Teacher
"Mmmmm, no," I murmur into my pillow. If I bury myself into the bed, maybe whoever it is will go away. My arms swipes under the pillow, looking for my phone somewhere in the bed. I definitely had it when I fell asleep- Oh. My hand hits a cold, smooth object. 6:03 AM, it blinks at me. Who rings a door at 6:03AM on a Saturday?
No.
Just no. Not getting out of bed at this hour. Not on a weekend.
But the doorbell rings again, with a little more intention. Whoever it is is definitely going away.
I shiver when my feet hit the cold floorboards, jerking me awake. This better be opportunity literally knocking on my front door, I think, completely still fazed with sleep.
The doorbell rings again.
"I'm coming," I call to the door I'm only few feet away from. Whoever it is, he's tall. And definitely a he. His shadow blocks some of the light coming through the glass windows.
The knob feels unusually warm, granted, a pleasant kind of warm but still warm, when I place my hand to twist. And it makes sense, I suppose, in retrospect, considering who is on the other side of that door.
When the door swings open, I see the silhouette of a man, my eyes still adjusting to the morning rays of light streaming behind him. His outline shines brightly, I'm surprised it doesn't burn me.
"Hello, Quinn," a deep voice rumbles from the silhouette. The voice sounds magnificent and great, like the roar of lion. Though it had the capacity to shake the depths of hell, his voice was warm and kind. "My name is Sabathiel. The Network was contacted by Judy. I am here to be your teacher. You may call me Sab."
So much for pleasantries.
He steps towards me, and I cautiously take a step backwards.
This is definitely not something I expect on a Saturday morning, mind you, so maybe that's what irks my suspicion. But he brushes his consciousness against mine, so carefully and slightly as if to reassure me, and his warmth and light floods the touch. It's spring, summer, love, light, sunsets, and sunrises inside his mind, rippling brilliantly outwardly. His mind is old and wise, experienced with the long years he has lived. He speaks the truest truths, simply put, and resonates light.
I nod, convinced. When I step aside to let him, he walks slowly and carefully. Sab's steps are deliberate, each with the accuracy of someone who is not used to walking and is concentrating on staying on the ground, while being so fascinated by the firmness of a ground. Clearly, he's not used to walking to places.
I lead him into the living room, where he sits stiffly on the sofa. I clear my throat and approach the seat across. A silence lulls uncomfortably while I observe him, the first of the Network I've met. He's tall and beautiful that almost screams that he's divine. Dark chestnut-colored hair, not messy but a little windblown. Sab runs a hand through his hair, carefully combing it with his fine fingers. The features on his face are all defined, perfectly symmetrical, as though an artist had sat down and meticulously sculpted his face. His suit was carefully tailored, a light grey that made his attire seem almost casual. He must have been centuries old but he didn't look a day over thirty.
"What are you here to teach me, Sab? I don't think every one of us gets a teacher on top of a mentor. Why do I need a teacher? And why now?" A flood of questions slowly rise from the pit of my stomach. It unnerves me that he maintained a stoic face the whole time. But at my incessant questions, his lips perks into a small smile, instantly comforting me.
"We have been informed of your... condition, Quinn," Sab replies carefully, his voice resonating throughout the room, through my body, and echoes across my mind. He wasn't just speaking in the Earthly dimension. "Has Judy ever told you of the Red Dahlia?"
I shake my head no.
"Well, I suppose that's good. It means it remain a well-kept secret," he continues, amused. "You know that we have a purpose, Quinn. Sometimes, though, the universe intervenes when something goes awry. The Fallen, which I'm sure you've heard of," he looks at me expectantly and I nod. It seems like I can't get away from the Fallen. "Well, the Fallen are an example of deviations. They have been misled into the darkest parts of the universe and pose a threat."
"What does this have to do with me?"
"You're eager and curious. Good, that will help you," he notes, pleased. "The Red Dahlia are the red-winged who are chosen to redirect our paths, to right the wrongs. And it seems that you, Quinn, have been chosen by the universe as the situation of the Fallen becomes more perilous." He looks at me intensely. "They are gathering and preparing."
What. No. I, no. Disbelief numbs my mind, unable to really process his words. There are more Fallen than I've even heard of; I am just one.
"Why hasn't this happened before, when the Fallen first emerged?" I ask quietly, still trying to comprehend the enormity of the situation. "Judy told they have been here for centuries."
Sab nods sympathetically, patiently answering my questions. "The universe moves at its own pace. It is wise, it is old. It is not insignificant as an Facebook update or retweeting. Its decision affect the entire universe and beyond. It seems that it is time to bring our family, our brothers, home."
"Why me?"
"Prophecy, Quinn, of sorts has pointed to you," Sab's eyes sparkle with a sort of awe and determined purpose. "We all have visions. Some of ours overlap, meant to save or aid a single person. I have known for some time that a Red Dahlia would emerge. Others have been involved in the Red Dahlia's preparations, perhaps indirectly but more necessary than we realize. And I suspect, there are a few who are meant to aid you in this, Red." Red,he calls me like it's my name.
"How often does a Red Dahlia emerge?" I can't stop the questions but I need to know if there is someone who is like me. Someone, perhaps, more suitable. Or at least, someone who can tell me what it's like.
"Very rarely, Quinn. I believe the last one was, like you said, centuries ago," Sab seems to respect me as an equal, despite the decades, maybe centuries, that seem to separate us.
"How am I supposed to do anything?" I panick. It took all my energy to even reach a meager state of Divinity. I don't know how to fight an army; I can barely beat Noah at a race. My wings are smaller than his, though the red gives it a particular dramatic flair.
"Quinn, you mustn't doubt yourself. You are chosen for a reason," he reassures me as he runs his hands across the front of his pants, smoothing them out. "But you're right. As you are, you are not ready. Which is why I am here."
I quirk an eyebrow.
"You are my purpose," he states calmly, unaware of how his words just hit me like a hammer to the heart, cracking my demeanor. "Preparing you is what I am here to do."
The weight of his words finally settle in. I'm not alone. I am here to do good. But what about Santana?
"What about my purpose? She's still here and I haven't saved her. I'm her Guardian."
He smiles knowingly. "You underestimate the complexity of the universe's plans, Quinn. How do you know truly who you are guarding isn't key to everything? But let us dismiss the questions for now. Preparations are more important and you will see, in time, how destiny plays out."
Sab stands, "I will be back later, after I scout a location safe for practice. I suggest you prepare for practice." He turns and ...evaporates before I can call him back. Well, that's a new trick.
After Sab leaves, the doorbell rings again.
So popular on a Saturday, I groan inwardly. I kind of just want to sleep but... apparently, no one else wants that. I get up from the sofa, where I'm still sitting, dazed by Sab's words. He promised he would be back but gave no indication of what time; he said time was a human measurement.
But I find Noah on my front step. Head down, shoulders slumped, hands buried in his pockets. He looks so defeated, like a kicked puppy, that all my irritation is immediately washed away by my concern for him. He is still my best friend.
I wordlessly jerk my head towards inside my house and step aside to let him through. The way he sighs a breath of relief makes me grin; he's so easily appeased.
Noah follows me to the kitchen where I pull orange juice from the fridge. The extra-pulp kind. I mean, if I'm going to drink orange juice, I'm not going to jip myself of the actually pulpiness of it, you know?
He watches intently, with a goofy grin, as I pour him a glass and carry our drinks to the living room. Even now, I can feel nerves rolling off of him. Noah sits stiffly on the sofa, not unlike Sab. But Noah sits with discomfort, where Sab sat with unfamiliarity of human surroundings. I sit next to him; it's easier on him if I'm not actually staring him down. Instead, I look at the pulp swirl around my cup, waiting for him to say what he came to say.
"I'm sorry, Q," Noah starts, clearing his throat. "I just- I don't know what that was about and it was honestly like it was wasn't even me. Those weren't my emotions, you know?" He slumps defeatedly into the sofa cushion.
I purse my lips and nod. "I know. And it makes sense. The whole situation is always screwing us with emotions that aren't ours." I lean back, my shoulder pressing against his.
A sigh escapes my lips. A sigh of relief and exhaustion. All these smaller sighs in just one sigh. I lean my head against his shoulder and he lightly rolls his head so it's pressing against the top of mine.
Noah's voice comes out much lower. "I've been getting clarity about my vision, and it's just been really confusing. I can't tell the vision apart from reality," Noah admits bitterly.
"I know, Noah," I reassure him. It's so hard watching him struggle with this, especially when I know how frustrating it can be to know so little about your purpose and yet, feel every fiber in your body screaming to move, go, fly, do somethingthat will amount to everything.
"But we cool?" Noah asks hesitatingly. "I mean, I know I've been a dick lately and I'm really sorry..." His voice dwindles into silence.
I elbow him, joking, "You're always a dick," my head shakes against his as we laugh. "But you wouldn't Noah Puckerman, best friend, if you weren't."
I feel his chest sigh. Oh, Noah, he thinks he's such a bad-ass sometimes. He tries so hard to be rough, poor guy, and yet, it goes against his very nature. Leaning against each other, our minds press enough to let me know how sorry he really was. Sab's mind was magnificent and bright; Noah's mind flickered like a lantern in a dark maze. He was still trying to figure everything out.
We're so much more alike, I press my lips together in thought.
And we sit there, heads pressed against each other like we're holding onto each other's sanity as our own lifelines.
"Again," Sab commands.
We're in the field, on the apex of a rock that sits in the middle. I'm sure this wasn't here before but Sab seems to know that.
Sab stands near me, his wings, such a brilliant white that it's hard to look directly at it without blinding myself. The feathers are longer, the wingspan wider.
My own wings are such a deep shade of red, rich like wine. The feathers are the darkest shade of red the closer they are to my shoulder blades. Each feather was touched, now, by the red, even the ones that were white. The color of blood spread from the core to the wingtip.
I close my eyes again, trying to reach that place inside of my mind where the light gathered. I know it's there but it's like pressing up against a window, the light just on the other side. I felt it flicker, that truth that made my palms glow before. I open my eyes to find Sab, shaking his head.
"Why is it so much harder now?"
"Your mind is not clear, Red," Sab replies simply. He sits across me, his meticulous suit pants gathering dirt from sitting down but he didn't seem to care. Sab looks deep in thought. "Red, I am going to try something. I do not want you to be frightened, alright?"
Too late. Whenever someone says that, you know it's going to be scary. Just like when someone says, "No offense but..." and a completely offensive thing comes out of their mouth.
But I nod. This is not a time for fear.
"Close your eyes."
I do.
I feel his consciousness approaching mine, a golden light that brightens before even touching my own mind. The light seeps into my heart, my mind, my soul, slowly washing away everything inside with a kind of warmth that's hard to even describe. Warmth trickles into the darkest corners of my mind and I let myself go.
"Open your eyes," his words thunders across the connection, silent to the outside world but roaring in my mind.
When I do, I'm no longer seeing through my eyes but his. The colors are more vivid, perhaps a little more green than I expected. Each sound echoes in my ears, like I'm inside an ampitheatre. But it's the warmth I feel, the sun rays that hit our faces. I feel... his love for this place, this Earth that he does not even walk but feels so much for. The ground isn't just holding him, it's lifting him up. The sun is not just warming him, but wrapping him in light. The wind isn't blowing against him or from him, but hugging him from every angle. He finds love in every crevice of the world. I'm inside his Divinity.
And I'm glowing. Not just my palms but my elbows, my shins, even my pinky toe.
My wings, those red wings, stretch out, a magnificent medley of red and gold, like the inside of a luxurious opera house, Victorian shades of brilliance.
I watch in awe as the gold seeps away, as Sab draws away his mind.
"That is Divinity, Red," Sab explains, smiling at my reaction. "And trust me, it is nothing compared to what you will accomplish."
"But... how?" I can barely make my palms glow on my own.
"You'll find a reason to reach that place, too," Sab reassures me with vague explanations. I smile, thinking that someday I'll be able to do that, too. And it'll be different for me... "Okay, again."
"You look tired, Q," Santana reaches out a hand like she's about to comb her fingers through my hair or brush my cheek. Or she wants to, at least. That nickname is really starting to grow on me. Q, like my life is on queue. Queue, the way everything else but Santana seems like when I'm around her. Everything but Santana is on queue.
All these Cheerios rushing to get home from practice but Santana Lopez leans against the locker next to me, impeccable as ever. She presses her shoulder against the metal and stands on one leg as she crosses the other across her ankles.
She doesn't touch my face or hair, though. Instead, her hand drops to my shoulder, squeezing it lightly like she's reassuring me.
I smile. Tired is exactly what it was; Sab made me strain my mental strength until I couldn't think anymore. And I barely got a flicker in the end. "Yeah, I am pretty tired. Just feeling a little overworked, you know?"
Santana grins, "What do you say to a little break?"
I quirk an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"
"Wellllll," she draws out her words, making my stomach flutter at the sight of her tongue placed between her teeth, building anticipation. "You do have a houseful of movies that I wanna get at." She winks playfully. "Britt-britt is leaving to see her cousins for some huge blonde reunion, anyway."
Sab didn't quite put me on a schedule but I'm sure he would let me spend time with my purpose. I mean, purpose trumps saving the world, right? Sort of?
"Only if we get to watch Phantom of the Opera at least once," I poke her. My fingers brush hers, tingling at the contact. Her eyes widen so slightly at the normalness of our touch, as if she thought that we'd internally combust if our skins touched. So she reaches out slowly and holds onto my hand, in her own world of thought.
Everyone else is gone. Most Cheerios rush home as soon as practice is over like Ronald McDonald was dangling Big Macs in front of them. But Santana lingered, waiting for me. Hopefully, she was waiting for me...
She laces her fingers into mine as she leans against the locker next to mine. The last time we touched like this, the last time we were in a locker room like this...
Santana wakes up from her trance but holds onto my hand, her fingers locking into mine. She clears her throat and looks back at my face, her dark eyes sparkling with a new excitement. "So yes?"
"Yes," I grin. I couldn't say no even if I wanted to.
"Quinn!" Noah's voice thunders from outside. "I'm coming in and you better be decent. Or not," he waltzes in. "I really have no problem with-" Noah stops as soon as he sees Santana, his eyes flickering to her hand holding mine, which she quickly drops.
Tension prickles in the air and I can't quite take it. "I'll be right out, Noah," I tell him. "Just give me a minute."
Noah hesitates to leave, his eyes narrowing at Santana. I wish he'd stop being so suspicious of her; I'm pretty sure I'm not meant to guard a serial killer so he needs to stop. Santana is a little rough around the edges, a bit sharp with her words, but... but never with me. Santana Lopez looks at me, and sees me. She talks to me, quietly, every word from her mouth like a husky, intimate whisper. When Coach decides to pick me as prey, Santana quickly steps in front of me and stares her down. She stops slushies from jerks.
And we fit together as perfectly as our hands, like two hands in prayer, a zipper of our fingers coming together.
Noah slinks out reluctantly.
I turn back to Santana, who is still staring at the door. I tug at her hand to bring her attention to me, and unintentionally, bring her entire body only a few inches from mine.
Santana drags her gaze up from my lips to my eyes.
I breathe in the spearmint of her breath, the warmth of her skin, close enough to reach me. "So movie date? Later?"
She nods, "Your house, six-ish? Tell Puckerman to try and not to be a third-wheel. I'm not good at sharing." She winks and lets go of my hand, reaching for her backpack.
My hand feels so empty without her holding it, I want to grab hers again. But Santana moves like water, slipping away smoothly, leaving me behind in a trance.
Until I hear Noah whine, "Come on!"
I turn to the doors, ready to leave. Of course, a vision comes at the most convenient times.
I look at Santana in front of me, her dark eyes so wide with fear that I'm scared for her. I haven't seen that look ever cross her face, or anything less than confident. Right now, she looked so unsure of everything, terrified.
What concerns me, though, is the red down her front. A red that layers on top of the Cheerio red, soaks into the meticulously white segments of her uniform. Her hands are covered in red, red, red. Santana...
"Quinn!" Noah's voice pierces through the vision, his hands shaking me awake. "What the hell happened?" I'm staring at the ceiling. Yet again.
My head is pounding. I groan, pressing my palm against forehead as I get up. Last time I checked, visions didn't leave any presents like splitting headaches.
"Be careful," Noah says tenderly, taking my wrists in his hands, pulling my palm away from my head. "You hit your head on the bench."
Oh... That explains the bloods on my palms. "How long was I out?"
"Not long," Noah gets up and walks over to the sink and wets a few paper towels. He brings them over and I expect him to hand me the towel. Instead, he sits himself on the ground beside me. "Maybe a minute or so. I just heard a crash."
He scoots closer and presses the wet towels against the area just above my temple. Ow...It stings enough that my eyes immediately well up. He looks apologetic, somehow, under the concern clouding his eyes. "Vision?"
"Yeah, Santana, again, but I think the Fallen were there, too," I reply, closing my eyes.
"The Fallen? You felt them again?" Noah looks alarmed. I shared with him what Judy told me and he flipped out like a child. His first encounter with darkness was equally unpleasant, I had to assume.
"It wasn't a long vision but," I gently push his hand away from my forehead. "We should go home. Santana after I drop you off."
Noah huffs, "I think you shouldn't have her over right now," he waves vaguely at my forehead. "Given your condition."
I roll my eyes, "Noah, it's just a small cut."
He scoffs, "Wait till you see it."
When we actually manage to get into the car, Noah becomes quiet again. Unusually quiet. The car ride home is silent but I can feel chaotic emotions rolling off of him, louder than any silence. It comes slightly muffled, like the wind against a broken car window held together feebly by duct tape; he's trying to hold it back from me. But they are still there, so apparent, despite his attempt. He leans against the window, staring intensely outside.
I pull into his driveway and put my car in neutral. He slings his backpack over his shoulder but before he can leave, I ask, "Are you okay, Noah?"
He turns back slowly, as if considering my question. He bites his lip before replying. "Quinn, I just want you to be careful."
I smile reassuringly and punch his shoulder playfully, "Oh, Noah, you're such a softie! Haven't you heard? We're kind of powerful."
He returns an unsure smile.
"Besides, if anything, you got my back, which is better than any bodyguard," I wink at him.
He grins goofily at the words. "Damn right I got your back, girl."
"Now get outta here," I push him gently out the door. "I'll catch you tomorrow!"
Sab immediately asks, "What happened to your forehead?" as soon as I walk through the door. I almost forgot he might be here. I almost forgot about my forehead. All I could think was how I had to finish up some stuff before Santana came over.
"Oh, right," I remember, lightly touching my forehead. I haven't seen it yet but it doesn't feel so bad yet. Just a headache. "I fell during a vision." I press my lips together, walking over to the living room and tossing my backpack onto the sofa. It lands with a soft thump. "Sab, I think the Fallen are going to be there, when I'm saving Santana."
He nods. "They will."
"You know already?"
"Red, you will have to open your mind to the world, too," he responds gravely, standing stiffly to the side. "When you do, you will feel as I feel. They are hovering on the edges of our world."
"This is ridiculous but... a person who is just mean can't be a Fallen, can they?" I consider Coach Sylvester. That woman can easily take reign in hell.
"No, the Fallen is something else altogether," he replies nonchalantly, smoothing down his suit jacket. "You've felt it, that black hole inside that drains you. It's suffocating and somehow, inadequate at the same time."
Okay, not Sylvester... Well, it was a plausible theory while it lasted. She was only mean but entirely, wholly human. It's funny how humans have a way of destroying each other.
He examines my cut carefully. "You can use Divinity to heal that, you know."
"Whaaaaat? No one mentioned that particular power to me," I racked my brains to remember if Judy mentioned anything. All she said was as we grew older, we lost our invincibility. As children, we were allowed to bang into things, scrape our knees, whatever, and we would heal back to normal. It's supposed to ensure that you carry out your purpose. You cannot fulfill it if you are dead, she said to me.
"Can you do it?" I touched my forehead, feeling what I still haven't seen. "It stings."
"No, Red, that is something you will have to learn to do yourself," he quietly admonishes me. "I will make sure to put it into our curriculum." He smirks.
For someone who hasn't quite adjusted to being amongst humans, he's definitely acquired the taste of sarcasm. Sab is definitely loosening up.
He pulls a small mirror from his suit pocket, still meticulously tailored and ironed. I don't know when he has time to go to the dryer's but it's impressive. Sab holds it up at me, my reflection looking back. "That looks really bad actually," I think outloud. It does. I mean. Dark blood caked around it, a gash about four inches wide and really... really deep. It would be so much easier if I could still heal.
"You'll need to clean it, you know."
"Yeah, I know," I look away from the mirror. "Okay, well, healing lessons for another time?"
He tilts his head to the side, as if to ask why.
"I'm..." Oy, no teacher wants to hear that his student wants to hang out with her friend-sort-of-crush over lessons. Especially when those lessons can save the world. I push through with my excuse anyway, although it comes out more like a question. "..having Santana over soon? You know, my purpose?"
A pause hovers in the room, me half-waiting for him to scold me, him quietly contemplating my words. To my surprise, he nods. "You should."
"Really?" My disbelief stuns me but before the moment slip away, I quickly nod. I'm not going to say no to that!"Okay, well, lessons another time?"
"Alright, Red," he walks over to the door and steps onto the porch. Before he leaves, Sab looks back at me, piercing me with his intense gaze: "Open your heart and mind, Red, don't forget."
I grin at him, "Okay, Cryptic." He smiles lightly at my new nickname for him. I wag my fingers as he turns and walks away from the house. A few steps and his figure wavers. A few more steps and where Sab was standing a half-second ago is only empty space. He evaporated, probably literally. I gotta ask him how to do that...
"Holy crap, Q," Santana exclaims when I open the door. "Look at you!"
I want to retort, Please. Look at you, you bombshell. Somehow, she made her pajama pants look sexy, the way they hugged her hip, a small sliver of caramel skin showing between her tight tanktop and pants. Her hair was tied up in a loose, messy bun, her dark locks gathered in a haphazardly arranged loop.I couldn't pull off comfortable as sexy as she did. Her gaze was intense, as it always is, but in a way that lit up my entire world, like I was the only one that mattered. Please, look at you, I think as I soaked her in.
"Why, thank you, Lopez, but flattery isn't going to get you out of grabbing the ice cream from the freezer while I change," I wink at her. But her mouth is still a little open, jaw dropping. She's staring at my forehead like I plastered something ridiculous. I bring my hand to my forehead, Oh...right. Cut.Between Noah and Sab, I completely forgot to clean it.
"I, uh, fell." Which isn't lying really. "In the locker room, right after you left."
"Literally falling head over heels for me, eh?" She jokes as she peers more closely, her face only inches from mine. Her face takes on an expression of concern. "Do you have a first aid kit?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Go get it," Santana firmly told me, nudging me back into the house. Her voice has an air of such concern that I don't doubt her.
I nod without questioning her. I should have made Sab heal it for me before, I slowly regret as I reach for the top shelf in the study, my arm searching for a small white kit that I know was up here somewhere. When I find it, I grab a pair of sweats from my own room. No one tells you that this uniform is itchy, stiff, and uncomfortable. It's tight in places and it makes a fluttering noise as you walk. Perverts designed this uniform. I sigh as I dress into comfortable sweatshorts and a loose shirt. It's not the most flattering but after a day in this uniform, I could care less.
I call out in the house, "Santana? Where are you?"
"Movie room," the answer comes from upstairs. "Hurry up."
I climb the stairs, two at a time. Santana is sitting comfortably on the couch, staring at the huge screen. "Honestly," she comments. "You're tiny. Do you even need a TV this big?"
I laugh, "I didn't ask for it, trust me."
She turns around and looks at me, glancing at the kit in my hand. "Come here," she directs, patting the seat next to her. When I do, her nimble hands take the kit from my own and opens it.
"Close your eyes." She uses her teeth to rip open an alcohol pad. Her dark eyes flicker up at my face, "Eyes, closed. Come on."
I grin and comply. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Her chuckle reaches my ears, a musical sound that rings like sweet bells. "Stay still," she tells me just as I feel a cool wet touch on my forehead. The sharp smell of alcohol prickles my nose. "I'm almost done, I promise."
I peek through squinted eyes.
I'm going to sound ridiculous but... she's stunning. I mean, normally, she's beautiful like a jaguar, something feline and precise about her movements, a graceful smooth transition from one act to the next. Her eyes could hold a glare enough to burn a hole straight through the Earth. But right now, her concerned eyes are intensely focused, a small line between her brows revealing just how intent she was on fixing me. A small pile of alcohol pads and band-aid wrappers pile up next to her.
"Can I open my eyes now?" I ask cautiously.
"Like you weren't watching," she smirks. "Come on, I'm inches from you. I can see you peeking."
"I had to make sure you weren't going to do anything!"
She laughed, "Don't flatter yourself, Q." Santana places a band-aid tenderly, smoothing it out with her two thumbs. "There."
"Where did you learn to do that so well," I ask, feeling the clean textured surface of the band-aid, my headache gone, no blood caked on my forehead. She looks amused, "Practice makes perfect."
"Why are you practicing something like that, San?" I think of the vision, the layers of red on her Cheerio uniform. The way her eyes were wide with terror, so unlike her confident and caring look right now.
Her hands dropped from my face and into my lap, where I gathered them, lacing and unlacing my fingers with hers. Santana's hands felt rough in my own, probably from all those somersaults Coach Sue has us doing. These hands, that would be dipped in red so soon...
She shrugs, giving her non-answer, "How's the feel?"
I look at her, drinking in the sight of her, cross-legged in front of me: "Perfect."
A rosy flush creeps into her cheeks, as Santana scoots so her right shoulder touches my left, side by side. "I already popped in a movie when you basically crawled to bring back the kit."
She places her hand on top of mine and threads her fingers between my own, a tingling where our hands touched, where our fingers cross. With her other hand, she reached for the remote and turned on the screen, a still of the mask and rose from Phantom of the Opera on screen, and grinned, "I promised I'd watch it for you once."
No Fallen could drag me down from the cloud I'm floating on right now.
Thanks so much for the sweetest reviews. It's so awesome to be writing for readers like you lovely people. Your words were basically the reason why I managed to write something this quickly.
We have some ways to go with this story but answers are coming!
Also, question: I'm considering making a quinntana tumblr but I'm not really sure what I'd do with it except just write mini one-shot prompts you guys ask for. What do you guys think?
Will be updating If I Could Fly hopefully soon!
Happy reading and leave some love & reviews!
**boringsiot: You're awesome. Just hands-down fab. I'd tell you this if you would turn on your PM but alas, you have not :(