Lol I really should just stick to my update schedule (it's still every Sunday btw), but between Lea's tweet about Unpretty/Pretty being her favorite mashup and Dianna following her again, my Faberry heart is beating with a fucking passion and so, here's a chapter early, enjoy :)
X-X-X-X-X
Friday either comes way too soon, or not soon enough.
Rachel always ends up switching back and forth between the two, and she's been frantically making PowerPoints left and right about the pros and cons of the situation.
Sometimes it depends on what looks she got in the hallway that day.
If a jock or Cheerio walked pass her with a sneer, it'd be the former.
But then, Quinn would smile her secret smile at her, and it'd be the latter.
At the end of the day though, her list would just look like this:
PRO: Quinn
CON: Quinn
She'd inevitably cross out the con before she goes to bed, because really, Quinn.
It's probably concerning how much of her life that can be discerned from that one syllable.
Eh, no one gives a fuck.
Oh wait, Rachel thinks, God probably would.
Huh.
Sorry, Jesus…but not really.
And as luck would have it, there's no Cheerio practice after school on Friday, since it's 'Jean's day' for Sylvester, whatever that means.
Rachel has yet to decide if it's good luck or bad.
With her heart beating way too quickly, she organizes her locker for the millionth time while reciting Barbra monologues to keep her mind occupied, hands shuffling around with nervous energy as she chants under her breath almost religiously.
"You okay there Superstar?"
The familiar husky alto comes out of nowhere, and Rachel jumps, her hand hitting the corner of her locker door in the process, drawing out a pained yelp. "Quinn!"
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," the blonde apologetically smiles, "You okay?"
"Yup!" Rachel laughs anxiously, other hand rubbing the pink skin to nurse it. "Perfectly fine, a-okay, just great!"
"Need me to kiss it better?" Quinn smirks, voice dipping an octave while quirking her signature eyebrow, and combined with the nickname the head cheerleader had called her before, Rachel blushes furiously hard, holding her bag to her chest like a lifeline.
Thankfully, the taller girl takes pity on her, asking her if she's ready to go instead of teasing her more, and when Rachel stumbles her way through her confirmation, Quinn grins, bright and wide, and takes her hand to lead them out of the school.
Rachel doesn't know which is more ground-stopping: Quinn's full-teeth smile or the fact that the blonde's willing holding the school loser's hand.
She decides that it's the former when no one in the halls pay attention to their linked fingers, rather focusing on Quinn's smile in all its electrifying entirety.
Really, who can blame them?
Quinn's smile is full-blown, stretching across the porcelain expanse of her entire face, and the girl's always been drop-dead gorgeous, no one can contest that, but she looks borderline divine when she's smiling, lighting up the hallway with its radiance.
Rachel's pretty sure she hears someone faint at the sight, but there's a chance that it's her own heartbeat cutting off at the utterly striking visual, tugging at her heartstrings.
Everyone, and she means everyone, boys and girls alike, is staring at the Ice Queen of Mcki- no, she thinks.
They're staring at Quinn, the real Quinn, and no one is halfway prepared for it.
The blonde doesn't seem to care though, just staring at her and Rachel's interlocked hands as she walks them out to the parking lot, the singer trailing along and content to breathe in Quinn's smile for as long as the cheerleader allows her to.
The voice in her head tells her that there's most likely something to be learnt from by the implications of Quinn's actions, but Rachel can't concentrate or focus on anything at the moment, too taken by the blonde's blinding beam.
It's only till they reach the taller girl's car and Quinn lets go of her hand, ear to ear grin easing into a lingering upturn of her lips that Rachel remembers her surroundings, only to be filled with fuzzy delight as she thanks the Cheerio for opening the car door for her.
Quinn's complete one-eighty has her a little bit afraid that this is all just a dream, because there has to be a catch somewhere, but for now, she'll just let herself go with the flow and see where it takes her.
The blonde puts on a CD, and to Rachel's pleasure, she learns that Quinn is an avid fan of Songheim's work. The diva analyzes the chords and melody for the blonde while Quinn explains the lyrical techniques used, and it doesn't take long for Rachel to grasp that the head Cheerio holds a passion for literature, eyes shining in a way that makes the brunette's heart skip a few beats.
She pockets that little piece of information for later use, and she sings along to the songs with Quinn laughing.
She wonders when was the last time she felt this free.
X-X-X-X-X
When they reach the Fabray mansion, Rachel's jaw drops.
She had known that the Fabrays were loaded, but not this much.
The house has to be one of the biggest in Lima, and the neighborhood it resides in is without a doubt the wealthiest, beautiful trees and garden spaces filling in the spaces.
Quinn sees her look and must mistake it as something else, because she grimaces. "Yeah, I know, it looks even more like a mausoleum from the inside," she sighs, before unlocking the door with fucking fingerprint technology. "Mom's been trying to make it homier or whatever, but…it's hard, adapting to a time where Russell wasn't oppressing us all."
Rachel's pleasantly surprised by how much easier it seems for Quinn to speak about it compared to only a few days ago, and the blonde notices, explaining with a shrug as she leads them through the living room, "The shrink forced me to talk about it."
"Your house is lovely, Quinn," Rachel compliments, because it is, just maybe more in the traditional way.
The taller girl snorts, somehow managing to make that sound graceful too. "It's okay Berry, you can be honest and say that it's a lifeless piece of dead real estate. Hell, I even encourage it."
"Well, it is kinda bleak with its color scheme," the diva admits sheepishly, smiling at Quinn's proud there ya go look. "But I'm sure with the right amount of dedication, you and your mom and fix that right up."
They walk up the stairs to Quinn's room, and the honor-roll student stops at the doorway, before asking in an almost-shy tone, "Will you come and help?"
Rachel's heart skips a few beats, and she feels a warm rush course through her body. "Quinn, I'm sure that you already know this about me," she smiles, "But all you have to do is ask, really, and I'll be there."
The taller girl sucks in a breath at her response, releasing it slowly, and Quinn lets a small smile rest on her face. "You're something, Rachel Berry."
Rachel simply beams at the blonde as they enter Quinn's room.
The walls are painted a light blue color, with a queen-sized bed in the middle. There's a three-piece mirror makeup station, a closet, and a study desk to the right, and a shelf filled to the brim with books covering almost the entirety of the left wall, just leaving some space for a door to a bathroom.
Everything is in pristine condition, neatly feathered and dusted, and if it weren't for the stack of journals put messily on the study desk, Rachel would've thought the room to be brand new.
Nervously shuffling her weight between her feet, she stands at the doorway anxiously, not sure if she's allowed to go in or not.
Quinn notices, and the blonde directs her to dump her bag in the corner, plopping down on her bed and spreading her limbs out like a starfish, causing Rachel to giggle, and the singer's unease dissipates.
"It's kinda boring, but I've gotten used to it, and it's grown on me, I guess," the taller girl says as she gets up, stretching with a groan.
Rachel's traitorous eyes follow the smooth creamy sight of Quinn's neck, and feeling a pool of heat gathering in her lower stomach at the sight, her thighs unconsciously clench together tightly in an attempt to contain her desires.
Dammit bisexuality, it's fine if you don't have straight thoughts, but having not-straight thoughts for Quinn Fabray, the most unattainable girl in Lima?
Oh, she's so fucked over.
So completely and royally fucked over.
If Quinn notices her plight from her spot now at the desk, she doesn't say anything, and instead, she expectantly pats the seat next to her while quickly moving the stack of journals out of the way, getting her notes out.
Rachel's very tempted to ask about the clearly important journals, and she probably would have if she was in this position last year, but she isn't, she's grown and changed for the better, and that's precisely why she doesn't give in to her strong urge to snoop.
Quinn follows her line of sight, and when the Cheerio sees that Rachel won't pry, she shoots her a grateful glance, biting her lip, and the brunette knows that she did well.
"I'll tell you about them one day," the taller girl promises.
Rachel's breath catches. "Really?"
"I meant what I said Rach," Quinn answers, meeting her eyes. "I'm finally trying to just be myself, and the first step in that plan is to become friends with you." Her voice slowly drifts off, before she adds timidly, "Well…if you'd still have me."
A few things happen at once.
Most of them contain Rachel's body functions failing.
And there's also her Bisexuality alter ago screaming at her about…something. It's probably important and imperative that she listen, but she's too struck by Quinn's utter sincerity, eyes expressive.
So yeah, Rachel Bi-rry can go suck it.
Mouth dry, she swallows, throat bobbing tightly. A small part of her wants dearly to ask what the next steps of the blonde's plan are, the part of her that's either masochistic or hopeful, she can't decide yet, but all she can get out is an awed, "Quinn…"
The girl, fortunately, doesn't take offence to her lack of response, even offering a small smile, and she drags the diva down to her seat. "Come on, I didn't invite you over to slack off, Berry. Now tell me where your ass sucks at calc, and I'll try my best to put something other than Streisand or thesauruses in your brain."
Rachel blushes, a little bit embarrassed at her predicament at math – she's a natural born-and-bred singer, not a mathematician, for god's sake!
She's a little worried that Quinn will laugh at her and mock her, fears of the old HBIC coming back out rushing to the forefront of her mind, but the head cheerleader simply waits for her answer unwearyingly, and that gives her enough courage to push through.
It really isn't surprising that Quinn's a good tutor, what with her affinity for basically everything, but it still startles Rachel a tiny bit at exactly how good she is.
Quinn is always patient when she doesn't understand something, and the blonde doesn't treat or speak to her condescendingly, even giving words of encouragement every once in a while.
The notes that the other girl had kept from middle-school are well-organized and much better than the ones her teacher had gave her, shorter too, and Rachel has a hard-time believing that Quinn had made these notes years ago.
She inwardly sighs – why do some people have all the good genes?
Pretty soon, two hours have passed and Rachel can safely say that she'll probably score at least an A on the next quiz, though she'll definitely need to ask if Quinn's willing to help her again, the honor-roll student having successfully taught her more in a few hours than her teacher had in a week.
(And she maybe, probably, really wants to spend more time with Quinn, and this would be an adequate excuse, though she should think of sort of payment for the blonde; her patented cookies didn't seem like enough, and if that payment could entail or result in them hanging out more, then all the better.)
She's still in her PowerPoint mindset when her stomach growls, and she flushes at Quinn's amused quirk of lips. The taller girl offers, "Wanna order take-out and watch a movie or two? I'd cook, but mom used all the ingredients yesterday and I didn't have enough time to refill."
"You cook?" Rachel asks after agreeing, trying to block out the domestic picture of the cheerleader doing just that, brain already short-circuiting because oh fuck Quinn Fabray just asked me to eat dinner and watch movies with her is this what pure bliss is I'mdyinghelp- actually no, death wouldn't be so bad if she gets Quinn as company, even if she could never hear Barbra's amazing voice again.
"I'd show you sometime if you'd like," Quinn cuts into her thoughts, getting up to grab some clothes. Throwing a T-shirt and shorts towards the brunette before disappearing into her own bathroom, she directs, "On the other side of the hall, second door to the right."
When Rachel looks into the mirror five minutes later, she's still afraid to come out of the guest restroom.
First of all, she's fucking wearing Quinn Fabray's clothes whatthefuck and second of all, it's slightly oversized, and the little insecure part of her is irrationally frightened that she looks like a dwarf, loudly proclaiming that she's going to get a Slushie to the face as soon as she leaves the restroom.
"You okay in there?" Quinn's voice rings out, causing her to jerk sideways.
She yells back an affirmative, drawing on her acting prowess so that she doesn't sound shaky and scared, and she mumbles to herself, "Get it together, Rachel. Quinn's been nothing but nice and accommodating the entire time you've been here, so go out there before she thinks you to be a bigger weirdo than you already are."
She exhales a breath she doesn't know that she's been holding, and way too dramatically, slowly turns the door handle to be met with a sight that almost gives her whiplash.
If she thought Quinn Fabray in her Cheerio's uniform looked stunning, then Quinn in casual attire with her hair let down is ethereal, relaxed and free in a way that makes the diva's heart quicken and chest expand with flutters.
"You look good in my clothes," the blonde notes with a look in her eye that Rachel can't quite decipher, and the singer thinks that she only imagines Quinn's gaze lingering on her legs, but she still blushes, dipping her head bashfully.
Brushing a stray hair back into place behind her ear, the singer follows the other girl down to the living room, throw pillows and blankets already set up on the couch. "So, what are we watching?"
"You'll see." Quinn's answering smirk causes some uneasy to settle in Rachel's stomach, and she berates herself for not trusting the blonde more, forcing herself to relax on the couch. Quinn turns on the TV and adds, "Oh, and I've ordered already. Thai, if that's okay, and vegan for you of course."
That little gesture of thoughtfulness has Rachel's breath lifting, warmth erupting from her chest to the very soles of her feet, and her stomach flutters with butterflies.
It's utterly crushed by what she sees on screen.
The menu screen of Pet Sematary staring back at her, she lets out an already-terrified whimper, and Quinn laughs, "Come on, it's not that bad."
"Quinn, I can't deal with horror movies!" Rachel squeaks, curling into the couch.
"I'll let you pick the next movie, and you can crush my hand or hide in my neck or whatever," the honor-roll student bargains, "Please Rae?"
The brunette knows that she's giving in the second she hears that she gets to touch Quinn (okay that didn't sound creepy and pathetic at all), and she completely on-board when she hears the blonde call her Rae.
Not Rach, like everyone else does, but Rae.
It's just a simple abbreviation of her name, but the fact that only Quinn claims the right to that name makes her feel special, like she's important enough that the cheerleader deems to call her something that only she will, and her chest flutters, light and airy.
She nods her assent, and warns as she moves closer to the other girl, "Just so you know, I'm even more touchy-feely when I'm scared, so don't kill me if I end up on your lap."
Quinn mumbles something under her breath, sounding suspiciously like "I'm counting on it", but the singer dismisses the silly notion immediately, because – really Rachel?
Turns out, she does end up on the taller girl's lap, not even half an hour in the movie, face completely hidden in Quinn's pale shoulder and wincing every time she hears a resounding scream, jerking in place.
"I hate you I hate you I hate you," she chants religiously in an attempt to block out the sickening sounds, "There is nothing good about this at all and I hope it haunts you in your sleep."
Quinn chuckles, shifting on the couch to better accommodate the petite brunette, and Rachel is reminded that yes, there is something good to come out of this.
Mainly, the way that Quinn's body presses deliciously into her own, curves meeting in all the right places, and how the head Cheerio's hands are drifting up and down Rachel's back in an attempt to soothe her nerves.
When the doorbell rings, she screeches and clings onto the blonde, arms wrapped around her waist tightly, and Quinn laughs, hand coming up to run through the shorter girl's brown tresses. "I gotta go get dinner, Rae."
She shakes her head, "I'm going with you. They're going to get me if you leave, I don't care."
"Well you're just being a tad dramatic," Quinn smiles as she gets up with Rachel practically molded into her side. "We can switch the movie if you really want to."
"Please," the shorter girl practically begs.
Which is why ten minutes later, they're watching Inside Out.
She would've gone with Funny Girl, but she figured she needed the happiness of a Pixar movie, so she's now curled up next to Quinn eating Pad Thai.
Feeling giddy that the Cheerio hadn't said a thing when she continued to cuddle up to her, she chipperly munches on her food and ignores the voice in her head telling her that she's totally going beyond her tactile nature in her actions, but Quinn is just too soft and comfortable for her to let go.
The taller girl hasn't told her to, in Finn's words, stop being so clingy, so she rationalizes that this must be how female friendships work, and that it's perfectly fine for her to move even closer.
Quinn doesn't seem to care, and Rachel's very much starved for human contact and affection now that she's single, so she decides that she'll take what she gets, Quinn's arms around her feeling warm and soft.
They're around the part that Joy and Sadness go missing when the thought that watching movies with Quinn is completely different from watching them with Finn occurs to her.
Finn would always talk throughout a movie, not paying much attention if it's not something about zombies or the like, causing Rachel to lose interest in the movie as she can't really follow along, and even if he wouldn't get bored and try to talk to her, their silence would almost never be comfortable, and the diva would feel the urge to fill the eerie quiet, only to be even more frustrated when the giant boy couldn't carry the conversation other than talking about Call of Duty, leaving her grasping for something to talk about desperately.
It's nothing like that with Quinn.
The blonde would sardonically comment on the movie's 'movie logic', laughing about it for a moment before moving on, their silence like a warm safety blanket, and when they take little breaks from the movie to get snacks, conversation always flows easily between them, coming to them like second nature.
Rachel really should delve deeper into why this, whatever they're doing, is so easy and light, their bantering beats in a perfect rhythm like they've been doing this for years, but the air around them is entirely too comfortable, causing a fuzzy warmth to envelop the brunette's head, and she supposes that she shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.
Somewhere between the next hour, she starts to drift off into slumber – Quinn feels really good, okay – and when she wakes to see blonde locks, she furrows her brow, not quite remembering why she's there.
Then as she nuzzles closer against the soft surface her head is pressed against, she realizes her head is on Quinn's chest – or if she were to put it less eloquently, her boobs – and in her panic, she ends up falling onto the floor, back hitting the thankfully carpeted floor.
She groans in pain, and the girl she was just sleeping on laughs lightly, "You alright there?"
"Perfectly fine," Rachel embarrassedly calls from her spot on the floor, red from the neck up and hoping that the other girl hadn't noticed her totally inappropriate coping of a feel, and when Quinn gets up to stretch with a grunt, the diva sheepishly cringes, heart still thumping in overdrive mode. "Sorry for cutting off your blood circulation."
"'S okay," the honor-roll student sleepily yawns, before checking her phone for the time. "Jesus, it's ten already…Do you wanna call your one of your dads to pick you up?"
"Their car is being repaired until Wednesday, but I can just walk home, it's just a few blocks," Rachel answers, already grabbing her clothes from the loveseat.
Quinn frowns, before reaching for her Cheerio's jacket. "No way, I'm driving you home."
"It's fine Quinn, you've already done me a huge favor by tutoring me today, I wouldn't want to-"
"Nope, I'm not hearing it," the cheerleader cuts her off, "I'm driving you home, it's a weekend anyway."
Touched since Finn would never drive her home late during their short time together, she sends Quinn a tired but beaming smile, and the one she gets in return sends her head reeling, pleasantly airy.
When they're changed and ready to go, she's not prepared for the cold gust of wind hitting her skin, and she shivers.
Quinn notices, and without a word, she takes off her Cheerio jacket to help Rachel in it, and the brunette can't help the bashful upturn of her lips. "Thank you."
The blonde shrugs, a gleam appearing in her eyes. "I like you in my clothes."
Rachel Bi-rry comes to voices out her concerns, but really, Quinn's being all thoughtful and sweet, so she can just go fuck herself.
(She ferociously rejects the notion that she'll probably do just that later. That would be inappropriate and highly irrespective, and she'd not be able to look Quinn in the eye for like, a century.)
They make idle chatter on the trip home, and she feels an odd sense of loss as she nears the Berry home, afraid that today was just all a dream and that she'll go back to school tomorrow only to be met with a face full of Slushie.
She starts to dread the moment when this inevitably ends, and she tries to will the car to move slower, but it's to no avail, and they reach the Berry driveway quickly, making her quietly sigh against the chilled September air.
Quinn gets out of the car first to open the door for her, the display of chivalrousness causing a light blush on the brunette's face, and the honor-roll student walks her to her door. "I really liked hanging out with you today," the blonde softly says, sporting a mysterious smile that made it seem like she was admitting something. "We could make it a weekly thing, if you want. Tutoring you is so much more fun than trying to pry Santana and Brittany away from each other, and…I could drive you to school and back home when your dads' car is being prepared?"
Rachel gives herself an adequate time for processing of three seconds, and when can't think of anything to say that can adequately convey what she wants, she settles for hugging the blonde fiercely, temporarily letting go of her fear of rejection as she crashes into safe and strong arms.
Quinn's toned arms envelop her body tightly, and the brunette thinks that she probably shouldn't linger too long, but it's just too warm and comfortable, so she settles for holding on for as long as Quinn will allow, breathing in the blonde's scent with contentment.
She thinks that at this rate, she'll probably fall asleep again, surrounded by the cheerleader's calming embrace, but then said cheerleader nudges her gently. "Just for clarification, that's two yeses, right?"
Finding it in herself to pull away, if only slightly, Rachel is unable to keep the smile off her face, whispering in awe, "I can't believe Quinn Fabray is a dork."
"Don't go ruining my rep, Rae," the taller girl laughs, before gently pushing her towards the door. "Now go sleep, I'll text you when I get home or whatever."
Shocked that the blonde even knows her number, Rachel can only stare at her in bewilderment, and Quinn smiles, full and genuine. "Go to bed, Berry, or I'll sic Santana on you."
The diva mock-gasps scandalously, but then the moment dies down, and she feels the same sense of loss from before rush through her, as if this goodbye is meaning goodbye forever, the ever-looming fear of this just being a dream hanging over her head. "Goodnight, Quinn."
But when she watches the honor-roll student's car drive away, she's still wearing Quinn's Cheerio jacket, and Rachel can still smell the scent of vanilla and mango on it.
It's proof that today wasn't a figment of her imagination, and she smiles.
