Quinn.

August.

Sometimes, there are moments in life where the only thing you can do is close your eyes and breathe. Moments where your world spills out around you so horribly or, less often, so sublimely, that you can do nothing but lay down arms and submit to it.

In the past, this loss of control would cause me to fall to my knees in prayer, lash out in rage, or, more plainly, hide. But these recollections of self are nothing more than tickles on the edge of my consciousness now. They exist as mere shadows amidst my sunny days, amidst Rachel's shining silhouette.

Brilliant and glorious; her profile is a pulse, an all-consuming glow of warmth.

Opening my eyes again, I think about what life has taught me. I think about time and how it can change things so completely, and yet, even as I sit in acknowledgment of this truth, I feel like I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that, in my mind's eye, Rachel will remain thus forever; head thrown back, swimming in laughter and glee. Sundrenched and shining..

My starburst of light.

My pulse.

My Rachel.

"Q, get your ass into gear before I start breaking stuff just for fun!"

Stumbling away from the bookshelf I have been leaning against, I automatically frown at the intensity of Santana's glare before I realize she is precious moments away from spilling the teetering pile of belongings she is holding all over the pavement.

My arms bend awkwardly to grab for the wooden chest she has tried to balance on some boxes and I almost buckle from the weight of that alone. Sighing to myself, I watch the puff of relief she subtly tries to breathe out and frown.

"I told you to either stop letting Britt choose your boxes for you or have a conversation about the difference between volume and mass!"

"Sure I could do that.. or.. you could stop having eye-sex with Berry for the next five minutes and we could actually stand a chance of getting this shit done before you graduate!"

The unimpressed eyebrow raise that I am readying will be flawless; I have had years of practice. But, just as I am about to unleash a barrage of indignant words to accompany it and distract from the blush that's spreading across my neck, I happen to glance at Rachel.

Instantly, predictably, and, rather unfairly, I am undone.

Because, even from her position inside the moving truck, she has overheard Santana's comment and (rather brilliantly) beaten me at my own game.

A single, dark eyebrow lifts questioningly as she leans against the vehicle's metal frame and my fingers instantly begin to throb. It is ubiquitously unjust; how debilitating the action is.

When I do it, it is controlled; an act of supremacy, or, at the very least, a taunt. When Rachel does it, it is a whisper; a teasing, knowing kind of tickle.

Her arms and ankles have crossed themselves in a manner that is both playfully reproachful and brimming with sensual confidence. She tenses them as I see a loving sigh heave from her chest and, when coupled with the fact that the tiny denim shorts she is wearing are already making quite a show of her toned legs, I am helpless to do anything but dip my eyes downwards and watch the sigh ripple through her entire body.

Rachel, of course, follows the direction of my gaze closely and has the cheek to smirk at my poorly-timed lack of decorum. Too late do I realize that she is not only smirking at the lust smoking through my eyes, but also at the disgusted amusement sitting in Santana's.

Making a last ditch effort to peddle out of the hole my treacherous eyes have dropped me in, I tear them away from Rachel and spin back towards Santana, attempting a casual laugh. Sadly, it comes out sounding pathetic and strained as I struggle for recovery.

"Oh.. that, I was just thinking-"

It doesn't matter, because Santana is already turning around and mumbling sardonically over her shoulder.

"Save it Q. Please. I really don't think I can handle knowing what you're thinking.. ooh Berry, how I love your creepy shortness and unbearable verbosity. Please, take me politely against your bedazzled Hope Chest."

"Hey!"

Unthinkingly, I take a step in pursuit before I hear two sets of laughter ring like bells from the truck.

Glancing over, I see that Rachel is bent over with her hands on her knees, cackling throatily and obviously trying to calm herself down. Brittany is standing beside her with her hands by her sides and laughing happily, seemingly unaware and uncaring of what has gotten Rachel so worked up.

Blinking, I'm surprised at her amusement until I realize what it is that I'm actually holding.

I catch sight of a number of intricately patterned purple and pink jewels lining the lock of the wooden chest. While my blush turns hot and I hastily place the object back on the ground, Santana and, annoyingly enough, Rachel begin cackling all the louder.

"Hope Chest sex?"

I feel Fran brush past me from behind, massaging a sore muscle in her bicep. She spends less than a second looking between the chest, Rachel and me before shaking her head and swiftly walking over to take the boxes off of Santana's hands.

"Excuse me, I need to go cut my ears off and cry now. That's, wow.."

My horrified gaze is glued to the disturbed frown that's pulling at my sister's cheeks as she disappears into the stairwell that leads to our new apartment. I don't even notice Santana bending over to pick up the chest again until I hear the grunt in her words.

"Jesus Christ! What the hell does Berry keep in this thing?! It's a fucking Hope Chest not a sex dra-"

"LA LALA! I'M GETTING LUNCH NOW! THIS CONVERSATION BETTER BE OVER BY THE TIME I GET BACK!"

Fran's rather strained yell echoes down the hallway and has just the right amount of sisterly abhorrence laced within it for me to snap out of my latency and rebuild the glare I was originally cultivating.

"Shut up San, it's not a fucking Hope Chest! God, why did I even ask for your help today?!"

Taking a slow breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes in an effort to not allow myself to become further influenced by Santana's dirty mouth. When they open again, I manage to catch what seems to be the very end of a wink that she is shooting to somewhere behind me.

I don't have to turn around to know that she's looking at Rachel and Brittany, who I can still hear laughing and squealing playfully. Though, sneaking a peek, they now seem to be distracting themselves by playing games of spinning, chasing and other wonderfully silly pleasures.

The innocence of their frivolity settles the tension that's squirming in my shoulders and Santana seems to notice, because she gives me a smile even as she deals a not-entirely-gentle hipcheck.

"You didn't ask. Berry asked Britt, and we both know what that means."

There's an intake of breath as I prepare to word my answer, but then an earsplitting screech sounds from behind and both Santana and I turn around to witness the end of Rachel spraying Brittany with the contents of her water bottle.

Squinting in anticipation of the yell I know is coming, I turn around just as Brittany wraps her arms around Rachel and traps her in a dripping embrace.

"QUINN! QUINN I'M IN NEED OF SAVING PLEASE!"

Shifting my eyes towards Santana again, I see that she is also itching to escape the water fight that is rapidly becoming an impossible avoidance.

"BRITTANY S PIERCE! DON'T YOU DARE!"

There's another loud splash and, in a last ditch effort, Santana tightens her hold on the chest and glances towards the stairs.

"Uh.. race you?"

I barely have time to sigh my gratitude before she's off like a shot, already sprinting lithely through the disorganized mess of belongings littering the sidewalk.

I jump over a large pile of boxes labeled 'kitchen' and almost topple them in my haste. Santana's shadow is just out of my reach, for a few seconds I manage to get closer but she's always been the faster of us so it's no surprise that she gets to the stairs with seconds to spare.

I follow the sound of her victorious laughter all the way up the stairway and then I find myself alone, standing on the precipice of the entranceway.. about to enter the loft.

I realize then that my hands are empty; I've forgotten to bring anything with me. The thought barely lasts a moment though because then I don't see my hands as empty, but free.. free to touch, and they do.

I run my fingertips over the metal of the door frame and sigh as my eyes rake over what lies on the other side; boxes, books, scarves, shoes, pots, pans, flowers and a small cactus that I still haven't managed to kill. It looks like chaos, like possibility.

Not for the first time (or the last I'm sure) I wonder at the wonder of how I have managed to come to this point in my life, of just how I have managed to find a door such as this to stand before.

As Santana silently descends the stairs to gather more boxes without being spotted, I think about how life can be a series of doorways and, finally stepping through this most recent one, I take a moment to think back on the past few months of mine with a smile on my face.

Because I'm standing in an apartment, an apartment in New York, an apartment that is not theirs or mine.. but ours, and that is something that I never thought I would have the opportunity to find joy in.

So I smile, and I sigh, and I think about the different doors that lead me here.

Graduation had come and gone in waves of tears and promises to keep in touch. Standing amidst the bustling celebration, I let the sound of Rachel's laughter flow through me as she became engulfed in it; in that thick moment of in between where 'the future' suddenly became 'the present'.

I watched her revel in the glory of it; the delicious possibility. But, still not feeling quite comfortable enough to be around so much smiling and affection, I made my quiet exit through the auditorium door the moment Mercedes let me go.

I walked through the empty hallway then; calm and alone. My feet clicked against each familiar sheet of tile one by one. It was as I turned the corner and skipped over a tile I knew to be rickety that I realized it could very well be the last time I would make that particular journey. The revelation caused feathers to begin to flutter in my stomach; restless and compressed.

I would miss this place, this corner of the world, regardless of how much of a cage I had turned it into. I would miss it.

Because, from the state of the tiles to the stench of the cafeteria, I had mapped McKinley perfectly, I knew all of its secrets and it knew all of mine; the perfect symbiotic relationship.

My horizon seemed blinding with the intense wattage of New York lights, it was so close.. but what would I find once I reached it? I felt like everything was spinning out of control, like, just as the dust had begun to settle around me I had to make another leap, enter another great unknown.

The relative monotony of the past thirteen years of my life would be gone, replaced with car horns, subways and a spinning top of fast paced second hands ticking and ticking and ticking.

My life raced right before my eyes; alight in technicolor hyperdrive.

I had so much these days, but having a lot also meant having a lot to lose. What if I couldn't handle it? What would happen then?

The thought caused my fingers to bruise the plush red of my graduation cap anxiously. But then I remembered the easy joy I had just witnessed on Rachel's face and I heard the sound of her voice whispering that the unknown was just something we hadn't been introduced to yet and, slowly, my fingers began to uncurl.

I read once that it's a lucky thing- to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard. I thought about the multitude of goodbyes I had already said throughout the year. Some more difficult than I could bear, others, easier than I could imagine and, as I thought about these things, very gently, time slipped back to its normal pace.

Until the spinning top of pressure caved in on itself and the knot in my chest fell away to nothing and it was just me again, leaning against my locker door, which I hadn't even realized I'd been walking towards, with just enough time on my hands to say goodbye.

If saying goodbye to McKinley was difficult, saying goodbye to Rachel's fathers was almost impossible. I thanked every deity in the cosmos for Fran's 'approval of transfer' letter that day, even as I clutched onto the back of Leroy's shirt and cried like I had never cried before, I was thankful. Because we had grown close, in the weeks leading up to our departure, and yes, I felt very lucky to have to experience such a difficult separation.

He didn't even say goodbye, or good luck, or anything other than a quietly murmured 'love you kid' that I almost didn't hear- already a mess over the realization that I actually held some kind of place in this wonderful family now.

Where I felt injury at having to change such a new and important relationship, Rachel was, of course, like a bird; already enamored by the inevitability of her upcoming flight.

She spoke in excited jibbers the entire way to the train station, double and triple checking furniture moving dates and car travel arrangements with her dad as though she had been waiting for this moment her entire life which, in a way, I suppose she had.

Silently, I curled a strand of hair behind her ear as she took a moment to read over our itinerary, both of us jumping rhythmically over the speed bumps that lead us to the station parking lot.

I wasn't the least bit surprised to feel the curve of her cheek cave into my hand during the brief tumble before it sprung back into place so Rachel could explain her color-coded sticker system to her dad.

Again.

I didn't begrudge her the panic. I could hear what was happening beneath her words; I could hear the strain her heart was feeling.

Because it's never an easy thing, to leave the ones we love behind, even when what we're running towards is far more beautiful than anything we've ever imagined.

So, when we finally arrived at the platform, I stood and waited.

I stood and waited until the train attendant was glaring daggers into the back of my skull, until the train doors themselves were beginning to close. I stood and waited until all four of us were completely out of time.

And then, slowly, I unraveled Rachel's fingers from the back of her fathers shirts and lead her to the other side of the glass doors, only letting go so we could give a final wave from the other side.

In the end, after days of sifting through countless real estate offerings, it was Fran who found it. A plain, inconspicuous ad in a plain, inconspicuous gazette: 'Large, top floor loft apartment in Williamsburg. Unique and cheap.'

The location and rent were both doable but it took us a while to find the place because the building stood around a number of corners; somehow shielded by the surrounding structures and kept away from excess grit and noise.

I felt a tickle ghost through me as we approached and, at once, I was sure that, if I closed my eyes very tightly, I would be able to hear a thrumming beat, as if I had taken my heart and pressed it to my ear like a shell.

Something was happening that I couldn't quite make out, like a feather brushing over my mind; elusive and fleeting.

Rachel's hand tightened around my own questioningly and it was only then that I realized I had stopped walking, I could not move to face her, I could not move for anything.

Because, lifting my brow, I realized that I knew this type of building, I recognized the signage in spite of how faded and rusty it had become. It was the site of an old printing press. I turned my head slightly to catch the agent confirming my suspicions and telling Fran it had only recently been purchased and remodeled for residential use.

Our eyes met excitedly, Fran mouthing a silent "Oh my God!" even as she nodded along to the rest of the informative facts the agent was spouting.

I couldn't make out the name on the buildings' plaque, but, even from outdoors, I recognized the smell of the paper. It never really leaves; that breeze of musty ink and secrets. I like to think it gets into the bones of a place and settles down to stay like some ancient kind of moss.

The advertisement was for the uppermost floor so, as Fran tried her hand at being charming by chatting about housing prices and stock bonds, we made our way up.

The stairs were made from blocks of slate gray and they immediately had me picturing the red brick wall of my adolescence. The image stretched over my insides until I had to remind myself that I wasn't looking at a barrier, I was looking at a gateway; a structure not built to keep people out, but to send people on their way.

Still, phantom recollections raced through my mind; memories of months gone by where I spent my days on the edge of a knife, balancing along the shaky rim of that red brick wall that woke me up so many mornings ago.

But, as I walked up the gray staircase that day, the floor was firm beneath my feet so, resolutely, I closed the memory as if it were a book and let it fall away from me.

I never cared for red brick anyway.

"Okay ladies, you're going to love this.."

Smiling gratefully at the agent, I stepped through the thick, metal door he had theatrically slid open and almost stumbled at what I saw. It seemed as though I wasn't the only one; Rachel's hand slipped limply from my own as we split apart, eyes widening to take in our surroundings.

It was an eclectic, open kind of space, with thick gray columns and tall, oversized windows that simply begged the surrounding sunshine to come in.

"The owner is organizing utilities this weekend so there'll be bathroom facilities in that office there and gas on the existing line over here-"

My attention was torn away from the real estate agent's emphatic hand gestures when I saw a ribbon of cream twirl by my feet, it came to rest as a scrap of paper; no doubt abandoned when some other, more impressive machine froze the building's production.

It was in my hand before I knew what was happening; mysterious and touched with words that were half-shaped and shrouded in rips, I had to squint to make them out. But only for a moment, just a moment, because then I realized that I already knew them, that I had read them countless times and that they were printed in a Lewis Carroll novel that was currently packed away in one of my boxes.

"'Well, now that we have seen each other,' said the unicorn 'If you'll beli-'" [1]

"..if you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you."

Murmuring out the excerpts' end, I held the scrap of paper before Fran's intrigued face and turned to find Rachel.

I didn't have to look far; she was twirling a few feet away from me in careless circles that had me envisioning our night at the revival cinema all those months ago. My lips easily spread into a smile at both the memory and the image I was currently being treated to.

She was so beautiful but, before I could utter a word to garner her attention, she breathed in a large lungful of air and expelled it again in the form of eight vocal notes; clear, strong, and flawlessly perfect in pitch.

The buildings' acoustics were impressive and Rachel must have agreed, because the moment the last note faded from her mouth she dropped her hands, which had been held aloft either side of her body during her performance, and spun to face Fran and me.

"This is it! I mean, this is it, isn't it?"

Looking around, I mentally calculated that we would need to gather supplies to install a few additional wall-type structures. There was limited heating or cooling, so we would be at the mercy of the elements for most of the year. But I couldn't deny it, glancing at Fran's grinning face, it seemed as though no one could.

"It is.."

My eyes shifted back to the hope shining in Rachel's eyes and I felt a part of myself fall helplessly into it.

This space.. it wasn't the tangled and terrible cold of my parents' house. It wasn't the wonderfully stitched together derelict of Fran's apartment. It wasn't even the thoughtfully assembled neat of Rachel's fathers' home.

This space.. was something entirely different, and I think all three of us fell unashamedly in love with it because of that. So, we barely paused a second before descending onto the agent.

The poor guy, he really had no idea what he had coming, especially when he was met with the full force of a Rachel Berry inquisition.

"So, let's talk dates."

A sharp knocking shakes the memories from my mind and I spin in place when I realize I must have closed the loft door behind me without thinking.

"Just a sec! Sorry San I-"

My embarrassed smile falters as I slide the door open to find, not Santana, but Rachel staring back at me. She has her hands on her hips and her foot is tapping against the concrete in carefully timed intervals. I know the look she is sporting, and it causes me to swallow heavily.

"Um, hey Rach, the.. the door was open.."

My gaze drifts southwards as the clumsy words tumble out of my mouth. There's a bead of sweat that is forging a path down Rachel's right thigh; a deliciously slippery, shining teardrop. My eyelids dip further down when another drop begins to fall from the left and it's only then that I realize that it's not sweat at all.. it's water.

Water from Rachel's drink bottle, that she attacked Brittany with, that I left her to..

"I know.."

Before I can even hope to finish the thought, the twin diamonds that have been painting Rachel's thighs disappear from view as she squeezes them together until she's standing innocently with her feet in line and her hands behind her back.

".. but I wanted to make sure you could hear me knocking. Could you?"

My stomach spasms at the odd intensity in Rachel's tone, I don't know what to make of it. But before I can think anymore on the matter, she takes a careful step towards me and I drown in lemon trees and laughter.

Seconds pass, and I fill each and every one of them with the desperation of trying to hold myself together. Still, all I can really manage to do is nod dumbly.

Finally, after far too long, my mouth begins to work again.

"I.. I could, uh, yes?"

Without missing a beat, Rachel presses herself closer to me until I'm damp from the contact and dazed from the proximity.

Rachel is hot; she has always run warmer than most but, in this moment, her skin is particularly heated, in spite of how wet it is. Trying to focus my bleary eyes, I can see that some light has come out from between the clouds and is streaming through our large windows, casting beams of sunny warmth between us.

I'm shocked for a moment, when I feel an unyielding kind of stiffness poke into my back, but then I tilt my head slightly and start to piece things together..

Although my hands have come to rest against her hips, Rachel has been the one directing us. With the effortless skill of a seasoned hunter, I have been herded through the silence, ending up with my lower back pushed flush against the kitchen bench top.

Vaguely, a small part of me is aware that I should be considering escape routes, but with Rachel pressed into me; filled with warmth and tension and an incredibly specific kind of purpose, everything falls away. Until all I can feel is the scratch of her denim shorts beneath my fingertips and all I can hear is the timbre of her voice; low and steady and speaking just for me..

"What about this, can you hear this?"

My eyes crash shut in alarm as Rachel quietly moans my name against the shell of my ear; so soft that it's almost as if it never happened at all, almost.

"Fu- uh, y-yes, yes I can.."

Her breath is hot and condenses against my skin immediately; stoking more heat, more contact, more wetness, more more more.. my brain fizzles as lights begin to spot on the edge of my vision and then it's over.. I'm lost.

The smug quirk of her lips lets me know that Rachel is delighting in her easy dominance and this is a fact that makes me ache all the more, even as she twists her fingers through my hair and whispers.

"mm, that's good, how about this one.. Quinn, I need you so badly.."

Shameless, she's shameless, but my body registers nothing beyond the sensation of my fingernails piercing a small patch of exposed skin above the cut of her shorts. I'm pressing too hard, I'm fairly sure I'm inflicting pain, but the slip is unintentional, I need something to hold onto, anything to stop me from burning up and floating away too quickly.

Rachel surprises me though when, instead of shying away from the firmness of my touch, she hisses and presses into it; bending my nails and my composure until the chore of keeping my own head up becomes too much and my forehead falls against hers in a dull thud.

"R..Rae.."

I.. I can't think, I don't know what's happening.. but then there's more heat and Rachel's hands are tightening in my hair and the kitchen bench top is digging into my back so nicely that I'm really not sure how much longer I'll be able to last without needing something else to relieve the thick tension that's twisting along my skin.

There's a beat of silence, and then.. an even tighter squeeze, but Rachel's hands are careful in their grip; they always pick the perfect body parts to tease and tug against. Each strand of hair is a feeling – guttural, instinctive, deliberate..she pulls each and every one out of me, until I'm stretched and open and my ears are pounding so loudly that I can barely hear her clearly expectant voice smoke against my cheekbone.

"Answer me Quinn."

The tone leaves no room for question or request; only a burning kind of challenge that instantly causes my eyes to snap open. Some part of me is screaming that I need to get this right, that I need to find the words for her.

So I do..

"Yes, yes Rach."

Everything in my chest expands at the pleased hum I hear, and then her wonderfully sculpted hands release the death grip they have on my hair and begin to make a journey downwards, bypassing my torso to make a clear path for the apex of my legs.

I'm not surprised – I have been expecting the movement, but that does nothing to stop the strained gasp that tears from my throat the moment a single fingertip grazes its way over my pelvis and comes to rest directly against my clit.

Snapping my head back, I push my eyes shut extra tightly as my body convulses. I don't think about what Santana and Brittany are doing downstairs, I don't think about where Fran has gone to pick up our lunch, I don't even think about the fact that I have left the front door very, very open.

Instead, I think about how perfectly placed Rachel's finger is and how tightly she is letting me hold onto her.

"mmm.. then I just don't understand.."

I know that there are words being spoken that I'm meant to be listening to but, for the moment at least, I can't find it within me to do anything other than clench. Unconsciously, my hips flare as my head lolls back, pushing my lower body closer to the single point of contact Rachel has established between us.

I can feel the ends of my hair tickle my neck, I can feel the metallic bite of Rachel's charm bracelet press against my shorts, I can feel the almost imperceptible shifts her hand gives until my legs shoot open and I'm pinned in place by how ridiculously good it feels.

A quarter inch of contact is all that joins us if you don't count the fists I'm making out of the denim of Rachel's shorts. It shouldn't be making me as crazy as it is, but my disbelief flutters away into nothingness at the confident kiss her fingertip presses into me; not hard enough to relieve even the smallest amount of tension, but purposeful enough to communicate the importance of me finally giving her an answer.

I close my eyes and whimper in thought, feverishly trying to remember what it was we were even talking about before her hand made contact.

"Under..understand?"

There's a silent whoosh of air and then my hands are digging into the kitchen bench top for stability because Rachel's warm body has disappeared from my grasp. The change causes my eyes to blink open but it's only for a moment, because then I look down and see Rachel kneeling on the floor by my feet and I slam them closed again in desperation.

Too late, I was too late. I saw it. I can still see it.

"Oh God.."

I see denim stretching around toned thighs and sunkissed skin that is healthy and wet, I see Rachel sinking down before me looking an entirely dismantling combination of hungry and focused; knees perfectly balanced and face perfectly in line with the press of her finger, her lips an inch away from me at most.

My eyes are shut tight but she's so, so close that I can feel the warmth of her breath spill against my core with every tiny exhalation she makes, with every single word she speaks.

"Yes Quinn, I just don't understand.."

My eyes flutter open again when I feel her fingertip abandon its position and move to tickle along the waistband of my shorts, I swallow reflexively and look to the door.

She's really going to do this, to me, right here, right now.

I want to fall over in submission of how hot all of this is making me, but there are words, more words, leaving her mouth, and I still have no idea what they mean.

"I don't understand how, someone with hearing as perfect as yours.."

Suddenly, I don't care what Rachel is whispering about because, all at once, I'm assaulted by the sensation of her face nuzzling against me as her fingers curl around my shorts and begin to pull them down.

"Oh.. oh God, yesss.."

I feel like I've been waiting for hours for this moment, like the entire day has just been a dream and this is the first dose of reality I've experienced. I can almost taste the moment Rachel's tongue will make contact with my skin, I can almost hear how strongly I'm going to have to hit the counter to stop myself from crying out.

I feel Rachel take a deep breath against me and then her tongue is curling against my underwear like a wave. She's so close, I grip the bench top beneath my fingers in heady anticipation.

There's a final tug at my shorts and my toes curl at the firm smirk I feel press against my bare skin. I expect there to be warmth and wetness next, I expect to be torn open and pushed and shot into the sky, I expect the glorious sense of fulfillment that accompanies every touch Rachel gives me to spread over my skin like a balm.

"-I don't understand how someone with hearing as perfect as yours.. could have not come to my aid!"

There is no warmth or wetness, no tear or pushing or explosions, no glorious fulfillment. Instead, I'm given longing. Longing, and a haughty basket of unimpressed words that douse my scorching skin like ice.

"WHAAT?!"

My legs buckle helplessly as Rachel swiftly yanks my shorts back up and steps away from me. No longer on the ground or on her knees or near me at all, no, now she is standing a few feet away with her arms crossed and her foot tapping again.

"Y-You.."

My finger is pointed accusingly but I feel like I'm going to cry, my brain can't quite compute what has even happened and all I am really sure of is that a few seconds ago Rachel's face was between my thighs and now it really, really isn't.

"I.. I… I.."

Suddenly frustrated with my inconvenient aphasia, I push my hands through my hair before letting them fall to my sides again in graceless slaps. Finally, my brain is able to fire more than one synapse at a time and I am able to catch up to the reality of my situation.

"I..I can't believe that you just did that to me!-"

Rachel silently raises an eyebrow and I'm very quickly reminded of why exactly that particular action started all of this nonsense. It makes her look.. it's just.. she's just so…

Hot.

Instantly, my ire disappears and I run my tongue along the edge of my lip thoughtfully, not missing how keenly Rachel's eyes follow the motion.

"-and by that, of course, I mean.. I'm very sorry Rachel."

I think my eyes must be wider than I'm intending them to be, something that I honestly can't be blamed for. I'm a pent up mess of hormones and unfulfilled sexual desire and I'm sure that I'd be resorting to begging for forgiveness if Rachel didn't choose that moment to drop her attitude and dissolve into laughter.

"Oh baby I'm sorry, don't look so distraught!"

When Rachel hugs me, I shudder at the feeling of being in her arms again; still very much aware of how expertly she has worked me up. Unthinkingly, I nuzzle my face into the crook of her neck and clench my jaw at the cacophony of impulses that instantly flood my veins. I want her, I want her so, so badly.

"You left me hanging Berry; you are in so much trouble."

Smirking, I map the expanse of skin beneath my teeth; scraping along the outline of a beloved tendon, kissing over a faded bite mark left on my last visit to that particular playground.

The rush of air that leaves Rachel's lungs makes me smile. I love the games we play, I hold them close against my heart always, even when we're far apart from one another, so I can remember what it feels like to have love pressed against my chest. So I never forget how to swim.

"I'd never leave you hanging baby, you know that."

I hum out a low bar in response to the fervency of Rachel's declaration and it causes a whimper to tremble in her throat. I feel her smother it with a hard swallow and then she's pushing away from me, a flushed but elated grin spreading across her face.

"Plus, the girls are eating lunch downstairs so, if you give me a hand putting the bed together, I'll let you make your previous abandonment up to me.."

I laugh happily at the excited spin she executes and easily allow myself to be dragged towards the room we've marked as our own.

"Oh really.."

My eyes, which have automatically zeroed in on Rachel's ass, drag upwards as she pauses our journey and turns to face me again. I'm pinned by the focus in that gaze, and by the two tanned hands that gently bunch up the material of my t-shirt.

One of Rachel's fists is resting flush against my heart so I know that she knows what she's doing to me, what she's always been able to do to me, what every glide and pivot of our playful interactions ultimately leads to: my heart, trying to beat its way out of my chest just to get that much closer to her.

It's a pleasant kind of exertion, one that I am sure Rachel will always make the utmost effort to respect and take care of. I'm about to lean in and see if we can have a matinee before the bed gets assembled but then Rachel meets my push half way and presses her lips against my ear, already beginning to walk us towards the bedroom again.

"mm, and, if you're really good, I might even let you open my Hope Chest.."

I have no idea why, but those words coming out of Rachel's mouth, cause a spike of affection to swell within me. I rumble out a playful growl and wrap my arms around Rachel's waist, lifting her up in a swift motion and walking us through the doorway to our new bedroom.

Yes, goodbyes can be tricky things, but they are made so much easier by the knowledge that what lies around the corner is more beautiful than anything you have ever known. As Rachel's insistent kisses press me into the mattress that we've propped against the wall, I find that I'm filled with genuine excitement over the hundreds of unknowns we'll be encountering together, within these walls and beyond.

I can think of nothing that could topple us from the place we've managed to reach; high in the expanse of sky above our heads.

September.

The small blaze of light echoes across the night sky so quickly I almost don't believe it's actually happened. Suddenly and precisely both there and not there, it's gone before I have time to catch my breath.

My fingers tighten around my knees as I instinctively lean forward, already a slave to the magic that comes from witnessing such an event. It's written in the ways of the world that I've been gifted with a rare opportunity now, and my eyelids press together tightly in response to it.

Slowly, I allow my mind to breathe life into my most primal wish, my base desire; desperate and dark. Something that, in that second, I don't believe I can handle not coming true.

"Please.. just.. please. Please make her go away."

For a moment, I feel a vacuum of silence around me and then I am met with the muffled sounds of urban night again. The edge of the roof is tinny beneath my twitching foot, it makes each tap come out in a muted staccato that has me closing my eyes and sinking into the makeshift hammock Fran and I had erected the day after our move.

Sparing a glance at my watch, I frown – it's 11:57 pm; I have three minutes left.

Three minutes of the night, of the month, of my childhood. Three minutes until September slips away and I become an eighteen year old hiding on the roof of her building on a cold October morning. I think about the questionably wrapped keyboard that's resting by the bed, each key adorned with a gold star sticker and lipstick kiss, I think about the birthday cake that's sitting in the fridge, I think about the little books and ducks and quotes Fran and Rachel spent all afternoon piping onto it.

I wait for as long as I can bear it, and then I wait some more. But, although it's still early in the Fall, this city of mine becomes bitterly cold in the absence of sunshine. So, before my fingers go completely numb and climbing down the fire ladder becomes even more hazardous than it already is, I push away from my hiding place to begin a slow descent.

With each new rung I grip, I feel increasing decibels of nausea. Everything within me is tumbling, internal organs caught in a gust of wind that is both powerful and viscous.

I haven't felt this particular kind of burn in a number of months and, it is with an almost embarrassing lack of composure, that I struggle to maneuver it now. As my feet connect harshly with the dusty concrete of the balcony, I can think of nothing beyond what is waiting for me on the other side of my window.

I think about my next move; mind reeling in hyperrational irrationality. It swings and grapples ineffectually..

I don't have to open it.

I could stay out here all night.

All year.

Forever.

I never have to take another step. I never have to put myself through any of this again. But, just as my fist gently strikes the glass in conflicted remorse, I see it.

My hanging carrot.. pressed innocently against the other side of the glass, just out of reach.

It comes in the form of a hooded sweatshirt; light gray and neatly folded with NYADA boldly printed on the front.

Pressing my suddenly hot forehead against the icy glass, I puff out a breath of resignation; whatever I have been trying to prove, whatever game I have been trying to play, however far I have tried to run.. I know that I have lost, and, despite the horror I'm sure I will be faced with in the upcoming minutes, for the moment, I can't find it within me to care.

Because I remember then, in another sudden flash of light, that shooting stars aren't stars at all. They're nothing but small meteoroids burning up as they crash into the earth's atmosphere; crumbling under the pressure of entry and, staring up at the small patch of sky still visible to me, I can't help but think that they're actually a funny thing to wish upon.

Hauling the window frame upwards in a silent push, there's a crumble in my brow when my fingertips first come into contact with the softness of the plush fabric. I know exactly what it will smell like, but I bring it up to my nose anyway. Because I'm wanting, always wanting.. for more.

For Rachel.

My Rachel..

She doesn't smell like a thing.. she smells like a moment.

A perfect moment..

Where the sun is shining and you're rolling through green grass with the person you love and you're both wet in that wonderful after-the-rain kind of way and it's only made better when you realize it's because you've rolled over some flowers and they've gotten themselves all over your skin.

I know this scent, intimately. From the first moment to this last one, it has always been a magical thing to me. Closing my eyes, I take another deep breath as the fabric slips over my face.. and I hear it.

There's laughter in my mind, and then the sun is sizzling against my cheeks and the backs of my knees feel itchy from the grass and I don't even bother trying to pin down whatever poor, unsuspecting flowers we've managed to trample in our frivolity.

Smoothing a hand through my hair, the cold runs from my skin like water and is steadily replaced by the heady warmth of Rachel. I glance across to the door that leads to the kitchen and finally start to steel myself. It takes three deep breaths but finally I'm ready.

Because, adjusting the tangled hood of the sweatshirt I'm wearing, I know that I'm covered in the makings of a real star now, and faith in that truth has gotten me further than wishing on meteoroids ever has.

Once I pad my way towards the kitchen, the closed door swings open beneath the weight of my flattened palm. The first thing that comes into view is a small, round dining table and I swallow reflexively when my gaze skitters over its occupants.

It shifts first from Rachel, then to Fran, and, finally, to the silent intruder currently sitting in my chair.

"Mom.."

[1]Lewis Carroll - Through the Looking Glass (and what Alice found there)