Hey all, hope you had a fantastic (insert wintertime religious/atheist celebration here). Thank you for all of my comments/reviews so far. It's been really interesting. Even stuff people just say in passing is making me think about the actions and outcomes, so keep doing it please?

Alright, so this is my angsty chapter. Lots of description. I wish i could make this into a movie and see if it all worked (slash watch Lea Michele and Dianna Agron act it out... ;D )

I think it's actually a little shorter than the others, but there's some good stuff here. At least I think so.

Enjoy!

Chapter Eight

Of course, in spite of her knee nervously shaking and foot tapping on the carpet of Rachel's car the next morning, Quinn passed her theory with distinction. Rachel, being a Juilliard alum, had contacts everywhere in the music world, and as it was getting to the point where Quinn desperately needed to apply for colleges, she had called in favors to get the results of her exams same day. A couple of days later (thanks to some more of Rachel's contacts) she had taken her Grade eight piano exam, and passed, again with distinction (nothing less would suffice in Rachel's books). Quinn had written her applications and essays, had gotten a letter of recommendation from Mr Wilkes the English teacher (who positively gushed because she was always so far ahead of everyone else in the class), recorded her intended audition pieces for Juilliard and had added copies of her final grade certificates, before sending everything off by the end of November, just in time for the December deadline to music programs at NYU, Juilliard, UCLA, OSU (just in case) and, just to make sure her parents had something to distract them from looking too much into everything, applications to Yale and Cornell.

The evening of the day they had sent the applications off found them sitting together in the choir room. They weren't speaking, but they both knew there were things that needed to be said. They had grown so close to each other over the past couple of months, and while they both wanted to continue as they had been over the past two weeks, spending one on one time together every day, it was inappropriate for a teacher and a student to do so without the pretense of doing something vaguely academic. This topic was a common theme in both of their thoughts. They knew they weren't supposed to feel the way they felt about each other, knew it every time Quinn almost slipped and called her Rachel in front of the class, or when Rachel found herself staring into hazel eyes and talking solely to the blond when she was supposed to be addressing the other people in the room as well, but that didn't make it any easier to stop feeling that way.

Neither had forgotten what little they woke up from their dream remembering. The parting words of each played out in their heads again and again, although neither had any recollection of the events in the dream leading up to them. What Quinn did know, was that she was keeping a secret from the one person she could be honest with, and now that it looked as if they would be spending less time together anyway, she decided she had to finally admit her feelings. She knew that the woman wouldn't treat her any differently, but it would put tension between them, and she was dreading it. Looking from her place on the risers for the umpteenth time at Rachel, who was sitting at her desk grading papers, Quinn sighed violently. She had to say something, and she had to say it that night. But the feelings bubbling inside her were strong, and she needed to get rid of the anxiety and be calm when she said it. So she did the only thing she knew would work. She got down from the chair and took her place at the piano.

As the first brooding notes of Piano Sonata No. 23 in F Minor, movement 57, part one billowed out across the room, Rachel put down her pencil knowing what was coming, not just in terms of the music, but what would come after. Rachel, having more experience in the situation, could see the girl was feeling guilt, and it was something the blond felt towards herself that caused it. Quinn didn't recognize that Rachel had exactly the same feelings though, and she was playing the piece (which was over ten minutes long) to psyche herself up, to release some of the tension before she told Rachel how she felt. Rachel accepted with quiet amazement the fact that Quinn was brave enough to be about to say how she felt, even though she didn't realize that Rachel returned the feelings, and thought she was about to commit emotional suicide. Clearly Rachel hadn't admitted the feelings that she had been having to the blond either, but that was for a more serious reason: if Quinn knew that her feelings were returned, and she tried to take it further, Rachel wasn't sure she could stop herself.

As the notes took off into a more aggressive part of the sonata, Rachel turned to face where Quinn's back was to her, and allowed the alternating anger and calm of the piece to wash over her, accepting all of the pain and fear from Quinn's notes. Rachel was preparing herself, but she wasn't sure yet whether it was to say no (like she should do) or to say yes (like the deepest part of her soul yearned to). Finally, Quinn's fingers rapidly assaulted the keys for the last part of the piece, something her fingers did not have the speed or the stamina to get through two months before. Rachel allowed her eyes to fill with tears, both of pride and fear, before she quickly blinked them away; it wasn't her moment to feel sorry for herself. As the notes finally faded out, Rachel stood and walked to the piano, behind where Quinn sat with her shoulders hunched and her chest heaving. The blond stood up slowly, not knowing the woman was behind her, and turned on the spot, throwing her head and shoulders back in preparation, only to be met with the face that occupied all her thoughts right in front of her. Desperately she blinked back tears. Both standing upright facing each other, two feet apart, Quinn breached the silence.

"Rachel, I…I-"as she stuttered, her voice broke with tears, but her eyes never dropped from the woman's face. She lifted a hand to cover her mouth and shook silently. Rachel nodded and, not being able to look at the girl in so much pain without crying herself, looked at the floor, nodding again.

"I know Quinn. I…I'm…" as she struggled to find the words, she looked back up at Quinn in desperation. As their gazes met, Rachel's eyes widened in realization of how strongly she actually felt for the girl, and despair flooded through her. Quinn's eyes widened in response to this, finally understanding what the woman was trying to say, finally understanding that the situation was so much worse, because her feelings were returned.

They both stepped forwards into each others' arms at the same time, sobbing uncontrollably. As their tears continued, slowly Rachel's head pulled away from Quinn's shoulder, her eyes still closed. Quinn's temple moved to press against Rachel's, and painfully slowly continued to move until their foreheads were resting against each other, then their noses, until finally, still sobbing and gasping shakily, eyes screwed shut against the tears, their lips tentatively met and pressed together hard, so that as they shook from their sobs, they wouldn't part. They didn't move, just stood solidly with their arms around each other, before Rachel pulled away with a quiet wail and buried her head once again into the crook of Quinn's neck, hands moving to clutch desperately at Quinn's back.

It was what had to be done; Rachel had pulled away instead of deepening the kiss. She had been the adult, she had denied herself the one thing she wanted. They knew that nothing more would happen that night, that it had already gone too far. They sank to the floor with their arms around each other and stayed there for a time, not moving, holding each other tighter. They eventually found themselves lying on the floor with their arms around each other, exhausted. Rachel was on her back but had her head curled toward Quinn, with her legs bent at the knee and resting towards her left, and Quinn was on her side, curled into the woman, still crying and unable to pull her face away from the chocolate tresses. Rachel blinked slowly, knowing that they had to move soon or risk the Janitor discovering them. She moved her hand to stroke the silky curtain of blond hair that was partially covering Quinn's face, both trying to brush it away so she could see the girl, and to encourage her to meet Rachel's eyes. Eventually she looked up at Rachel.

Willing herself not to break down again at seeing how red and blood-shot Quinn's eyes were, Rachel pulled her up so they were in a sitting position. She reluctantly removed her arms from the warmth of the cheerleader's body and sat Indian-style with her hands on her knees. Not really knowing what else to do, Quinn mirrored her with her hands in her lap, looking down at them, knowing what was coming. She was aware that Rachel had to be the adult, but it didn't mean that she didn't resent it.

"Quinn."

"No." She replied,s shaking her head, refusing to accept it. Rachel sighed.

"Quinn, I-" Quinn's chin began to tremble and she couldn't look up to meet Rachel's eyes.

"Please don't. Please, I'm begging you. Don't say it." Rachel felt the knife in her heart twist at the girl's pleading tone, but it had to be said.

"Quinn, we have to stop meeting after school. I don't think we should be alone together any more." She paused, before quietly adding "It's too hard. For both of us." At this Quinn broke down again, not sobbing breathlessly like she had been before. This time the tears were streaming constantly down her cheeks and she was silent, but her face crumpled and her head bowed. She was broken. Opening her mouth, all she could think to say was "I don't know if I can do that. How am I supposed to only see you in class? You're not just the person I…you're the only person I've got." With these last words she reached out a hand to where the other woman's was resting on her knee, not trying to convince her, just needing the strength of her touch. Rachel's hand gently gripped Quinn's and her lips began to quiver, her eyes trained to the place where her legs crossed as Quinn finished her speech. "I understand that we shouldn't be alone together any more, but I need to be able to talk to you. Please." Rachel nodded vacantly without looking up, as if to some silent rhythm. She stood up, not letting go of the blond's hand, dragging her upwards. She picked up the pile of their stuff from the table, turning off the lights and marching out towards the door. They reached their place on the steps to the parking lot and she paused. Quinn wondered what she was going to do, before Rachel handed Quinn her belongings. Without even looking at Quinn, she dug into her purse grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, scrawled something on it, shoved it into Quinn's hand, snatched back her possessions from Quinn's arms and marched to her car without looking back. Quinn's eyes followed her. She wanted to call the teacher's name, but she thought that if she opened her mouth she might vomit. She looked down to the piece of paper in her hand, and as she heard the car pull away from the school, she felt a flicker of a smile ghost across her lips for what felt like the first time in years, as her eyes prickled and new tears replaced those that she had already shed.

419 713 8190 - My name is Sarah. The broken shards of her heart felt like they had at least been swept together in a pile. She trudged down the steps and drove exhaustedly home. When she got there, she sat disinterestedly through dinner again (if her parents noticed that she looked like she had been watching Bambi's mother getting shot on repeat, they didn't mention it) and sat with her parents for a little while to keep them happy before she slowly made her way up the stairs to her room. She carefully removed everything from her backpack and placed them formulaically on the bed. Dante's Purgatorio, her AP Math textbook, History textbook, notepad, pencil case, phone (which was placed reverently in the centre), laptop, and some of Rachel's old theory notebooks. These she took and held to her chest for a moment, imagining that she could smell the woman's perfume (she assumed there was a hint of something like mango or passion fruit in it, sweet, fresh and exotic) still lingering on them. She inhaled deeply, then, placing them into the drawer of her nightstand, she moved everything so she could sit on the bed with her back resting on the headboard. She took up her pencil case and notebook to complete her half-finished math homework, casually, yet pointedly, ignoring her phone.

When she had completed all her homework, she got up and packed everything carefully back into the bag, except for her phone which was still lying unassumingly on the comforter. She paced the room, tidying up little things, re-organizing her desk, and straightening out some pictures, then finally decided to take a shower and get into bed. She lingered under the hot stream long after the suds were rinsed from her hair, but the feeling of her intestines broiling with nerves kept her rooted to the spot. Eventually the water started to get cold, so she got out, brushed her teeth (very carefully, oral hygiene is important) dried her hair, put on her pyjamas, put her dirty laundry in the hamper, closed the curtains, and got into bed. She stared at her phone for mere seconds before she reached forward and snatched it off the comforter. She stared at it for a while until she reached out to her left without looking and grabbed her iPod from the dock on her nightstand. Slipping the silicon skin away from the cold metal surface, she retrieved the piece of paper (where else would she keep something so monumentally important?) and flipped her phone open. With shaking hands she typed out a message and let her thumb hover over the send button.

When Rachel got home, the first thing she did was collapse into the nearest chair, which was tucked neatly under the dining table. She let her head hit the cool teak surface and repeated her old, pre-performance breathing exercises until she thought she could get up again without vomiting. She had no idea how she had managed to drive home without causing an accident. Without lifting her head, she moved her hands from their positions flat on the table either side of her head, smoothed her hair down against her scalp, then looked up towards the kitchen with them still resting on the back of her neck. She had absolutely no desire to eat, but after being in the habit of making sure to eat a healthy balanced meal three times a day for such a long time, since high school in fact, she forced herself to make the simplest thing she could, vegetable-tofu stir-fry, Hoi-sin sauce and rice noodles. As she left the wok to heat, she walked back down the step out of the kitchen and retrieved her bag from where she had dropped it. She removed only her phone, gripping it tightly and seeing there were no messages. When she had finished cooking and put the food onto a plate, she went and sat on her Victorian-style couch and looked out into the darkness beyond the windows. She ate with her feet on the coffee table and her phone propped on a cushion like the glass slipper next to her, finishing rapidly, her ability to use chopsticks partial proof of her time spent with friends in Asia almost two years before. When she realized with a start that she had been finished and staring into the darkness for twenty minutes, she got up and put her used plate and chopsticks into the dishwasher, leaving the wok to soak. Intending to have a glass of wine, she reached up to a cupboard to get a glass out, but on seeing how much her hands were shaking, she decided sweet tea and a hot bath would be a much better move.

By the time she had finished her bath she was getting desperate. She had no idea what to think, or what to do except wait for her phone to ring, so she put it on the dresser to the left of the bed, closest to the bathroom, dried herself off, and, not bothering to put anything on, got under the cool white sheets, pulling the deep red comforter up from its folded position at the end of the bed. She sank slowly into the plush pillows and let the coolness contrast with the heat left on her skin from the bath water and sooth her. She didn't feel tired, but she closed her eyes and allowed her arms to spread out under the sheets like wings, and listened closely for the sound of her phone ringing. She rolled her head to her left, the side of the bed closest to the windows, to look at the digital clock glowing in the darkness. 9:27. She bit back a groan, figuring that it was going to be a long and restless night, and allowing some dark recess of her mind to jokingly whisper a light-hearted grumble about someone playing it cool.

With a jump, she woke up, not quite understanding that she had dozed off until it clicked that the annoying sound she was hearing was her phone buzzing against the dark wood of her nightstand. Her hand shot out and grabbed the vibrating device as she allowed her head to roll to her left again and see that it was 10:39. Hitting the read button with relish, she read the short text smiling, her lips quivering, tearing up slightly, and then re-read it over and over again before hitting reply, and typing up a quick message, wondering whether or not to play it cool, her resolve crumbling before she had even really considered the idea. As she hit send, she rolled onto her front and buried her face into the pillows, right hand still clutching the phone which she slid underneath. She sighed into them. It sounded more like a sob to her own ears, but she didn't allow another one. She closed her eyes in acceptance of the horrific situation she was in, vowing to stay strong for Quinn's benefit, and saw the words which were burned into her retinas, blindingly bright in the darkness; the words she had both received and sent back.

Across town, as Quinn's phone buzzed back into life, she read the words, sighed, and smiled wistfully. Flicking off the bedside lamp she allowed the words on her phone to shine out of the darkness. Words she had never physically said to or heard from Rachel, but she knew were true all the same. Words she had sent to the woman herself ten minutes before.

I love you.

So there we have it people, the first kiss and the L-bomb, all in one chapter. I hope it wasn't disappointing, but it totally wouldn't be realistic for them to just hop in the sack now; they haven't gone crazy enough from desire yet ;)

At the moment i only have one chapter written after this, so I'm gonna have to get over my writer's block and get scribbling, but i will keep writing. I've been considering starting something else as well but i really can't concentrate on more than one thing at once.

Please keep commenting, tell me if you're enjoying it, or if you think i need to find a new dealer who sells less potent crack. Or y'know, tell me about the new kittens you got for xmas, whatever. I just like reading stuff that you guys say :D