"How are my two favorite Ohio-ian..ites?" David asks walking into the apartment with a paper bag in his arm as you and Rachel sat sitting at the table eating (choking down) some oatmeal that she made for lunch because she went to sleep after the gym and you accidentally woke her up when you got home. You find that if you sip your coffee between each bite, it's easier to keep it down.

"They're eating some really amazing oatmeal if I do say so myself." Rachel grins at him and it makes your stomach churn. He goes in for the kiss and she turns her cheek, her eyes momentarily glancing at you. He settles for kissing her cheek and pulls a few vegan treats out of the paper bag.

"Well I brought dessert for your breakfast-lunch," he smiles at you, "Also," he pulls a bottle out of the bag and slides a bottle of your favorite cranberry Kombucha to you.

"Thanks David," you smile back at him. The more you get to know him, the more conflicted you feel. You hate him because he has Rachel in ways you only dream about, but he's really been trying to extend an olive branch to you.

"Anyway, I gotta go," he kisses Rachel's cheek again, not even attempting to kiss her on the lips, "I have an interview to get to and since I was driving by I thought I'd stop by. Later ladies."

He walks back out and you let out a sigh of relief. This presence is so draining on you because you're trying, really trying not to consciously hate him. You stir your lumpy oatmeal around in your bowl a few times before looking up to see Rachel looking at you.

She smiles, "Thanks for trying to like him."

"Well when he brings me my favorite drink, how can I not?" you don't want to talk about him. You stare to your oatmeal for a few more minutes. It was hard to get some oatmeal made in the time it took for Rachel to answer her phone and buzz him in, but you pulled it off. However, you ended up eating the oatmeal she made which was lumpy and mushy all at once while she was eating the stuff you made with pride all over her face.

And you love doing little things like that for her because she'll smile a little wider or hug you a little longer and a little more is what you crave. You don't understand how calm she is about this whole mess. You feel a little better, but you're still an emotion wreck inside…well not necessarily a wreck. Maybe you're an emotional fender-bender inside. You shake your head and finally speak, "I don't understand how you've always been so much more mature than me. In high school and now..."

She scrapes her spoon across the bottom of her bowl gathering the last of her oatmeal with a smile, "Maybe I'm such an old soul and you're new to this universe."

You smile at her. The relaxed and thoughtful look on her face strikes you as one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen. She smiles at you and shrugs, "It could also be my television intake as a child. Equal parts Oprah, Barbra Streisand and Days of Our Lives."

You laugh because you completely believe it. Seeing her like this just makes you feel like your chest may explode.

You both grow quiet and a comfortable silence encases you. You're looking at your fingers that wrap around your coffee mug. When you look back up, you find her watching you, studying. You feel like you need to say something so you take a deep breath and say, "I'm sorry."

"For?" She leans back in her seat, a slight tilt of her head causing her hair to fall away from her face.

"For how I treated you in high school," you pause, because neither of you has actual spoken out loud about the situation since you told her, "and this whole mess." You motion vaguely between the two of you.

She leans on the table and holds your eyes. "The past is the past. For that I forgive you." She pauses, "however I don't accept your apology for your feelings." You're very confused. You try to read her face for any signs that she's mad but all you find is kindness and understanding. She reaches across the table and takes your hand, "Quinn never apologize for your feelings; not to me or to anyone."

You let out a long sigh. You're relieved and touched that she'd make sure you know that. It makes you love her that much more.

She gently squeezes your hand and gives you a reassuring smile. When she lets go of your hand, she picks up her coffee, "My daddy told me that growing up in your household, especially with a father such as yours, it's a big thing that you accepted your feelings for me and actually had the courage to tell me."

You feel like your eyes may bug out. You are at her in utter disbelief, "You told your dads?"

She nods with a giggle, "I tell them everything." You knew that already. You just didn't think that this…situation fell under the category of 'everything'.

You put your head on the table with a soft thud, "Did you tell anyone else?"

"No," she adds and you can tell she's still smiling. "I guess now is as good of a time as ever to tell you that they're coming for a visit this weekend."

"I'll be at Brittany and Santana's." You mumble.

"Nonsense," she says, "They want to meet you."

"Oh god." You keep your head down. How awkward is that going to be? Then suddenly something hits you, "Oh my god. Oh my god, my mom is coming this weekend. I can't-you can't-" you've never had a panic attack before but you're pretty sure this is what one feels like.

Rachel firmly takes your face in her hands and commands you to breathe. "It'll be fine Quinn. They won't say anything if you don't want then to."

"No!" You shoot out of your chair "Never! Ever! I mean why would she need to know?"

She tilts her head to the side with eyes that try to get you to be honest.

You accuse her, starting a frantic pace through the kitchen, "Don't give me that look!"

"What look?" she asks, her head keeping up with you as you walk.

"That 'do the right thing' look because it's not the right thing! It's the wrong thing. So wrong and your cute little pouty look will not change my mind." You can tell she's trying not to smile so you throw your hands up in the air and storm to your room.

She of course follows you. "Quinn honey, you need to relax. No one will tell your secret. Just show your mom a good time. Our parents don't even have to spend that much time together. Speaking of, how do you want to handle sleeping arrangements?" She sits down on your bed as you start to go through your drawers looking for something to wear today.

"My mom gets my bed," you shrug, "Your dads take yours. You get the couch and I'll take the..." You wave flippantly in the air, "floor."

"Nonsense Quinn," You can see her lay back on your bed in your dresser mirror and you squeeze your eyes closed. This is not the time for inappropriate thought about your roommate. She adds, "The couch folds out. We can share it."

You pull out a long sleeved shirt and shut the drawer, "It does?"

"Mhmm," she nods and pulls one of your pillows down the bed to rest her head on it, "We can finally watch Funny Girl together. You always disappear whenever I turn it on."

"I have problems sitting through movies," you shrug, "I need to do something."

"Well, I'm going to get your drunk or something and we're going to watch it together," she states, "It's going to happen whether you like it or not." She giggles when you roll your eyes. Then she rises from the table, "I'm going to go take a shower and get ready then we can head to the theatre."

You nod and watch her walk away, not bothering to close her bedroom door. She usually doesn't closer her bathroom door. You've never peeked because that's creepy and you like that she trusts you not to.

After you're done cleaning up your lunch mess, you're just about to sit down then there's a knock on the door. When you open it, Ethan is standing there with an awkwardly shy smile.

"Hi," he says, "I'm uh, here to fix your sink…again."

"Great," you smile at him and let him in, "It's in the same place."

He chuckles and runs a hand over her brown hair, "That's probably a good thing."

You go into the living room to find your phone and when you finally find it Ethan is packing up his things back into his toolbox. "That was fast."

"It was just needed a washer," he fastens the top of his toolbox and stands.

You lean on the counter by the sink and watch him turn it on to make sure it's working correctly. When nothing leaks, he turns it off and turns back to you. "Can I…is it too forward if I…ask to take you to dinner?" he asks with his hands in his pockets.

You freeze. His green eyes are sincere and you know he's a nice guy. You know you can't keep waiting on Rachel and you know that's exactly what you're doing. Your eyes flicker to her open bedroom door. You confessed your love and she's still dating David. So you smile, "I'd love to."

He looks really relieved, "Great. Um...how's tonight? I can meet you in the lobby at eight?"

"Perfect," you nod.

He grins and adds, "Well um...I'll see you there."

You nod and he walks off to the door. You follow him and he pauses at the door, rubbing the back of his neck, "Do you like um, pizza?"

"I love it," you grin. He's really cute when he's nervous.

"Great," he nods, "Um, you don't have to dress up."

His rambling makes you smile wider, "Perfect."

"Okay well, I'll see ya then," he nods to himself and then walks off.

You close the door and smile. This is good. This is healthy. This is…your mind goes blank when you spot Rachel walking through the living room in the deep red towel searching for something.

"Uh, Rach?" you ask, trying to keep your eyes above her shoulders, "What are you doing?"

She looks up at you and you can see a blush creep down her cheeks, "I um, my dad is supposed to call and I can't find my phone."

You hit the first speed dial button on your phone and put it to your ear. Her phone starts ringing from her bedroom. She runs off to get it and answers it, "Hello? This is Rachel Berry's assistant. Can I take a message?"

"Jake? Your voice has changed," you giggle into the phone. "Tell Ms. Berry that I'm going to make some guacamole because I'm still hungry and if she doesn't hurry, there won't be any for her."

She lowers her voice trying to sound like Jake, "I assure you she'll be dressed and ready in time to help you eat it."

"You're such a dork," you laugh and hang up the phone. You start making the guacamole and soon enough she come out of her room in pajama shorts and a t-shirt. She sits on the counter across the kitchen from you.

You inform her that you have a date tonight so you need to be back from the theatre in time to get ready.

"You have a date?" she asks, getting a cup down and filling it up from the non-leaking sink next to you.

"Mhmm," you hum as you mash up the avocados.

"With the maintenance guy?" she asks.

You pop a slice of a tomato in your mouth, "Yup. His name is Ethan." You add finishing up her dip and setting it on the counter next to her.

"Well, I'm happy for you," she states with a smile that seems a little forced.

You eye her suspiciously, but shrug it off, "I think that since we don't have to be at the theatre until three, I'll make cookies."

Her whole face lights up, "Vegan cookies?"

"Of course," you laugh and move to start getting things out to make them.

"Where is this alleged date you have tonight?"

"I don't know yet, we're meeting in the lobby. He asked if I like pizza though," you answer, turning back to her, "Why did you say alleged?"

"I have to run a background check on him before I allow you to go out with him." She states matter-of-factly.

You quirk an eyebrow, "Allow me?"

"Of course," she grins, "You're my best friend. I must protect you. So background checks."

"I don't need-"

"Quinn I know you're a big girl, but please humor me. I don't get to comfort you when you have a nightmare about losing your voice in the middle of a show. Or make sure you eat or remind you not to forget your purse or take care of you when you're sick. So far the effort in this relationship has been completely one-sided. If I can't do all those things for you, let me do this." Her head is tilted and her eyes are serious.

You sigh and start talking. You can't let her think that you get nothing out of this, "First of all it's not one-sided. I live here, in Uptown Manhattan for free. You buy most of the food and-"

She waves her hand at you causing you to stop talking, "Oh pish posh, that's just monetary. I'm talking real effort."

"That brings me to number two," you smirk, "Is there anyway I could stop you?"

"No?" she smiles like a child trying to get out of trouble.

"There you go," you grab a bowl and a measuring cup to start the cookies.

After you're done with the new recipe you just got, you both partake in the treat. She thoughtfully chews it with a smile, "So you don't bake them?"

"No. They're vegan, organic and raw, which pretty much means I'll be eating them 24/7 and telling myself that it won't make me fat. But you have to stop me when all I can wear are moo moos." You tease, eyeing the mass of dirty dishes in the sink.

"Don't forget your 50 cats." She adds, grabbing another cookie.

"Oh that reminds me," you say as you swallow your last bite, "Santana is thinking of getting Brittany a cat."

"Really?"

"That's like a step down from proposal for her. She hates cats. They're doing good now. Next thing you know they'll ask you to sing at their wedding."

Rachel snorts, "Santana Lopez does not want me to sing at her wedding."

"But Brittany probably does and whatever B says goes. Santana will probably wear a pink dress or knowing Brittany just lingerie and heels." You offer her another cookie, which she takes.

"That'd be a wedding I'd want to sing at. I met Santana's parents at graduation," she takes a bite, "They don't seem receptive to a lingerie wedding."

You laugh. Santana's parents are very conservative, very catholic, but they spoiled the hell out of her and they love Brittany. There was some turbulence the summer after your first trip to nationals but in the end they love Santana and Brittany and that was the deciding factor in their stance on their views of the relationship.

Rachel opened her mouth to add something when her phone rang in her bedroom. She trots off to get it and you start loading the dishwasher. You're not going to have time to do the dishes after you two head to the theatre because knowing Rachel, it will take right up until eight o'clock to clean out her dressing room and unless your date goes horribly, you won't be home until after ten at which time you'll be too tired to do them.

She walks into the living room, again looking for something while she's on the phone. "Daddy! You bought a lamp without asking him? Did the wallpaper incident teach you nothing?...Well apparently he doesn't like surprises." She explains into the phone.

You chuckle and head to your room to change into something theatre worthy and pizza date worth just in case. When you come out, in a light blue dress with faded pink and yellow flowers and a she's laying out on the couch, exasperated.

"I swear that man," she huffs and peeks at you from under the arm that's thrown over her eyes.

"So they're not coming?" you ask hopefully.

She sits up, "They're still coming. They're just going to be arguing about a lamp the whole time." She looks you up and down, "You look nice."

"Thanks," you smile, spreading out the dress, "Just in case we run a little late because you're going so…we will be late."

She laughs and stands up, pulling you into a hug, "You know me so well." When she let's go, she prances off to her room and returns, dressed and ready to head out. She's in jeans and a black v-neck shirt with black sandals to top it off. She looks so hot and you can see a little cleavage over the shirt. You try not to look and when she catches you, you compliment her necklace to make it look less pervy.

"Is this St. James?" you ask, pulling a picture off of one of the walls in her dressing room. It's a group of four guys that's autographed and you're sure one of them is Jesse.

"Yeah," she pops up behind you. So close that you can feel the heat coming off of her body, "He sent that to me a few months ago. He's in a boy band."

You turn around fully to face her, "You're kidding."

She laughs, "No."

You pull out your phone and take a picture of it. Santana will get a kick out of it. When you're done spreading the word, you put it back up on the wall and start to dump out all the dead flowers in a large trashcan you found on the way in. "Next time you get flowers you should bring them home so I can keep them alive."

"I can keep them alive," she protests albeit weakly, "I mean, I could if I…thought about them."

"Exactly," you smile, "Bring them home next time okay? Our apartment could use to flowers."

"Okay," she nods, sitting down on the couch that spread out against one wall of the small room. She's intently looking at her phone, reading something. You continue to clean because you don't mind doing it and it always helps you think.

"He was arrested!" she yells and shoots off the couch, startling you so bad that you drop the stack of fan mail in you hand.

"Oh my god Rachel," you turn to her with your hands on your hips, "What are you talking about?"

She grins, "Sorry." Then she moves toward you, "Ethan's been arrested. So no you are not allowed to go out with him."

"What was he arrested for?" you sigh and ask, kneeling to pick up the mess of paper on the ground.

"Well my lawyer said that that's sealed because it was in his juvenile record…" her voice trails off. Then she clears her throat and continues, "Regardless, a criminal record does not a good boyfriend make."

"It's just a date. He's not my boyfriend," you place the mail on the vanity and stand up, "Besides, Puck has a very, very long juvenile record."

"I wouldn't let you date him either," you can see her cross her arm in the mirror.

You roll your eyes, "I get the being all protective thing, but it was one juvenile arrest. Who hasn't done stupid things as kids?"

"Me," she states with a firm frown on her face.

"Okay, what normal people haven't done stupid things as kids," you smirk and try to get her to smile. You can see her try to fight one off as she narrows her eyes at you. You open your arms to her and she steps into the embrace, "I'll be fine. I promise."

She let's out a deep sigh, "Okay. I just don't want you to get hurt."

"I know," you inhale and smell her shampoo. You close your eyes letting the scent completely invade your body. "But I'm a big girl. I'll be fine."

She agrees that you'll probably be fine, but you had to promise to call her as soon as you leave your date. As it gets closer to show time, more and more people show up and Rachel introduces you to them all. Just as you suspected, she wasn't going to make it home until after her show, which means you trek back to your apartment solo.

It's a little before eight when you walk into the lobby. You plan to run up to the apartment and maybe change your hair when you spot Ethan sitting in a chair next to the security guard behind the little security desk off to the side. His knee is bouncing and on top of the desk is a bouquet of daisies. Since his eyes are on the floor, he doesn't see you walk up until you're right in front of him.

He shoots to his feet and smiles nervously, glancing at his watch, "You're early."

"So are you," you playfully reply. You're trying to ease his nerves. You need to have a good time tonight and relax. Having a high-strung date does help with that.

He picks up the flowers and offers them to you, "These are for you."

You smile at him and accept them, "They're beautiful." They're not the most expensive bouquet you've ever received, but it's the thought that counts.

As you leave, you ask the security guard, a man well past retirement age with a crush on Rachel, to give them to her so she can take them up to the apartment when she gets back. He happily acquiesces and you leave with Ethan.

You're relieved that he wants to walk to wherever you're going. Cab rides are awkward with new people and you're not a huge fan of the subway. When you arrive, you find yourself in a cozy pub with only a few tables around a long, dark polished wooden bar. There are a few small TVs around the place displaying some sort of sporting event that you can't quite make out. You decide that you like this place. He pulls out a chair at one of the tables for you and you thank him as you sit.

"What kind of pizza do you want?" he asks, with his hand on the back of the chair across from you.

"Um," you pause. You haven't had cheese in so long you're kinda excited, but you're nervous about trying to eat any meat. You don't want to get sick and you're scared at Rachel will find out, "I better stay away from the meat, just in case."

"Beer okay?" he asks.

You nod, "Definitely."

He smiles and walks to the bar, placing your order. When he returns he has a pitcher of beer and two glasses. You're eye are on the game on TV before he sits down.

"Your team playing?" he asks, pouring you both some beer.

You nod. They're not really your team, but they were Finn's team so you learned about the game and who was on the team by watching with him and Puck.

"Knicks fan?" he asks.

You take a sip of your beer, "Nope."

"Oh no," he smiles his dimpled smile, "If you're a Cavs fan then I don't think this'll work out."

As they date and the game progress, you both end up moving to the bar to get a better view of the TV. The beer is making you more of a sports fan. That and the fact that you bet him the tab that the Cavs would beat the Knicks.

As overtime starts, you feel your phone vibrating in your sweater pocket. You pull it out and see that Rachel sent you a text. She's just checking on you and making sure you haven't been arrested or kidnapped. You send her back a text telling her not to worry and you'll be home as soon as the game is over.

A round of cheers echoes through the bar as the Knicks guard scores a three. You're the only one in the bar cheering against them and the patrons have been teasing you about it. You're having a great time cheering against them.

"Yes!" Ethan thrust his fists up in the air when the game-ending buzzer goes off and the Knicks are victorious. He gives you a celebratory hug, which you reciprocate. He doesn't smell like a maintenance guy should and you're surprised. His smells clean and his cologne is faint. His firm chest against you is quite different than it is hugging Rachel. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. It's not fair to him to compare him to Rachel. You need to stop.

"You okay?" he asks and pulls away at your deep breath.

You automatically smile at him, hiding your inner thoughts, "I just can't believe they lost." You open your purse to dig out your wallet, but he puts his hand on your shoulder. You look up just in time to see him hand a few bills over to the bartender. "But our bet-"

"Don't worry about it," he puts his arm around your shoulders guiding you out of the bar, "I'll get it back. It's almost baseball season."

You laugh as you two meander back toward the apartment. He asks you all of your favorite sports teams and you confess that you're from Ohio and that pretty much determines your affiliation. He's a Rhode Island native he likes team from across the board.

"What are you doing in New York?" you ask, "Are you an aspiring actor?"

"No," he shakes his head, "I'm not a singer or a dancer either. In fact I have two left feet."

You giggle. Beer always makes you goofy, "That's funny. I only have one."

He laughs, "Well you can't laugh when I tell you what I do other than handy manning."

"Cross my heart," you say as you spot your apartment building down the block.

"I paint," he states.

You look up at him, "Really?"

He nods. He seems shy about it. He doesn't really seem like the type, but you guess it takes all kinds. He looks down at you, "What about you? Any sort of art you devote your life to?"

You shake your head, "No. I just followed my friends here. I am a lowly real estate agent."

"Lowly nothing," he gently squeezes your shoulders, "You live here. You're not a lowly anything."

You look up at the building in front of your. Your apartment window is up there in all the mess somewhere. Rachel's sitting on the couch in her pajamas, watching some sort of musical or reading or maybe playing the piano. You hope she's playing the piano. You'll be ecstatic if she's up there sitting on the bench, with her eyes closed just feeling the music through her fingertips.

"What was that?" Ethan asks withdrawing his arm from you.

You didn't realize you said anything and you have no idea what it could be.

"Who's Rachel?" he asks.

Of course you said her name. In the middle of a date with a great guy, you say her name because you're daydreaming about her. "She's my roommate. It's really her apartment. I just live with her."

"Regardless," he smiles, "You're not lowly." He stands in front of you, "I was thinking that this went okay. What do you think?"

"It went okay," you nod. You're teasing him and you know that he can see it in your smile. He really is a nice guy.

"So…" he puts his hands in his pockets and rocks onto the balls of his feet, "Can I take you out again?"

After you exchange phone numbers and he promises to call, he gives you a hug and a kiss on the cheek before you make your way upstairs.

When you get inside, it looks like Rachel's been waiting for you on the couch. Next to her is a basket of what you deem to be clean laundry. You know because you're the one that put it in the washer. "What are you doing?"

"Laundry," she grins. For a brief moment she looks like a child seeking a commendation for doing something well.

You chuckle and ruffle her hair, "Congratulations."

She huffs, "I'm just trying to get things ready for our parents."

You groan and poke through the mail that's sitting on the counter. You find that you're not excited anymore about getting mail because they're mostly bills which are never fun. "What time are your dads getting in Friday?"

"No idea," Rachel shrugs and dumps the sheets onto the couch. You walk over to help her start to fold them, "They never tell me because daddy's convinced that if I'm too distracted by their arrival time I'll fall off the stage in front of eight hundred people. What about your mom?"

You both pick up the same sheet and start folding it together, "Oh like eleven I think. I cleared my whole day so I can pick up your dads if you need me to."

"I'll check with them to see what time, but they know what time my shows are so they wouldn't schedule they're flight in while I'm performing unless they had to," she takes a step toward you so that you can take the corners she's hold to finish folding it. When her fingers brush against yours, you silently gasp. No matter how much she hugs you or cuddles with you, even the smallest of touches still electrifies you.

"By the way," she grins, "How was your date?" She bends over to pick up a sheet and you look a little too long. Luckily you catch yourself before she does.

"It was really great actually," you can't help, but smile. You did have fun. "We went to a pub and watched basketball and ate pizza and drank beer."

She quirks a disbelieving eyebrow at you.

You chuckle, "Believe it or not, I don't expect five star restaurants and wine and roses on every date." You glance around and spot the daisies he bought you in a vase on the dining table. "Sometimes I like daisies and beer."

She still doesn't look impressed. She finishes folding whatever she's folding and sigh, "Maybe I'm just a romantic. Too many movie musicals as a child."

"Tell me about it," you tease her and pick up a pillowcase. Instead of folding it, you toss it onto her head.

She giggles and lifts the corner to peek out from under it, "Night cap?"

You shrug. You've already had a little less than half a pitcher of beer. What's another glass of wine? "Why not?" Somewhere, drowning under all that beer, is the little voice in your head that's telling you that you have to pick up your mother from the airport in the morning so you should get some sleep. And isn't there a saying about beer before wine? But Rachel has a gleam in her eyes that mean she's excited. You don't care what she's excited about and it doesn't matter. So you have a glass of wine with her, not thinking about the headache you'll have tomorrow or your mother's judgmental gazes.