Hey guys! Here's chapter four, and thanks to those who reviewed on the past chapters!

After Quinn's shower, she returns to the living room where Rachel is watching cartoons, giggling while she does so. Quinn makes her way to her desk when Rachel demands that she occupies the seat beside her and watch some cartoons. The blonde, arguing that it is merely her being a good host, redirects her path so she lands on the soft couch next to the brunette. As if she is inclined to do so, the brunette shifts and leans in against Quinn's warm body.

Quinn almost freezes in shock, but endless days of controlling her reactions have her doing nothing.

"What would you like for dinner?" Quinn asks.

"Whatever you usually have." Rachel responds.

"You want some cup noodles and toast?" The blonde grins. She stands up to prepare the hot water for their meal. "Be right back. Go watch this…" She makes a flailing motion with her arm. "Whatever this is."

Rachel giggles and turns off the television. "I wanna watch you cook."

"Rachel, it's not 'cooking' anything. I'm just boiling water and toasting bread."

"Oh hush. Let me observe how writers live."

Quinn rolls her eyes at this. "We're normal people, you know. We laugh, sing and dance the way a grocery store cashier does. We just… tend to be sadder than most people."

Rachel looks up at Quinn's eyes in curiosity. "Why's that?"

"If there's no such thing as sadness, what's there to write?"

Quinn fills the electronic kettle with water and toasts some bread. After the two-minute activity, she leans against the counter, cocking her sculpted brow at Rachel who is still watching in bemusement, a small smile gracing her pink lips.

"See, told you its barely cooking anything."

Rachel shrugs. "From those two minutes, I found out that you have a faulty toaster."

"Nothing I can do about that."

"I've been meaning to ask…" Rachel stands up and leans against the counter, copying Quinn's pose. "Why did you decide to become a writer?"

"Believe it or not, it's not something I've always wanted."

"Oh? What did you want to be before then?"

"An astronomer."

Rachel perks up at this. "You wanted to study the stars?"

Quinn nods and wipes the counter clean of the bread crumbs. "I was seven. My friends took me to an impromptu camping trip. There was a clearing and we simply laid there, backs against the grass and facing the heavens. My friend taught me the basic constellations, like the big dipper and stuff. She told me that there is a star out there, waiting to be found by me and only me." Quinn feels her cheek twitch at the memory. "After that, I started watching the night sky. I even mapped out the view from my window."

"That's dedication." Rachel comments. "Did you find it yet?"

"Find what, my star?"

Rachel nods.

"No, not yet." Quinn sighs.

"I'm sure you will, one day."

"I hope so." Quinn smiles and peers into the cupboard. "So, what flavour do you want? I have vegetable, beef and chicken."

"Vegetable, please. I'm vegan."

"You never really answered my question." Rachel pouts as she stirs her cup noodles with one hand and nibbles a buttered toast in the other. "Why did you decide to become a writer?"

Quinn shrugs. "It's one of those things that just happen."

Rachel scowls. "I don't believe you."

Quinn grins. "Good."

The brunette stomps her feet impatiently. "Tell me!"

"Why do you get to ask all the questions? I haven't uncovered anything from your past that could be valuable for when you become famous."

"So I see your motives, Miss Fabray." Rachel narrows her eyes with a sneer. "You're just pretending to befriend me so that I will divulge scandalous information, is that it? How repulsive! How detestable!"

"You got me, drama queen."

Rachel snickers. "So, what is it that you want to know?"

"Tell me about your love life."

"Getting down and dirty already? You move fast, Quinn."

I can go down and dirty on you. Right now. Quinn thinks about the million possible responses that just went through her head. She opts for the simplest one. "Yup."

"I am currently single," sweet! Quinn screams in her head. "My ex-boyfriend," noooooo! "was my high school sweetheart. We were always singing the solos in glee club. It turns out, just because he was my male vocal lead, it doesn't mean that we fit into a relationship."

"No boyfriends during college?" Quinn hears herself ask.

"Flings, but no relationships."

"Oh."

"Will you answer my question now? Why did you become a writer?"

Quinn says nothing as she clears out the plates and the forks, dumping them in the sink. Rachel watches her from the floor where they just ate, as the blonde roots through the papery mountain that spoke of stories and poems and love letters to the girl that does not exist. Quinn sticks her hand into the pile and manages to pull out a small moleskin notebook.

"Here you go." Quinn offers it to Rachel who accepts it carefully, as if she is handling a holy text, which she might as well be. "You can't get more personal than a moleskin notebook with me." The blonde chuckles as she returns to her seat beside the shorter girl.

"What-what is this?"

"My reasons," comes the simple reply. "as to why I became a writer."

Rachel, with a care that can only be compared to the tenderness of handling a newborn infant, unsnaps the elastic that is keeping the battered notebook together. Her fingers ghost over the frayed edges of the leather book and she opens it to reveal the contents of Quinn's heart.

"It's not going to fall apart you know." Quinn says softly. "It's delicate, but it's not fragile."

"But…" Rachel sputters. "It's your journal. It's like your heart."

"An accurate simile." Quinn beams. "But my heart is made of muscle, not glass." She gathers the empty cups from the table and heads to the kitchen. "I'll go make us some more tea."

Truth be told, Quinn is running away. There is nothing more threatening than watching a girl you just met twelve hours ago, open the contents of your head, your soul and most of all your heart. As she waits for the water to come to a rolling boil, Quinn wonders if this is the closest to a confession she will ever achieve.

She pours water over the teabags and returns to where Rachel is, so engrossed in the journal that she does not hear Quinn's presence until the blonde clears her throat.

"I write because there is nothing better than the assault of words." Rachel begins to read, and Quinn feels her face flush with heat and blood. "Strong words, long words, passionate words, words infused with the deepest meaning… Structures made up of letters to mean something so desperate that it travels beyond the realm of the mind. Words have the power to hurt, to tickle, to please, and to protect. Words are powerful, and given to the right person, it will create beauty and perfection that no one has ever dared to see, hear or touch."

Rachel turns her head to look up at Quinn who is avoiding her gaze, with a full blush covering her cheeks. The brunette reaches with her free hand, to tug at Quinn's chin so she will face her. "Wow."

It is a simple statement of wonder, but it is enough to make Quinn smile.

"I insist, Quinn! I'm taking the couch!"

"Uh, no you're not. Let me a good host and offer you my bed." Quinn huffs as she searches for some blankets in her closet.

"No! It is horrible for your back, thus wreaking havoc on your vocal chords!"

"So then why would you offer to take the couch?"

Rachel shrugs. "I knew you wouldn't allow me."

The taller girl rolls her eyes. "Okay, future Broadway star. I'm still taking the couch. I sleep more often on the couch anyways."

"Quinn, no! I will not allow the apparent destruction of vocal chords and perfect posture to happen right before my eyes. We'll sleep on the same bed, how about that?"

"That is not very wise." Nope, not at all. Unless of course, you want me to have a permanent brain aneurysm and not sleep a wink tonight.

"Why not?" Rachel demands.

Quinn ignores her question and makes a move to exit the bedroom only to be hindered by Rachel who pounces on her back. The brunette struggles to pull Quinn on to the bed, and when she successfully manages to do so, she pins the blonde girl with her body, her stomach flush against Quinn's.

This is so not going to end well. "Okay, okay! Geez, violence is not the answer!"

"Who is she?" Rachel asks when they are both settled under the sheets. Quinn turns to look at Rachel who is pointing at the frame on the bedside table. "I noticed that you have quite a few photos of you and her scattered in your apartment, but this is the only one of her solo."

"Her name is Kim and she is the most beautiful girl I've ever met." Quinn admits with a quiet sigh. "She's one of those people who you don't see until you truly look. She's beautiful in that completely silent way and she showed me how to appreciate the smallest things. She deserves to have the universe in her fingertips but sadly, I'm not the one to give that to her."

"You speak highly of her." Rachel comments.

"That's because she deserves to be spoken so highly of." At Rachel's confused look, Quinn says, "she's my ex-girlfriend."

"O-oh."

"That's it. I'm sleeping on the couch."

"Quinn, no!" Rachel grabs Quinn's arm before she manages to escape from the bed. "I don't mind, okay? I have two gay dads; it's not a big deal to me if you're gay or whatever."

"Yes, but double-standards are real."

"Not for me. Come back to bed, and we won't talk about it if you don't want to."

Quinn sighs and relaxes, sinking into the cool softness of the cloudy pillow. It only takes a few moments until her consciousness begins to drop and slip into the valley of dreams, the warmth of Rachel's velveteen hands in hers is the last thing she feels.

How was it? And who's excited for Glee next week!