Chapter Thirty-Eight

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Rachel

.

she was flower salt in my heart,
and she hurt beautifully.

.

"Are you out of your mind?"

Quinn just watches me pace the length of my bedroom from my bed, her hands tucked behind her head. She looks so calm and unaffected, and it just makes me angrier. How can she just lie there when - when - urgh.

"Please tell me you did not agree for us - you and me - to have dinner with your mother?"

She says nothing. Which is smart, I'll give her that.

"Quinn Fabray," I snap, coming to a stop. "Tell me you're messing with me. Tell me this is all some elaborate ruse to wind me up just so we can have a hot make-out session."

Her eyebrows perk up at the sound of that, and I almost throw one of my shoes at her. "I'm not messing with you," she eventually tells me. "I wouldn't mess with you about something like this, Rachel. This is serious. I sort of told my mother about our... relationship, and she wants to have dinner with us."

"Quinn?"

"She assumed, and I didn't deny it," she elaborates. "I'm done denying who I am or who you are to me when it comes to her, and I'm willing to face whatever consequences come my way. She inferred, and I may have told her that I love you when she started sprouting off things about the Bible and my being a sinner. So, there's that."

"Quinn."

She sighs. "Look, I get that you're worried - I'm worried too, believe me - but, if she's willing to try to understand; I can't not let her. I know things have been terrible for months, but she's still my mom and I like to think we can..." she trails off, and I immediately move to lie beside her and wrap my arms around her. "I know it doesn't make sense, after everything we've already been through, but I still want her to know me."

"Hey," I whisper into her hair. "It makes perfect sense to me. I think I would give Shelby any and all opportunities to know me, if ever she felt so inclined."

"She's missing out on so much."

"She really is," I agree quietly.

Quinn's hands move to cup my cheeks, and she presses a soft kiss to my lips. "Why is it that you're the only person who truly understands me?" she whispers.

"Because I'm the only person you're letting understand you."

She kisses me again, softly and tenderly. "I love you, you know that?"

"I love you, too," I return, and then I kiss her harder. As much as I want to undress her and make her squirm and shudder beneath me, my dads are downstairs, and Quinn has always been uncomfortable with trying anything when they're home. So, when she starts unbuttoning my shirt, I can't contain my surprise. "Are we - "

"Shut up, Berry," she whispers against my lips, and then slides her tongue into my mouth. I lose all coherent thought when she rolls fully onto me and her hands spread over my bare abdomen, her fingers dancing over my skin. She's slow and deliberate, her touches purposeful and careful. Her mouth doesn't stray from mine, but her hands do wander, down and down, after she's managed to undo the front clasp of my bra. I feel her hands on my bare hips, and then on my bare thighs, and good God.

That's not my thigh.

Quinn presses the heel of her palm against my centre and I let out a guttural moan that immediately makes her pull away. She glances at the door worriedly, and sighs. "We can't do anything if you're not going to be quiet," she warns.

There is no way in hell I'll be able to do that. "My bedroom is soundproofed," I say, and she raises her eyebrows in question.

"Why didn't I know that?"

"Just kiss me," I rush, and she obliges, her hands coming back up to knead, massage, pinch, and stroke my breasts. I arch my back, pressing myself further into her hands, and her mouth is the only thing muffling my moans. Why is she so good at this? Those hands are just so talented, and don't even get me started on her lips. And her hips. She knows how to work my body as if she's read the manual. Is it possible to die from over-stimulation?

"Quinn," I practically beg, though I have no idea what I'm begging for.

"Be quiet," she murmurs, and then snakes her hand back down my body. She shifts my skirt upwards and presses her hand against my panties. It's - it's the first time I really consider asking - no, telling - her to put her hand inside, but - oh. She rocks her hips in a steady rhythm, and her hand is right there. My moans grow in frequency and volume, and her free hand abandons my right breast to cover my mouth. She probably doesn't trust my soundproofing. I am being rather loud.

Her fingers slide into my mouth, and I immediately trap them with my lips and teeth. "God, there's so much heat," she says, almost in wonder. "It's so hot, and wet. My hand is drenched."

I whimper, my nails digging into her back as I hold on for dear life. "God, Quinn, I'm - I'm - "

"It's okay, baby, just come," she murmurs before sucking one of my nipples into her mouth, and I do. Violently. It's never felt like this before; just having her hand there and hearing her wonder and feeling the pleasant weight of her body. When my shudders slow, and my body relaxes, boneless, Quinn presses open-mouthed kisses back up my body until she's kissing my mouth, and the hand that was muffling my moans slides into my hair. "You are so fucking sexy," she whispers against my lips, and I'm aroused all over again.

Before I can even bring her closer and kiss her until she's convulsing, she's rising up and moving away from me. "Where are you going?" I ask, breathless. "Quinn, oh my God, are you leaving?"

She doesn't say anything as she shifts onto her knees. "Relax, Berry, I'm just removing my cardigan," she says, shifting awkwardly to get the garment off. Her hand is glistening and I do my best not to blush because it doesn't seem to bother her at all. Her dress is sleeveless, and I find myself staring at her strong arms. Her eyes are on my chest, and she licks her lips, her eyes darkening with obvious desire.

Okay.

Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?

She probably notices my surprise, because she rolls her eyes and lets out a soft giggle.

Oh, there she is.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she says, crawling back over me and settling her soft body on mine.

"You know you can tell me anything," I whisper, soaking up her warmth. Somehow, we're managing to ignore the fact I'm practically naked and ruffled and post-orgasmic beneath her, while she's fully dressed and flushed.

Quinn presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, and I automatically smile. "Before we started dating, I convinced myself I had a choice to make," she says, and she suddenly sounds so serious. "In my head, it was between you and my family, and I had myself so fixated on the idea that I could have only one and not the other. But - but now I could have both." She lets out a shaky breath, and I run one of my hands up her back. "I've learned a lot in therapy," she says, and I know I have to pay attention. "It was silly to think there was ever a choice, Rachel. Even if it doesn't work out with my mother, I know I'll still end up with both: you and my family, because..." she trails off and her eyes meet mine. "You are my family."

I reach up to kiss her, and she allows me to. Before I even get her remotely as undressed as I am, she ends our kiss and tells me it's probably a good idea for me to get dressed, and then we can make out some more.

"I'm still mad at you," I say.

She frowns. "About what?"

"Dinner, with your mother," I remind her.

She sighs. "And there I was thinking that giving you an orgasm would make you forget."

I flush instantly, but I won't let her win this one. "It wasn't that earth-shattering," I say.

She arches an eyebrow. "Oh?"

I lick my lips. "Nope."

"Maybe I'm losing my touch," she says, sounding conversational.

"It's probably just a blip," I say.

"Probably," she agrees. "I'll have to try again."

I hum. "I think that's the smartest idea you've ever had."

"Well, I am Miss Four-Point-Oh GPA," she quips with an easy shrug.

I prop myself up on my elbows. "So, then, what are you waiting for?"

She glances at the door once, probably says a mental fuck it, and then climbs back over me. "Just make sure you stay quiet," she instructs. "You're normally loud enough to penetrate any soundproofing."

I try not to react to the word 'penetrate.' It's definitely not a good enough reason to use it. "I can't make any promises," I end up saying.

"Good," she murmurs. "Because, with what I plan on doing to you, it's doubtful you'll be able to keep them."

"Dad? Daddy?"

My Dad lifts his head from the papers he's reading and smiles at me. "What is it, Sweetheart?"

Breathing deeply, I move to sit in Quinn's usual seat at the kitchen table, with my Daddy on my right, elbow deep in administrative work, and my Dad opposite me. "Can I talk to you about something?" I say, wringing my fingers together on the tabletop.

My Daddy sets down his highlighter, removes his reading glasses and gives me his full attention. "Of course," he prompts.

I roll my lips together, trying to determine where to begin. "Quinn and I are having dinner with her mother tonight," I say, practically rushing the words. Quinn and I talked about it this morning and, given the very real possibility this could go terribly, I need to clear up some things with my dads. Quinn is at Cheerios' practice right now - not participating, but learning the choreography and being her Head Cheerio best - so I'm using the opportunity to have this discussion with my dads without her here.

"Oh?" my Dad says, looking thoughtful.

"How are you feeling about that?" my Daddy asks.

"All sorts of things," I admit. "She's nervous, of course, and I'm apprehensive. We're not putting too much confidence in it going well, but Quinn's willing to try, and I want to support her regardless of my feelings towards the woman."

"And, how do you feel about her?" my Dad asks.

"I definitely hate her," I say, easily. "I've never wanted to be a person who's capable of hate, but I am, because I do. I hate her mother, and I hate her sister, but I especially despise her father in the basest of ways I've yet to understand fully."

My dads just stare at me.

I take in a shaky breath. "He - he hurt her," I whisper. "He hurt her. How - how can I not hate him?"

My dads exchange a look, and their silent conversation prompts my Daddy to speak. "Her father hurt her?" he asks, more for clarification, I suppose. Quinn thinks they both already have an idea about what may or may not have taken place in the Fabray household.

My jaw clenches. Quinn and I once made a silent decision not to discuss this with them, but I think it's important they know. With the probability of Quinn ending up ousted from her house after tonight, they need to know. "She's been broken, Daddy; she still is. He spent years breaking her, and it's going to take even longer for her to heal. I need to tell you this because - because - " I fall silent. "I just need to be sure you know what you're getting yourselves into," I say. "Because, I mean, you said Quinn was always welcome here and that still stands, right?"

"Of course, Sweetheart," my Daddy says.

I take a deep breath. "If tonight doesn't go well, I suspect Quinn will be living with us," I say, and they must hear something in my voice because my Dad raises his eyebrows.

"Rachel, do you not want it to go well?" he questions.

"I - I don't know," I admit. I haven't said any of this to Quinn because I'm not sure how she'll take it. I do intend to talk to her about it but, with everything going on tonight, I don't want to heap onto her palpable nerves and stress. "I mean, of course I want her to have a relationship with her mother," I say. "Quinn wants that and, if she's willing to try, then so should I, right? I just, I don't want her to get hurt or blinded by her need for her family's approval. Selfishly, I want her to be free of them, because they've done nothing but hurt her, manipulate her and allow her to lose herself in a quest to be the perfect daughter and sister to what is such an imperfect family." My voice sounds strangled even to my ears. "I want her safe and out of that house, so she can heal properly."

My Dad nods once. "I have to admit I've wanted her out of that house for quite some time now," he says.

"Why didn't you insist?" I question, purely out of curiosity. A part of me is sure I already know the answer, and my Daddy doesn't disappoint.

"She has to come to us, Rachel," he says, sounding defeated. "We could never ask her to leave, or even force her hand. Unfortunately, Quinn's very essence doesn't allow her not to look for her family's approval. It's not something she can switch off, and we're going to have to be patient with her. She has to make the decision to leave herself, otherwise she'll carry the trauma of that for the rest of her life, and I don't want to think about what that could do to your relationship."

I've given this a lot of thought too and, honestly, I'm willing to accept whatever blame Quinn places on me, as long as she's safe. Even if she decides she doesn't want me after all of this, I just want her to be out and away from the kind of environment that won't allow her to be herself and be happy. They're all sobering thoughts that I haven't discussed with anyone besides Santana. She seems to understand. As Quinn's fiercest protector, she understands. We would both rather be without her than have her hurting and unsafe.

I look at my Dad. "Are you taking her to see Flo?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Flo is going to her house, apparently."

I roll my eyes. "She's probably trying to get Flo to help her with all the cooking she's insisted on doing."

"She's cooking?" my Daddy asks, his eyes lighting up. "And she didn't tell me. Quinn Fabray, I never."

I giggle despite myself, and I immensely appreciate what he's trying to do. The conversation has been rather heavy, but I still feel as if we haven't really discussed the crux of it all. There's just so much, and I wouldn't even know where to begin. Quinn is in therapy; I've been in therapy, and I'm starting to think we're going to have to go to therapy together at some point. Maybe in New York.

Or in New Haven.

That is something I'm actively not thinking about. I don't know how I'm supposed to get used to the idea of not seeing her every single day anymore. I mean, I spend more of my waking hours with Quinn than anyone else, and just the thought of spending days without her presence is giving me anxiety. I've never thought I would be one of those people who would get so caught up in another person's entire existence, but here I am.

Here I am, wanting time to slow down so I don't have to live eighty miles away from the one person I didn't think would end up doing this to me. Quinn Fabray has ruined me. We've - we've ruined each other, because, whether we like it or not, this is forever we're talking about.

'Nervous' is one way to describe what I'm feeling, but it's a lot more than that. 'Apprehension' is too mild, and 'terrified' sounds a little too dramatic. I mean, all I'm doing is meeting my girlfriend's mother, who happens to be a loveless, soul-crushing, homophobic, God-fearing bitch.

So, sure, everything is going to be fine.

Quinn answers the door before I've even worked up the courage to ring the doorbell. She looks deathly amused by what must be my bemused face. "I saw your car pull up," she says, reaching for my left hand and pulling me into the house. She closes the door behind me and immediately pushes me up against it, her mouth descending on mine in the most delicious way.

Before I can lose myself in the feel of her lips moving against mine, I come to my senses and gently push her away. "Quinn, oh my God, what if your mother sees?"

She chuckles lightly, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "She's not here yet," she says. "And you're early."

"I thought I could help."

"You could help by kissing me," she says, coy and playful and - wait a minute.

"Baby, are you drunk?"

Quinn chuckles, and her breath is sweet as it washes over my face. "No, not drunk," she says; "but I did sip some wine to settle my nerves. My girlfriend is about to meet my mother, I've been a wreck all morning, and Santana bitched about the suicides I had them run all afternoon."

I blink. "San was here?"

"Briefly," she says, tugging on my hands and leading the way through the dark corridors to the kitchen. "After Flo left, she stopped by. I needed some almond milk and she was on her way to see Britt, so she passed by the store to get me some. I thought she was being nice and all, but she just wanted to chew me out for killing her hamstrings. She's very dramatic."

I hum in agreement, smiling as the glorious smells of Quinn's cooking reach my nose. "Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Have I ever told you that your house freaks me out, even all these months later?"

She chuckles, and the tension in her shoulders appears to lessen. "Seems haunted, doesn't it?"

"Like an ancient tomb."

And, the smile is gone. "That's because a family died here."

I sigh. "Way to be a buzz kill, Fabray."

"It's in the blood."

I shake my head. "As much fun as your sunny disposition is; I do hope you're going to give this evening a chance," I quietly scold. "I won't have your sarcasm at the dinner table when we're trying to bridge gaps here."

She glances over her shoulder at me. "Oh, so, now we're on board with this evening then?"

I can't help my blush. "I've accepted my fate," I declare. Then: "Don't say I never did anything for you."

Quinn stops walking just before we enter the kitchen and she turns her body to face me head-on. "I would never say that," she says seriously, even though I'm sure she recognises I was just teasing. "I know what you do for me, Rachel. Every day, you do so much. You - you keep me here."

And, well, now everything is heavy. "Quinn," I murmur, but she just drops a kiss to my forehead, and then disappears into the kitchen. I follow after a moment and walk into the most glorious sight I've ever seen - besides a Quinn Fabray shuddering against me, of course. The kitchen island is covered with platters and trays of food. Vegan food. "Wow," I say.

She smiles sheepishly. "Is it too much?"

"No," I immediately say. The nervousness is so much cuter on her. "Just surprising, is all. Did you spend all afternoon on this?"

She nods once, nibbling on her bottom lip. "It helped keep me... occupied."

I smile at her, open and understanding. "It looks wonderful, Quinn," I tell her. "I can't wait to dig in."

"Oh?"

"To you, and the food," I add, and I revel in the way her cheeks bloom with a healthy blush. I move straight towards her and press a kiss to her cheek, feeling the warmth through my lips. It's lovely. She's lovely. "Are you planning on changing into something else?" I ask.

"Why?" she asks, mischief in her eyes. "Do you want to watch?"

It's almost embarrassing the way my eyes light up and my body hums. "Are you offering to strip for me, Quinn Fabray?"

"I'm not offering," she says, shrugging. "Follow if you want." And then she's gone, heading up the stairs to her bedroom, with me chasing after her. She shrieks as she slides across the floor in her socks, and it's the most perfect sound I've ever heard. It sounds young and carefree, and she looks light and happy.

And she's already started removing clothes.

Sweet Baby Jesus.

I follow her into her bedroom, and she slams the door shut with her foot. She grabs my wrist, drags me across the carpet, and pushes me down onto the bed. "Sit still," she says huskily, and I slide my hands under my thighs to stop myself from reaching out. She shoots me a devilish smirk before crossing the room to switch on some music. Just the sound of the first note of Teardrop by Massive Attack gets me aroused, and I'm certain Quinn can tell from the smug grin on her face when she turns back to me.

"Hi, baby," she rasps, and where has this girl been all my life?

And then it really begins. All I can do is watch and enjoy. She slowly unbuttons her blouse and I stare at her, eyes wide. Is this really happening? I must be dreaming. Quinn Fabray is not slowly peeling away her clothing with hips swaying to the beat, right in front of me, in her bedroom? It's just - this can't be real. If this is what she's like when she's accepted herself and accepted the happiness, then there is absolutely no way I am ever letting go of her.

Once her buttons are undone, she slides the blouse off her shoulders, and I'm awarded with the sight of her full chest and strong upper arms. And her abs - God, her abs. There's so much smooth, pale skin on offer, and all I want to do is touch. And lick. She drops the blouse to the floor, the fabric slipping over her skin and landing in a heap. She leans into me, her pushing her breasts as close to my face they can get without actually touching me. I can barely focus on that because her hands are now on the button of her jeans. Okay. Her movements are slow and deliberate, the sound of her zip echoing off the walls, despite the music.

I've seen Quinn be many things: beautiful, graceful, playful, mischievous, dangerous, just so many things. But this is the first time I really accept that my girlfriend is ridiculously sexy, and she has a smile to match. Number eleven on the list. I didn't even know a person could have this many smiles... and to think Finn let go of this. What an idiot.

Quinn's thumbs slide into the waistband of her jeans and she shimmies out of them, sliding the denim down, over her hips and then her thighs. Her body is amazing, and so captivating. The way it moves; the way she moves. It's such sweet, sweet torture, and the fact that I can't touch makes every part of me burn. When all she's left in is her matching underwear set and her socks, I can't stop myself from reaching out. She steps back and waves a finger at me.

"Na ah, Rachel Berry," she murmurs. "Hands off."

"Quinn," I whine.

She bops my nose with her forefinger, and then spins on her heel and walks away from me. I'm practically trembling by the time Quinn disappears into her closet.

"Is it possible to come just from watching a strip tease?" I call out.

Quinn sticks her head out, all crazy hair and happy eyes. "It is, yes."

I frown. "It is?"

"Yip," she quips before she disappears again.

"Quinn?"

She says nothing and doesn't reemerge.

"Quinn? Quinn Fabray, are you seriously talking about Finn right now?"

Her laugh is loud and entirely impolite. "All I'm saying is that it's possible," she says, and the amusement in her voice is present and telling. I don't even think I've ever heard her actually laugh this way about Finn. Cry, yes, but never laugh uncontrollably, and it's such a wonderful sound; I want nothing more than to bottle it up and keep it forever. It takes all of my willpower to stop myself from thinking about Finn and Quinn and possible strip teases. God. Why is that even a thing?

"Quinn," I complain.

She's giggling when she finally emerges, taking my breath away. She's wearing a sexy, knee-length, dark pink dress that fits her a little too well. Really, she may as well be naked with the way my body reacts to the sight of her. "Did you?" she asks.

"Did I what?"

She rolls her eyes. "Come, Rachel? Did you come?"

I narrow my eyes. "Was that your intention?"

"No," she says seriously, pouting slightly. "I just wanted to put you in a good mood."

"I don't know if you've succeeded," I grumble.

Her laugh is loud and free, and I practically jump up and stalk towards her. I'm fully aware that I'm prowling but I get some morbid satisfaction from seeing her mouth snap shut and she takes an involuntary step back. "Rachel," she husks. "What are you doing?"

"It's mean, what you've done," I say. "It's almost seven o'clock and I'm all hot and bothered, and you're not even planning on doing anything about it." I reach out to touch her, but my hands pause in the air. What I want to do is make her as flustered as I am, but I really don't want her mother to think we've been doing things. So, instead, I huff in annoyance, and then head downstairs, leaving Quinn to finish getting ready.

It doesn't take us all that long to realise I needn't have worried about her mother thinking I defiled her daughter. As the minutes tick by and we sit quietly in the lounge, it becomes increasingly apparent that Quinn's mother isn't going to show. Quinn doesn't say much of anything, but I can see what this is doing to her. Her movements slow and her entire body grows more and more still until she's completely rigid.

At exactly nine o'clock, she stands abruptly and goes into the kitchen. It's when I hear the first tray go flying that I jump up and run to the kitchen to find Quinn throwing things in desperation. Even in her anger and obvious devastation, she doesn't touch the food. Even like this, she knows the helplessness of having no home and no food, and she wouldn't dream of wasting. God, even that hurts.

I've - I've never seen her like this. A whisk flies across the room, which is quickly followed by a metal cup. It clangs against the fridge, and her breath hitches once, twice, before she bursts out crying, her body folding in on itself. My arms are wrapped around her a beat later, and we both sink to the floor. She sobs into my shoulder and I just hold onto her, trying to keep her from falling to pieces right in front of me.

Her heart is beating so fast, and her entire body is shaking, and my heart is breaking. I didn't want this. I never wanted this, but we both know what it means. It was Judy's last Hail Mary. We both know there's no chance of a relationship now. We're sure of it now, and this is the kind of breakup nobody should ever have to go through. The already strained relationship between mother and daughter has been severed completely in this one act, and I can only imagine this is more painful than anything Finn or I could ever do to her.

"I'm sorry," I whisper into her hair. "Baby, I'm so sorry."

She just sobs that bit more, clutching tightly onto me. It feels like forever before her fists unclench the fabric of my dress and she breathes out. Just feeling her breath wash over me is both a relief and terrifying. It means she's accepted whatever this is, and I wish she didn't have to. Her hands release my dress fully and she sits up slightly, leaning her back against a cabinet door.

"There's so much food," she says, quiet and exasperated, as she absently gestures at the kitchen island.

I hum in agreement, my mind racing through all the ways we can salvage this night. We can't possibly eat it all ourselves, and it's already too late to deliver it to the homeless shelter, surely. But... there's something else we can do. "I have an idea," I say, and she looks at me, tears still in her perfect hazel eyes. "How do you feel about company?"

"Huh?"

I bring my lips to the shell of her ear and whisper my idea to her. I wait for her nod, and then rise to my feet and locate my phone. I send off quick texts and then make my way back to the kitchen to help Quinn to her feet. Taking her hand, I lead the way up the stairs to her bedroom and both of us change out of our dresses into more comfortable clothing. Quinn slips on an Avatar t-shirt and a pair of grey McKinley sweatpants. I match her, except for the bottoms because I choose a pair of her boy shorts instead. I think my subconscious wants her to be able to ogle my legs... just to make her feel better, and I smile rather smugly when her gaze lingers.

When we get back downstairs, I go to the kitchen while Quinn puts on some music in the living room. I'm righting things and heating up some food when the music starts to blare, and I jump, dropping the serving spoon in my hand. When Quinn comes into the kitchen, she looks much better. She bypasses the mess she's made and reaches for my hand, tugging me towards her and wrapping her arms around my waist. Without even giving me the opportunity to question her, she starts to sway, and now we're dancing. My breath catches in my throat because I can't recall ever just dancing with only her. I slide my arms around her neck and press my body to hers, soaking up her warmth and enjoying this slow dance to I'll Be by Edwin McCain.

As soon as the song ends, Quinn presses a kiss to the top of my head and releases me enough to settle her hands on my shoulders and look me in the eye. "I love you," she whispers. "I love you so much, and I just want to say thank you for being here. I know none of this is easy for you, but thank you for loving me regardless."

I cup her cheeks with both my hands and breathe out. I don't actually know what to say to her right now, so I rather just kiss her. It takes us a moment to settle into the kiss, and she lets out a throaty moan when our tongues tangle. It sparks something and the air practically crackles when Quinn steps forward and I step back. When my back hits the kitchen counter, Quinn places her hands on either side of me and presses her body against mine in the most delicious way. Her hips are perfectly aligned over mine, and I'm momentarily transported back to a bathroom stall in a New York restaurant.

Quite suddenly, all I want to do is take off her clothes and kiss every inch of her skin. My hands move to the small of her back, under her t-shirt and, before I can even begin to drag the fabric upwards, the front door slams and we break apart instantly. Quinn spins around, standing right in front of me with a protective stance that I find ridiculously sexy.

"God, why is the music so fucking loud?" we hear Santana call out, and Quinn and I visibly relax.

Quinn even lets out a small laugh and shakes her head. She looks over her shoulder at me, mischief in her eyes. "Rach, you know you're going to regret this, right?"

"I know," I say, and steal a quick kiss before we both go out to the living room to meet Santana and Brittany. They decidedly don't comment on our failed dinner or our puffy eyes. Also, despite Santana's initial complaints about the volume of the music, when Justin Timberlake comes on, nobody is allowed to fiddle with Quinn's iPod but her. Kurt and Blaine arrive not too long after, and the six of us settle into an impromptu dance party. We're acting goofy and stupid, and it's the first time in such a long time that I truly feel like a teenager. We've just had to deal with so much, and tonight is easy and fun and Quinn is laughing and the world doesn't seem so scary because of it.

We dance like complete idiots - Blaine and Brittany even do scissor jumps off the couch - and we sing at the tops of our lungs. Quinn is lively, distracted and present in a way that surprises even me. She dances with me and near me with abandon and, from the initial looks we receive from Kurt and Blaine, I have to remember this is the first time they've actually seen us act like a couple. Still, the novelty fades quickly, and the six of us go crazy.

Eventually, Santana claims she's starving, and we all pile into the kitchen. I grab plates from the cabinet, and Quinn fetches glasses. Santana, of course, knows exactly where the alcohol is, and she pours wine for all six of us. After my lapse in memory, I made a silent vow not to drink wine ever again, but even I had to know that was never going to last very long.

"Sweet Jesus, where's the meat?" Santana asks, eyeing the food critically.

"It's in there," Quinn says, grinning in mischief; "I swear."

I can't help my giggle, and Quinn moves towards me, our two plates in her hands. She doesn't even bother handing mine to me as she dishes food out for the both of us. Sometimes, I'm sure she knows what I like to eat better than I do, which is a definite possibility, really. I'm easily distracted. I mean, have you seen what my girlfriend looks like? Even Kurt gets a little lost staring at the sheer perfection of her.

When Quinn deems my plate ready, she hands it to me and presses a kiss to my cheek, before leaving the kitchen with her wine and Brittany in tow. I stare after her until I realise Kurt is looking at me.

"What?" I ask, blushing.

"I still stand by the notion that I want a Quinn too," he says, smiling widely. "You two are so cute."

I blush because I can't help it. "We are a little, aren't we?"

He laughs lightly, and finishes up dishing up some of the lovely food Quinn has prepared. I wait with him, and then we head out to the living room together. The music has been switched off and there's a show playing on the television that nobody seems to be watching. They're all sitting on the floor around the short coffee table, having two conversations at once. It's - it's just perfect, and I can't help thinking this is so much better than the awkward torture Quinn and I would have had to endure if her mother decided to join us for dinner.

Quinn glances up at me when I haven't moved from my position just watching them all interact. She arches an eyebrow, and pats the space beside her where she's set a pillow down for me. God, she's just so lovely. I practically skip to her side and settle down with my plate on the tabletop.

"A toast," Santana says; "now that we're all here." She shoots me a dirty look, and I just roll my eyes. We all lift our glasses. "To the six gayest kids Glee has ever seen."

Quinn laughs first, and we all join in a beat later. "To the six gayest kids Glee has ever seen," she repeats, and we all clink glasses and sip at the wine. Well, Quinn, Blaine and I sip, but Kurt, Santana and Brittany gulp. It's good wine.

The conversation flows easily then, and gets even easier the more alcohol we consume. Santana keeps our glasses full. She seems to have accepted the responsibility of getting us suitably drunk, and I recognise the moment Quinn allows it. She shifts to lean her back against the couch, and she pulls me with her. I settle into her side and she wraps an arm around my waist as I rest my head on her shoulder. It's so... comfortable. One day, our lives will be like this. One day, we won't have to hide our love or our relationship.

One day, we'll be free.

"I have an announcement," Santana says, getting our attention and sitting up straight. We all fall silent and look at her. "So, well, I - " she pauses, faltering in such an unSantana-like way. "I got accepted at NYU."

Quinn cheers the loudest, and I clap enthusiastically. "This is awesome," Quinn says, rising up and crawling to give her best friend a hug that Santana actually accepts. "This is amazing."

"Yeah yeah," Santana says, brushing her off. She waits until Quinn is back at my side before she continues speaking. "So, now we're just waiting for Britt to get her letter, and then when Berry and Hummel ace their auditions; we'll all be in New York."

I don't miss the look Santana sends Quinn's way, or the sudden stiffening of my girlfriend. Still, Quinn raises her glass. "To Santana," she says, and we toast and drink again. We're actually really good at toasting things and, by the end of the evening, we're all pretty drunk, save for Blaine, who had only one glass of wine hours ago.

We get back to singing to random music, and Brittany even starts a conga line. It's difficult not to stumble over one another, but it just makes us all laugh that bit harder. I don't think I've enjoyed an evening the way I've enjoyed this one in forever. When a slow song finally comes on, we drop down onto the various pieces of furniture as if it's a collective decision.

"I'm so happy," Quinn says to nobody in particular, and the sentiment is quickly echoed.

At the first sign that the evening is over, Quinn invites them all to stay the night, which Brittany and Santana are quick to jump at, but Blaine says he's good to drive, so he'll take Kurt home. Quinn starts to get a little mellow when Blaine starts to gather his things, and I squeeze her hand to get her attention.

"What's on your mind?" I ask quietly.

Her eyes scan the room, taking in the pretty sights before her: Blaine trying to get Kurt's arms into his jacket; Santana carefully threading her fingers through Brittany's hair; and me. "This is the family I've built for myself," she says; "and I wouldn't trade it for anything."

I lean towards her to press a kiss to her temple.

She turns her head to smile at me. "I love you," she whispers and, before I can even respond, she's talking to the room: "I love you, guys." It comes out in a bit of a slur, but they all stop what they're doing to look at her.

And, as each one of them says it back, slowly and surely, there's no way any of us can know that only one of the three couples in this room right now is going to make it through graduation.