Paper Rings
"Rach?"
"Mhmm."
"Rach, are you awake?"
"Mhmm."
"Hey, Rach, are you awake?"
"I am now."
"Oh, good. Thought you were sleeping."
"I was."
"So you're not sleeping."
"I wish."
"Sorry. But are you awake now?"
"Nope, you're talking to my voicemail."
"Good, so you're awake."
"I'm awake, Quinn. What's going on?"
"Hey, Rach. Wanna go to Paris?"
"What?"
Quinn smirked and rolled over in bed, hovering over her naked girlfriend in bed. She kissed her forehead and smiled fondly at her. "I said, wanna go to Paris?"
Rachel scowled in confusion.
She was just about to fall asleep, cuddled by Quinn's side and perfectly comfortable in her embrace, and then she was abruptly woken up by her girlfriend landing right on top of her. Rachel wanted to act mad, but she couldn't possibly do it when Quinn was looking like that; she was resting her chin on Rachel's sternum, blonde hair falling everywhere around her face, hazel eyes sparkling dangerously.
"I asked you if you wanted to go to Paris," Quinn said again, smiling softly.
"You mean, for the weekend?" Rachel groggily asked as she tried to wipe the tiredness off her eyes. It was barely Thursday, one day too early. Quinn chuckled and dropped a kiss to her breastbone. Her hand travelled down Rachel's arm and interlaced their fingers.
"I mean now," Quinn replied.
Rachel was utterly confused. She wondered if she was hallucinating, or if she was too sleepy to understand what Quinn was saying.
They had been dating for five years now, and Rachel still couldn't believe that Quinn was real sometimes. After their first kiss at Mr. Schue's wedding, their relationship had been a rollercoaster, with Quinn in New Haven and Rachel in New York. Rachel was overdramatic by nature, and she had weekly meltdowns about Quinn finding someone else, someone better in New Haven, and it took the blonde months to gain Rachel's full trust. And honestly, after their high school years, all about cheating and stealing boyfriends, she couldn't blame her.
But eventually, things settled, and Quinn moved to New York after graduating from Yale. And Rachel learned that Quinn was, in fact, much more than she gave her credit for. She was broken, in a way. She had nightmares about her father throwing her out, she had nightmares about never being enough for the ones she loved. She went through whole weeks in which she was scared of failing everything and everyone, and she curled herself in a ball and shut the world out, and it took Rachel years to learn how to get her out of her bubble.
Now they were fine. Quinn still had nightmares sometimes, but since they moved in together and started sleeping cuddled together every night, they considerably diminished.
One of the things that Rachel loved more about Quinn was that she had random ideas in random moments, and she couldn't get enough of how crazy her brain could be. It was like she was programmed to produce peculiar ideas.
But this was new.
"Now?"
Quinn grinned and nodded.
Rachel wondered if she was high. She remembered when Quinn was in the hospital after the car crash, and she was high on painkillers and medicines, and she kept saying that they had to go to Tokyo because they had stuff to do.
"It's almost midnight," Rachel pointed out, brushing golden hair away from Quinn's face and tapping her nose. "Can we talk about it in the morning?"
"But I want to go now."
"Right now?"
"Right now."
Rachel considered deeply all the possibilities her half-asleep brain could produce. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe Quinn was dreaming and talking in her sleep. Maybe the wine they had at dinner was too strong. Maybe there was something bad in her food. Maybe her girlfriend and Santana were pranking her.
"Quinn, are you high?"
"Can I be high on happiness? 'Cause I feel like that when I'm with you."
Rachel supressed a smile. "As corny as that is, I'm feeling like I need to ask you again. Are you fully capable of producing coherent thinking?"
A soft laugh escaped from Quinn's lips as she dropped a kiss to her shoulder. "Perfectly functional. So, Rach. Do you want to go to Paris?"
Rachel furrowed her brows. She found it very hard to focus when Quinn's naked body was laying on top of hers like that, her fingers caressing her stomach gently, her hazel eyes staring so intensely.
She curled a golden lock around her finger thoughtfully. "Baby, it's midnight."
"So?"
Rachel bit back her laugh. "We can't just take our stuff and leave in the middle of the night to go to another continent."
Quinn pouted. "We can't?"
"Why would you even think about going to Paris in the middle of the night?" Rachel asked, rolling over so that she was the one laying on Quinn's chest. She nuzzled her nose in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. A content sigh escaped her lips when Quinn's fingers went caressing her exposed back, holding her close so tenderly that she wanted to cry.
"You've always wanted to visit Paris," Quinn murmured, "And I want to take you there. I went to Paris once, for a month, for my dad's job. I was nine, and I remember thinking it was the most romantic city I've ever been. And I want to take you there."
Rachel swooned a little. "That's so romantic," she admitted, softly kissing her neck. "But we can't just leave in the middle of the night without plans, or tickets, or clothes…"
"I like you without your clothes," Quinn pointed out quietly, running a finger up and down her column, sending shivers all over Rachel's back.
The diva blushed madly, as a nervous giggle escaped her lips. "Dork, you are such a dork. How do you come up with these ideas?"
Quinn shrugged. "I don't know. I just want to see you happy, I guess."
It was becoming increasingly hard for Rachel to say no to her. Even if she was keeping her face hid in Quinn's neck, she knew that the blonde was pouting, and she knew shew that her hazel eyes were full of hope and adorable trust in her.
"You are too much," Rachel mumbled. "And I was literally so sleepy a few minutes ago, but now you gave me this idea and all I can think of is kiss you under the Tour Eiffel and walk with you in Paris. Why would you do this to me?"
Quinn giggled. "You're so dramatic," she said. Her lips dropped to Rachel's forehead and she held her closer. "So that means we can go?"
Rachel shook her head with a hopeless smile. "Baby, I have to go to rehearsals tomorrow. And you need to meet your editor. And on top of that, we have dinner with Brittany and Santana."
"Screw that. We have dinner with Brittany and Santana every week, how often do we go to Paris?"
"And my rehearsals?"
Quinn scoffed. "Like you ever needed to rehearse. You were perfect even when we improvised songs in McKinley's hallways."
"As flattering as that is…"
"Pretty pretty please?"
Rachel groaned. "Baby, you have to meet your editor for your new book…"
"That woman is a pain in the ass, and I can't wait to fire her."
"That's not very nice."
Big, hopeful, hazel eyes were fixed on Rachel, looking at her expectantly. She gently pocked her ribs with a soft smile. "Come on, you know you want to go. I tempted you, and now you want to go."
Rachel groaned, dropping her head on Quinn's sternum. "Quinn…" she wined.
"Rach."
Now, the mistake Rachel made was looking at her girlfriend in the eyes. She did, she looked at her in the eyes and she was done. That was it. She couldn't possibly come back from that. Like, those hazel eyes were the reason why her life was so wonderful (that and her lead in the newest production of Wicked).
She sighed deeply.
The corner of Quinn's mouth quirked up.
Rachel closed her eyes, already regretting it.
"Quinn?"
"Baby?"
"Ask me again."
Quinn smirked knowingly.
"Hey, Rach. Wanna go to Paris?"
Rachel smiled lovingly.
"Grab your things, blondie. Come on, allons-y."
.
The plane was almost empty.
Which wasn't particularly surprising since it was three in the morning.
There were only seven other people, all of them deeply asleep.
Rachel smiled at the sight of her girlfriend, curled up with her knees to her chest, her forehead against the window, almost asleep. Their fingers were tightly clutched, and Rachel was rubbing her thumb up and down the back of Quinn's pale hand.
Five years, and she still loved the high contrast between her smooth, tanned skin and Quinn's alabastrine one, so clear that she could see her veins tangling underneath it.
Staring at her peaceful face, she remembered a lot of things.
She remembered their first kiss at the wedding, when she was feeling lonely and depressed, and Quinn was looking for an adventure. Except that when their lips connected for the first time, all the feelings Quinn had tried to suppress during her high school years came back, and Rachel realized that the something else she was looking for, aching for, had, in fact, always been Quinn Fabray.
She remembered when Quinn had a horrible nightmare, a really violent panic attack, and Rachel got so scared that she wasn't going to come back. She remembered that night that terrified her, and also changed her life. Because after Quinn had calmed down, and they were lying under the blankets, with Quinn's blonde head buried into her neck, the blonde had confessed for the first time her love for Rachel.
And that was worth everything.
She remembered when they moved in together, and Quinn insisted so hard on carrying her over the threshold. She remembered the first weeks, when they were still learning how to deal with living with each other all day long, all week long, for every month of every year. Quinn was the one who left books around, who left sweet love notes scribbled on tiny sheets of paper, who fell asleep on the couch and had to be almost carried to the bed. Rachel was the one who wrestled the blanket during the night, the one who found the way to snuggle even on the tiniest armchair, the one who always forgot to fold her clothes in the closet and always left them on chairs.
And that was really everything they both wanted.
Rachel smiled to herself.
And now they were on a plane to Paris, in the middle of the night of a working week.
She curled up on her seat and snuggled closer to Quinn. The blonde softly hummed and wrapped an arm around Rachel, keeping her close. She was basically asleep, and yet her reflexes were always ready to hug Rachel, have her near, almost under her skin.
"I love you, you crazy woman," Rachel whispered into her neck.
She was asleep before Quinn could reply.
.
In all the years she had spent living on this mad planet we call Earth, Rachel Berry had never felt so stupid like that one time she spent fifteen minutes trying to get a table in a parisien restaurant. The guy was yelling in French, and Rachel was yelling back at him in English, and Quinn was suffocating from laughter behind her.
Finally, when Rachel's rage was calmed down, Quinn managed to drag her away, taking her hand and giggling all the way.
Rachel didn't stop rambling about disrespect and the importance of knowing some basic English until Quinn stopped in the middle of a grass field.
Which was, in fact, Champ the Mars.
Which was, in fact, under the Tour Eiffel.
Rachel dropped her jaw.
It was late afternoon, and it was beautiful. The sun was going down, and flashes of pink, red, and orange were painted in the sky, the park shining in the warm light, and the sound of people laughing in the background.
Rachel wondered if she was living into a fairytale.
"Quinn," she whispered, looking around unable to close her mouth. Her eyes were wide open, sparkling with joy and amazement.
Because.
Really.
It was just so beautiful.
The last time she spun around like that, filling her eyes with the beauty of a city, she was in New York for the first time, wearing a colorful coat and red tights. And now, almost seven years later, there she was. A famous Broadway star, with the most gorgeous girlfriend ever, living the life she had always dreamed of.
Rachel spun one more time and her eyes landed on something even more beautiful than Paris itself. That being Quinn Fabray with messy hair, wearing a light blue and white dress, a huge smile on her face.
"Hey," she grinned, taking a step closer to Quinn and sinking into her scent of gardenias. She smiled wider when Quinn took her in, surrounding her waist with her gentle arms.
"Hi," she whispered back. "So, how's Paris?"
"Amazing," Rachel sighed dreamily. "I'm so happy you convinced me. It's just so beautiful, and…God, so romantic."
Quinn hummed. "Not even possibly as beautiful as you."
Rachel blushed furiously and she ducked her head. At that day, Quinn remained the only person who constantly reminded her of how beautiful she was. Sure, the press kept making unwanted, unflattering comments about how hot she looked in photoshoots, and that just made her feel embarrassed and uncomfortable. But when Quinn told her she was beautiful, then she felt beautiful.
"Corny," she muttered, her cheeks still burning red.
"You love me."
"So much."
.
"Rach?" Quinn asked a few hours later. They were laying down in the middle of the park on a soft blanket, staring up at the sky full of stars. Rachel had her head rested in Quinn's lap, hands folded on her stomach, and a dreamy expression on her face.
"Mhmm."
"Rach, are you awake?"
"Mhmm."
"Hey, Rach, are you awake?"
"I am now."
"Oh, good. Thought you were sleeping."
Rachel smirked, following Quinn's lead.
"I was."
"So you're not sleeping."
"I wish."
"Sorry. But are you awake now?"
"Nope, you're talking to my voicemail."
"Good, so you're awake."
"I'm awake, Quinn. What's going on?"
"Hey, Rach. Wanna marry me?"
"What?"
And this time, Rachel shot up immediately. She was sitting straight, wide eyed, and staring at Quinn with the most incredulous face.
Quinn smiled softly at the woman she loved, and she sat up as well.
"Do you remember the song that was playing on the radio when we cooked dinner in our apartment for the first time?"
Rachel was so shocked that she could only nod.
Quinn kissed her quickly, and then pulled back. "It was Paper Rings by Taylor Swift. Remember? And then I took your hand and we danced around the kitchen, our kitchen, and then you kissed me, and you said that even if you liked shiny things you were going to marry me in paper rings. Remember?"
Rachel nodded again, still too shocked to speak.
"And that same night, there was Wicked opening night, and you gave me a ticked, and you were so proud, and the show was so great, and I fell in love with you all over again. Remember?"
This time, Rachel was busy tearing up, and she couldn't reply.
Quinn pulled something out of her pocket. It was a paper ring. "I kept the ticket," she whispered, holding up the ring.
She shifted on the blanket, so that she was sitting on one knee. "Hey, Rach," she murmured.
"Mhmm."
"Hey, Rach. Will you marry me?"
And before she could blink, Rachel had tackled her, kissing her thoroughly. Quinn tasted salty tears, but Rachel was laughing into her mouth. She was laughing and crying at the same time, and it was really all Quinn needed in her life.
Rachel pulled back, teary eyes, flushed cheeks, and the biggest smile on her face.
Quinn smiled tentatively. "Do I take that as a yes?"
Before Rachel threw herself at her again, she managed to giggle a soft "a thousand times yes," and that was all Quinn needed. Rachel cupped her face and tangled her legs around Quinn's torso, until they fell back on the blanket, under the stars, in Champ de Mars.
"I love you so much," she whispered against her lips. "Like, you have no idea."
Quinn smiled softly. "Oh, I think I do."
"I think I love Paris."
"Told ya."
Rachel kissed that cocky grin away from her fiancée's beautiful lips.
Fiancée.
"We're engaged," Rachel smiled. "You proposed to me with a paper ring, and now we're engaged."
"I mean, I will buy you a real ring when we're back in New York."
"I don't need a real ring," Rachel whispered.
"Who are you and what have you done to Rachel Berry?"
Rachel laughed and playfully hit Quinn, but that evolved into another heated kiss that had Quinn squirming underneath her on a blanket, in the middle of the Champ de Mars, right under the Tour Eiffel, in Paris.
Years later, Quinn Berry-Fabray told the story to their three kids, who were so amazed by it that they demanded to see the place where their Mommy proposed to Mama with a paper ring. It was a Sunday morning, and the three kids (the twins, two four years old boys, and their youngest daughter), were nestled between the two of them, and Quinn found her phone and booked five plane tickets. New York—Paris. And after she did that, she kissed her wife and she proceeded to attack her and their children with tickles.
It was a Sunday morning, with the sun showering them all from behind the curtains, and the house was filled with the laughs of the small, happy family. On the nightstand beside Rachel's side of the bed, there was a ticked from an old production of Wicked, folded on itself, shaped as a paper ring.