everything, Rachel. Sometimes…sometimes it just holds you back."

She looked at me so strangely, and I hated it. It was as if I had suddenly changed in front of her, and no longer was I the intellectual blonde beauty, but some broken bat-winged creature peering out of the cobwebs of its true form. I wanted to lower my eyes again and look away from her doubting stare, but I was too stubborn.

"And would it hold you back to just be happy for me for once?"

I nearly gasped. That's how painful it was, hearing her say that. It began to hurt behind my eyes, and my mouth became very, very dry. I glanced down at my hand, and it was shaking. Ever so slightly.

"I can't," I finally said. "I can't, Rachel. I'm sorry."

I drew up to my feet, and her eyes followed me, then her torso, twisting around so that she could latch a hand onto the back of her chair as I tried to escape that horrible, confining space that was the café. All other eyes were on me, vexed and disturbed.

"Quinn, wait!" the love of my life cried. "Where are you going?"

I whirled around on my heel, and I could feel a tear form at the corner of my right eye.

"Why can't you see?" I begged her. Before she could respond, I flew away, too scared to confront the seeds that I had sown. When I reached the street outside, I was full-out crying. I just hoped she wasn't watching me – even though everyone else was. With my head bowed down and my teeth gritting together, I followed the thread of late-night workers who were heading for the subway.

I guess I managed to get on the train back to Yale, though I don't really remember any of it. What I do remember, and what will haunt me for the rest of my life, is a meeting I had with someone on the way to my dorm. I was still kind of crying, still not really looking where I was going – and thus I bumped into someone who, if I could go back in time, I would un-bump into.

"Whoa," he drawled, holding his arms out to steady me. He looked harmless then. Fair hair, nice face, mellow eyes. I didn't really want to talk to anyone then, so I was far more brusque with him than I would have been at any other time. "You alright, Fabray?"

"How do you know my name?" I snapped, brushing his hands off of me. Doubtless my eyes were puffed and bright scarlet. I glared at him, but I didn't recognise him at all.

"We take the same classes," he said with an easy little half-smile. "I guess you never noticed me."

"I guess not."

"Are you alright?" he asked, bending his head slightly to get a good look at my face. He was a full head taller than me, which annoyed me even more. I hated it when people made me feel less in any extent.

"I'm fine," I snapped, making to move past him, and he very kindly backed away, holding his hands up in the air. A few seconds later and I regretted being so rude, so I turned and stared at him. "Who are you?"

"My friends call me Franky," he said with that half-smile of his. "I've been watching you – not in a creepy way or anything. You just seem like a really interesting person."

I didn't really know how to react to that. After peering at him uncertainly for a moment, I rolled my eyes and looked away, dragging my feet so that I could finally convince myself to get away from him and his time-mongering. "Yeah well, trust me," I said, "I'm not that big of a deal."

He didn't follow me, which is something to be thankful for. Tales of college misdemeanours had always put me on edge whenever I travelled back to my dorm in the dark. It's frustrating that, as a woman, I can never feel safe on the streets. I always have to make sure that my clothes aren't too revealing. That that man by the corner isn't following me. It's something that a lot of people I know have referred to as 'rape culture', and if I was granted one wish – anything that could change the world – I would eliminate the very concept of sexual harassment.

Ah well. If only.

The next day was a Sunday. Usually I loved Sundays. Sundays meant waking up on Rachel Berry's sofa, or lying in my own bed and dreaming about her and my adventures on Saturday. Sundays were when I could lean my head on some wall and convince myself that I had a shot at winning that girl's obnoxiously slippery heart. I looked forward to Sundays.

Not this one.

Waking up, I felt like I had a hangover even when I hadn't been drinking. My head throbbed and pulsed in the most horrible way, and I crept out of bed to brew up a cup of coffee without disturbing my roomie. Coffee, though, only reminded me of what had happened at Café Lalo, which just made me want to grab my own skull and bash it repeatedly against the kitchenette counter. How could I have lost control of myself like that? How could I have even thought I stood a chance with Rachel? I brooded and brooded, then resigned myself to reading and studying for the rest of the day. The less I thought of yesterday's debacle, the better.

Strange how that logic works, though, isn't it? You believe that if you think less of something, gradually it will leave you alone. Very wrong. Instead, it burrows a hole into a corner of your mind and slowly sucks away your attention from whatever you want to pay it to. I realised that I wasn't going to forgive myself for what I had done unless I met Rachel face to face and apologised. Maybe fifteen more minutes of struggling with myself, then I stood up, called out to my roomie that I was leaving, grabbed my jacket and purse, and Quinn Fabray left the building.

Quinn Fabray left the building and ran ri-i-i-ight into Rachel Berry.

My purse went flying in an arc over my counterpart's head, and the silver canteen she had been holding dropped to the ground with an inelegant bump. My first instinct was to curse, but Rachel has this way of rendering me speechless even in the times that I want to scream loudest. So I just stared at her, my hands splayed awkwardly at my sides, while she fussed and knelt and gathered everything to her chest. She was in a pretty striped shawl, tangled in and out with every colour your imagination could come up with. Her favourite style of droopy hat was nestled against her dark locks in a light cream colour, and below her shawl was a simple red knee-length dress. A far cry from the highschooler who loved animal sweaters and knee-high socks.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded. It wasn't that I was mad at her. I was just really shocked. She straightened up and held my purse out towards me, a hesitant smile quirking up the corners of her mouth.

"I – I was coming to see you," she stammered, before realising she was stating the obvious. "I…I mean. To apologise. For last night."

"Apologise?" I repeated, holding my purse close. "Why should you apologise? I was being a total bitch…"

"No," Rachel said quickly. "You were right. I was acting like a…like a little schoolgirl. And I'm not anymore. I just…I guess I was always a romantic at heart."

But she was still looking at me strangely, like she had been looking at me the night before. Licking my dry lips, I averted my eyes.

"Do you wanna go for a walk?" I asked quickly. "I could show you around the best of New Haven."

"I'd like that," Rachel said, even quicker than me. Her smile seemed to turn the sky above a shade brighter than it really was.

In the end, it was like taking a starstruck tourist around by the hand. I walked her through the YaleUniversityArtGallery, and told her about the Long Wharf Theatre where they featured Broadway shows. That brought a lovely sparkle to her eyes. We even walked through a cemetery, holding hands innocently, keeping very quiet. I'm surprised she didn't see yet how painfully in love I was with her, and how I had been for years. I'm surprised she didn't notice back when I'd admitted to drawing pornographic caricatures of her on our school's bathroom walls (long story, don't ask). Finally, we sat down in a park and Rachel remembered why she had brought her canteen with her. It was soup, she said, but she was angry at herself because it must have gone tepid.

"It was going to be a sort of peace offering," she explained, her free hand fluttering everywhere as she frowned down at the open canteen. I was leaning over her shoulder and saw bright red tomato soup. "I know how you like your soups."

"You're an angel," I said without thinking. She just smiled, bright and oblivious as ever.

"D'you remember that one time I dressed Brittany and Santana up in angel wings for my Run, Joey, Run video?" she laughed, eyes misted over with the memory. "I was so naïve then…and I'm pretty sure everyone hated it."

"I thought it was very artistic," I said gravely. "Once I…got past the part where you were trying to juggle three guys at once."

"One of them being your ex-boyfriend and the other one being the father of your baby…"

"Go-o-o-ood times."

"We've come so far, haven't we?" Rachel smiled. "I can hardly think we're the same people as we were back then."

"Well," I said, "people are allowed to change. Their personalities…their feelings…it's just the memories that stay as they are."

"Even memories might change," Rachel murmured dreamily. "Depending on how you look at them."

I reached out for her hand and fastened my fingers around hers, and she squeezed back. Yet it was the cordial squeeze of a good friend, not the intimate reassurance of a lover.

"I really don't know where I'd be without you, Rachel," I told her. "You've really changed my life for the best."

"Because I knew you," Rachel sang quietly, "I have been changed for good…"

I had to reach over for the canteen and suggest we down some of the soup before it got too cold. Otherwise I might have stared at her too long, started to tear up, or just blurted out how perfect she was. By the time we were done with our merry ramblings and reminisces, the sky was turning dark and Rachel announced she had to get home.

"I still get a little antsy walking home in the dark," she explained. "I don't know how you do it – you're so brave."

"I'm just not paranoid," I stated with a laugh. But when I saw her off at the station, I came outside to a sight that made me a little queasy. A red corvette was parked on the pavement, and in the driver's seat was none other than the mysterious Franky. He looked like he was waiting for somebody, so I turned my back on him and quickly began to trot away. A few seconds later, the vehicle rumbled up next to me.

"Need a lift, Fabray?" he asked me in his easy manner, one arm draped carelessly over the wheel as he leaned forward to get a good look at me. I stopped and smiled at him politely.

"No thanks. It's only a short walk back to my dorm."

"I wouldn't call it short," he commented. "C'mon. I'm just giving you a lift."

"Not yet you aren't. I like the walk. Another time, Franky."

"Hey." His face lit up, almost boyishly. "Fabray remembered my name!"

I started walking again, looking over my shoulder to tell him, "I do have a first name, you know."

Again the corvette rose up to a slow crawl, trundling along beside me. I tried to hide my annoyance. What was this guy trying to do, anyway?

"I only caught your last. What is it?"

"My last name's Fabray."

"No. I meant your first."

"Lucy," I said blankly. It wasn't completely a lie. Quinn is my middle name – I just prefer to go by it rather than Lucy.

"You don't look like a Lucy," he observed. Gee, thanks.

"And you don't look like you heard my answer. I said I don't need a ride. Later, Franky."

He followed me for a little more, but I just walked quicker and didn't spare him anymore glances. Finally, the message hit home and he curved away. I hadn't realised that my heart was beating a little too quickly for its own good. Settling my hand over it, I rolled my eyes at myself. So much for not being paranoid. And besides, Franky hardly looked intimidating – just a cute dork who was a little on the desperate side. I once knew a cute dork who he reminded me of, actually. His name was Sam Evans, and there was admittedly a time when I thought I was in love with him. Gentlest boy you'd ever know when it came to a relationship. He even sort of proposed to me.

But that time's long gone by, and I've changed a lot.

Besides, Franky was no Sam Evans.