What had been Quinn expecting, honestly, thinking her parents could sashay back into her life and forget everything that had ever happened? Digging through the skeletons long forgotten in the depths of her closet? Pretending that hey, maybe Quinn could be normal for the first time in the entirety of her life?

Bloody hell. That was what she would say.

She had no idea whether to cry, laugh or throw her things to the ground to her heart's content, only to pause and think: And what's the point you're proving? That she successfully ruffled up your feathers and now can throw your past at you for all she desires?

No.

There was no way Judy could ever make her feel like that anymore – an immature teenager breaking things apart and getting pissed over something she had no control over.

Quinn hated it to her core, how things seemed to be perfectly fine – as much as it could be, anyway – but then she just had to turn her switch back on, never once leaving her alone.

She didn't need pictures of Frannie staring back at her, serving as a reminder of what they used to have, the facade she had on for countless years before finally shredding it for the image she had always desired to be.

Freedom. Unrestricted freedom. Not a dutiful blonde cheerleader, who followed her mother's every command just so she could fit into the shoes she never did back in the past.

Besides, Frannie was never truly gone. Quinn saw her everywhere. In the subway, at the bar she played, in the streets, every time her eyes closed for the briefest moments. In Judy's eyes whenever she looked at her, she saw her pupils reflecting the perfect daughter she could only dreamed of and how it simply vanished from her fingertips.

So close, but never there.

She knew, every time her mother spared a glance long enough, that there was an unspoken wish swirling around in her irises – how badly she hope that both of them traded places and she could have the daughter she wanted back in her arms.

No matter how many times Quinn brushed off the subject whenever Frannie was brought up, Judy never failed to harp on things her sister did. Wonderful Frannie, winning that championship. Beautiful Frannie, crowned as prom queen. Frannie, Frannie, Frannie.

It was like the phantom of her sister sitting around there whenever she was the topic of the conversation, smiling the way she used to – the same curl of lips that sucked all the light and happiness out of Quinn's life.

The photo album was a proof of that. She didn't pay much notice to it when her mother tucked it into her boxes when she moved out, didn't pay any more attention when she chucked it in the corners of her living room, surely didn't care much when Sam mentioned her childhood and the first thing Judy thought of was that.

Because she knew, inside laid all the memories she desperately wished never existed but to her mother's eyes, were precisely the same memories she hoped would awaken the inner blonde in her again.

Well, she was wrong.

But what came as a low blow was that family portrait. Quinn was positive that those pictures were safely tucked in Judy's own personal collections and she didn't mind at all – the last thing she ever wanted was yet another reminder of the daughter lost, the daughter that should have been gone.

Her mother appeared to have thought differently and somehow tucked the photograph in when they were still in the kitchen, acutely aware that they would eventually flip to that final page and there was nowhere she could hide, escape from the haunted past she ran away from for all these years.

Letting out a frustrated groan, Quinn hopped onto her bed and buried her face into her pillows, wanting to forget everything that had just conspired in the last few minutes, or so.

A knock on the door. She didn't respond, hoping whoever it was could take a hint and leave her alone to wallow in the misery only her mother could induce.

Apparently, the silence was taken the opposite way when the door opened and she similarly didn't turn her head to see who had just entered her room, feeling her bed dip with the additional weight.

In actuality, Quinn knew it would be Sam. Golden boy Sam Evans.

Judy never followed her after a fight, particularly one of her own doing. Russell was more sympathetic, but he steered clear of everything involving his family and emotions, especially after...

She pulled herself up and propped on her elbows, glancing over her shoulders to find him sitting carefully on the edge of her mattress. There was a comfortable distance between them, something she was grateful for.

Her lips pursed in thought, waiting for the inevitable question to come.

It never came.

Instead, Sam proceed to move – while maintaining the space in between them – and settled down next to her, laying flat on her bed. He stared at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his neck, no words leaving his mouth.

In the silence that followed, Quinn took the opportunity to examine the man's features. She had never noticed how well-built he was, having always assumed that he was a studious person and hadn't bother to work out, but his defined torso down to the veins in his forearms proved her wrong.

His chest heaved with every breath he took – a steady beat of inhaling and exhaling. A rhythmic gestured that soothed her tension, melting from her frame.

She expelled a sigh, opening her mouth to speak but he beat her to it. "There's this girl."

Sam's eyes were closed in contemplation, mulling over his next words as she waited, wondering the direction he was headed.

"That I love." He continued, sensing that no questions were being raised. "I've known her my whole life and she's always there when I need her."

Quinn merely nodded, still unclear when he was elaborating on his personal life but she preferred it over asking about her earlier breakdown. "A girlfriend?"

With that, he shook his head. "A friend."

"Why not?" Her eyebrows frowned together, inspecting his features again. He didn't look that bad to be rejected by some girl, and though they had only known each other fore barely a day, she could tell he wasn't a bad person either. There was no way a girl would choose not to be with someone like him.

"Because I never did anything about it. I was afraid of losing her, losing the only friend I've ever known and loved. Too much of a coward to do anything about it until it was too late, anyway."

"Too late for what?" She repeated.

The defeated look that washed over his face was not lost on her, when he raised a hand to cover his eyes. "She's with someone else."

"So you gave up? Just like that?"

"What's the point, anyway? I couldn't compete with someone like him."

The way he spoke of his romantic rival made him look vulnerable, fragile, like he was going to break at any moment. She rested a hand on his shoulders, unclear of what she should say to ease his inner turmoil but to comfort him in solitude.

"Besides," Sam continued. "I– I let people go."

"Always?"

He hummed in affirmation. "All the time. I fought too hard for people in the past and I realized– There's no point."

Both of them stayed quiet, for her part she really didn't know how to concoct a proper answer to his admission.

The hand he had been resting on his face came around her shoulders, tentatively, and she released a bated breath. They were now holding each other, in shared comfort, and the thought warmed her.

Perhaps, that was what truly prompted her to speak. "My sister– She died."

The confession felt like a weigh was being lifted off her shoulders. She waited, for him to respond.

He didn't. Instead, Sam slid his hand down to the small of her back, rubbing his fingertips over the fabric comfortingly.

If she had divulged this to Puck, he probably would have attempted distracting her the best way he knew how. Like Sam, he would slip a hand to her back, only it would be over her bare skin. A sensual movement before he proceeded, latching his lips to her neck and she would have given in, allowing him to do as he pleased.

But with the blonde, the gesture was soft and sweet.

Almost as if it unlocked something she kept so carefully hidden beneath the surface, the vision flooded her memories. Frannie, the headlights blinding her with its glare, the shattering of the windows, the impact of the hit.

Her eyes slid to a close as they took the best of her, barely refraining the sobs that threatened to spill.

Sam didn't speak, or ask questions. He remained consistent in providing her the comfort she never knew she carved for, keeping her tightly planted in the present instead of slipping back into the memories that engulfed her.

They simply laid there, wound together as the blonde kept a vigilant watch over her breaking walls.

After a while, he finally broke the silence. "It's the pain that made you who you are now, Quinn. It changes you, made you strong and passionate, defines you."

His hand traced the edge of her jaw, forcing her orbs to meet his unyielding ones. She could almost shudder under his piercing gaze, losing herself in the searing hues that stared so intensely into her, almost if he could unravel her with one simple look.

"You may not be the perfect daughter your parents would like you to be, but you are who you are. Never change that."

A smile finally made its way to her lips, albeit small. "Thank you, Golden Boy. You sure know how to cheer someone up."

His features softened into something reminiscent of amusement, cocking his eyebrows. "Of course. I'm sweet, after all."

"Yeah, yeah." Quinn released a laugh, feeling her muscles loosening. "You probably help old ladies cross the roads and stuff."

Sam almost looked offended. "And what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing." She held her hands up in surrender, though she was really suppressing another laughter from escaping. "I'm just complimenting you."

This time, he mirrored her smile and shrugged in lieu of an answer.

"Thank you, again."

"There must be something if I'm getting so many gratitude in one day."

She refused to dignify his accusation with a response, instead rolling her eyes back. "I really wouldn't have known what to do, if you weren't here with me. So, yeah. I do owe you quite a bit of 'thank you's."

Sam waved her off, before giving her a lopsided smile. "You're very welcome, if I can say that myself."

"Besides, you must have somewhere else more worthwhile to go to, and I'm probably holding you back–"

He interrupted her rambling with a shake of head. "Trust me, there's no other place I'd rather be."