"I didn't know you could sing," Ethan comments after you're both seated at a family style Italian restaurant a ten-minute cab ride away.

"What?" you're confused. How did he know you could sing? He wasn't at the benefit.

"I saw the video of you and your roommate singing online. You're really great," he offers a smile that seems like he hopes it's not creepy.

"Online where?" You ask, "The benefit website?"

"YouTube," Ethan takes a sip of his water before leaning on the table.

You furrow your eyebrows, "Are you serious?"

He pulls out his phone, "Yeah." After searching for a few seconds, he hands his phone over. You're watching yourself sing with Rachel on the stage. You can't take your eyes off of her face. She keeps looking at you while you're singing and you can see that you're actively avoiding looking at her. When you do, you quickly look away. When you watch the song end, you watch her face. She's looking at you, but you're looking at the crowd with your forced smile. When you bolt off of the stage she ducks her head from the spotlight and follows you. When the video ends you give Ethan his phone back.

"Quinn, what's wrong?" Ethan asks you with a very concerned expression.

You look him over and finally blurt out, "I'm in love with her."

"Her?" he asks, squinting one eye at you, "Who her?"

You point to his phone, "Her. My roommate. Rachel."

"Oh," he slowly nods, "How does she feel?"

You bite your lip and study him for a moment. "Why aren't you mad?"

"You never said anything about exclusivity," he leans back when the waitress sets his food in front of him, "And just because you're in love with her doesn't mean that you two are dating."

"You got that right," you sigh and look down at the pasta that was just put down in front of you.

"How does she feel?" he asks, taking a large bite of his food.

You sigh heavily, "I don't know. I keep thinking that she's developing….something more than friends, but…she's really affectionate all the time. It's hard to tell."

"Does she know?"

You nod, "I told her a while ago."

"How did she take that?"

"Really, really well," you spear a penne and stick it in your mouth, "Ridiculously well. I'd freak out if someone told me they're in love with me. Especially my roommate. Especially someone who tortured me in high school."

He sips his water before leaning on the table, "Torture?"

"That's a dinner story. Or a bar story," you state, "There's not enough time during lunch."

"We can go to dinner," he offers.

You're confused. "You still want to date me? Knowing that I'm in love with someone else? A girl someone else?"

He nods, "It's not often I get to date someone as beautiful and smart as you. Not to mention a good singer. I understand that if your roommate realizes that she should be in love with you too then I'll be dropped like yesterdays garbage."

You eye him, "Should be?"

"You're pretty great and from watching the video, you obviously have chemistry," he shrugs, "We've had two dates and you've known her since high school. I don't stand a chance, but you're pretty cool and I like getting to know you."

"Well, thanks," you nod.

After a few more bites, he adds, "So what happened on stage?"

"She almost kissed me before she went on. I showed up to talk to her about it," you state as evenly as possible, "And then she freaked out because Barbra Streisand was in the audience so she asked me to sing with her. Then we went home and she kissed me and I freaked out-"

"Wait, she kissed you?" he holds his hand up, "What did she say after that?"

"No-nothing," you state, "I ran out."

He gives you a bewildered look. He then startles you by shooting up out of his chair and dropping his napkin on the table. He pulls out his wallet and drops some money on the table.

You stand with him because you're completely lost, "What are you doing?"

"I'm getting you back to your place so that you can talk to her," he states taking one last bite of his lunch.

You try to shake all the non-necessary thoughts out of your head because they're stopping the necessary function, "Because she kissed me?"

"Chicks think kissing is a big deal. They don't do it unless it means something," he states. He takes your hand and pulls you out of the restaurant. It's probably a good thing you weren't all that hungry to begin with.

But after a cab ride, you stand froze in front of your building, looking up at the window that you're sure is yours. He's trying to pull you inside, but you're stuck in place.

"Quinn, what-?" he stops when he sees your face. There are tears in your eyes. He stands squarely in front of you, "What's wrong?"

You look at him. You're panicking again. Something you've become so good at. "What-what if she does love me? What if she's in love with me?"

"Then you'll be together," he smiles at you, putting his hands on your shoulders, "And you'll get married and live happily ever after."

He gets blurry because tears cloud over your vision. "But…I'm scared." You get goose bumps because the truth has finally been realized. You crumble into his arms. He comforts you by carefully holding you as you try to compose yourself.

When you finally do, you sniffle and wipe your eyes, "Okay. I'm okay. I'll be okay."

"So you're going to go talk to her?" he asks.

You look around and before he can say something else, you think about jumping back into the cab and going to back to Brittany and Santana's apartment. But that option is closed when the cabdriver drives away.

With a kind smile, Ethan guides you to the elevator and presses the button for you. Before you know it, you're face to face with your own front door. Ethan tries the knob and finds it open. Then he pushes the door open and pushes you inside before closing the door behind you.

The apartment is dim. There are a few lamps on and the curtains are closed. There's soft music playing in the background, but its slow and sad, adding to the depressing look of the place. You walk into the living room and see a mess of blankets on the couch. On the coffee table are sporadic clumps of used tissues and stacks of DVDs. This place is utterly depressing and you hope she's not here in this mess. So you call, "Rachel?"

You hear her bare feet on the hardwood floors. Her careful steps walk toward you. She looks like a mess. Her hair is put up in a fraying ponytail. She's in tight, black yoga pants and a charcoal grey sweatshirt that swallows her entire torso, all the way down to her knees. Her face is free from any makeup and her eyes are pink around the edges.

Her eyes light up when she sees you, but the rest of her face is blank, "What are you doing here? I thought you were coming back on Monday."

You take off your sweater, buying some time, "I-I was in the neighborhood."

"It seemed like you were having a good time with your boyfriend," she offhandedly mentions and walks toward you, stopping next to the couch. You swear she sounded a little bitter.

You're confused, "You were watching me?"

"No I wasn't watching you," she huffs and throws herself down on into the couch, "Well, I was…I was just… Are you ready to talk? Because I need to talk."

You nod and take a seat next to her, "I'm ready to talk." Suddenly, emotions are crashing down on you. You remember when she kissed you and the tingling you feel on your lips is still there.

"Good," she turns in her chair to face you. "Because I've done a lot of thinking, you know deep soul searching and Quinn I-"

"Rachel," you state firmly know that getting it out now is the only way you'll get heard. You're trying to keep composure. "Can I say something first?"

She looks wounded, but nods, signaling her agreement.

"I was mad. I was mad at you," You explain, struggling desperately to keep eye contact, "I opened up to you and I told you my biggest secret. You know how hard that was for me and you…you used it against me. I was trying to talk to you and you…you kissed me, knowing-knowing that I'm deeply in love with you and that was wrong Rachel." You see that you have her rapt attention. She looks sad and regretful and her eyes are pools of tears. You swallow back you emotion and continue, "You can't just do that. I like- I love taking care of you and spending evening with you watching movies or listening to you play the piano. I just- I don't know if I can. It just…it hurts."

"Quinn, please. I can explain," she begs, leaning toward you, pure desperation in her eyes, "Please."

You're surprised when she waits silently for your answer. Normally, she'd just continue on after this. You're impressed with her restraint so you nod, signaling her to speak.

"I-" she takes a deep breath, "When I broke it off with David he said…he said that…he asked if I was breaking up with him for- for you."

You're stunned. "That's ludicrous."

"That's what I thought," she says, looking at her hands that are folded in front of her, "But he explained it. He…told me that I talk about you all the time and I get…giddy when I see your name on my phone and even when I was on a date with him, I'd talk about how you'd love the pasta or how you'd hate the movie we went to see." Rachel licks her lips and tentatively looks you in the eyes again, "and the more I thought about it…the more sense it made. A-at first I thought it was just that I've become dependent on you so I pulled away from you as you know. Then I tried to explain my jealousy over you dating Ethan. I told myself it was because you told me you're in love with me and I didn't want you to be in love with anyone else. I wanted you to be my lovesick puppy. I know it wasn't fair and it was really selfish. And by the way Ethan has never really been arrested." She ducks her head.

You can't help but smile at her lie. You know you shouldn't smile. You're trying to be objective with her after all, but you've been away from her for such a long time. Almost twenty-four hours now.

"And I don't know how to deal with those feelings. I've never known how to handle relationships well. You know that. The reason David and I worked so well was because even though I wanted to be in love with him, I wasn't. So instead of telling you about what was going on with me and potentially freaking you out, in the process scaring you off…I shut down and scared you off anyway. Which is a problem that my fathers pointed out during our four hour long phone call last night."

"You talked to your dads?" you ask, a little more anxious than before. Sure they'd entrusted you with her care, but now that this whole mess happened you have a feeling that even Eliot will read you the riot act.

She nods, "As well as a number of other people, but the most significant progress I made was with them." She takes you hand, "I didn't mean to scare you off Quinn. Honestly. You are the best friend I've ever had and I got scared. Frankly I'm quite terrified right now. This is new and unfamiliar territory for me. I'm sorry I handled it terribly."

"So you're saying that…?" you ask. You think you got the point of what she said, but you need the streamlined version to verify.

"I, at some point, without conscious knowledge of it, developed some…feelings for you," she confesses and her eyes shoot back to your joined hands.

You take a minute to digest what she just said. You bite your lip and shake your head. You're not sure you believe it. When you don't speak, she continues, a few tears actually sliding down her cheeks, "I'm really sorry Quinn. This is all so new to me."

You slowly nod. There was a time when feelings for her were new and confusing to you. "I-I understand."

She pushes a hopeful smile and fully picks up your hand off of the couch, "So should we-can we...try this?"

You take a deep breath and think it over before shaking your head.

"Wha-why not?" She asks, devastation written all over her face. Tears pool in her eyes again.

"Not yet," you tell her, squeezing her hand, "I've known for years that I've been in love with you. You've only thought that you love me for a few days."

Her eyebrows furrow, "What do you mean thought?"

"I mean I don't think you're sure about your feelings and I need you to be absolutely sure because if you're not..." you trail off, gesturing vaguely with your hand. You don't want to go down that road. You also don't want her doing something she can't undo without actually feeling what she thinks she does. You don't want her to get hurt.

She nods, "I understand. So what happens now?"

You think about taking your hand away from hers, but you just can't. "I'm coming home but no cuddling or hugging or sleepovers," you say and she looks crestfallen.

"You have to give me hugs," she turns your hand over and traces your fingers, like she's done so many times before, "I'm a hugger."

"One a day," you can't help, but acquiesce. You've been without her touch for long enough as it is.

"Five."

"Three."

"Fine," she huffs and crosses her arms and pouts, "What happens if I have a bad dream? I'm used to having somewhere to go."

You smile at her petulance, "I'll call Brittany."

"Santana won't be happy." She pouts, trying to weaken your answer.

"She knows what's going on. She'll understand." You lean back on the couch.

Rachel looks disappointed, "You told her?"

"Yeah. I was staying with them. I tell Santana everything. She's going to be pissed when I don't come back to her apartment tonight, but…I think I can handle being home." You offer an easy smile.

Rachel looks relieved. "Thank you Quinn." You take a long deep breath and she smiles back. After a short semi-awkward silence she speaks, "So…do you want to see what Barbra said while we were singing?"

You haven't really thought about it, but now that she brought it up, you're dying to know, "Yes! Please."

She giggles at your eagerness and scoots her chair closer to yours. She puts her phone between the both of you and leans close so that you can both watch the video.

You can't believe that Barbra freakin' Streisand liked your performance. She smiled the whole time and made a comment to the man next to her about Rachel. You both beamed with pride when Barbra nodded and said, "They're good, especially the little Jewish one."

"Oh my god that's so awesome!" you turn to Rachel. You want to hug her, but you clamp your arms down at her sides.

Rachel looks you over and stands, "Can I have one…celebratory hug?"

You stand with her and open your arms. What could it hurt? After something like that, strangers would hug, "This one's free."

She wraps her arms tightly around you and presses the full length of her body against yours. You feel her chest expand with a deep breath before she whispers, "I'm sorry Quinn. I guess you're the emotionally mature one now."

"That's a scary thought," You say into her hair, closing your eyes and letting the smell Rachel engulf you. You resist kissing her head.

She chuckles and pulls away, running her hands down your arms and stopping to hold your hands, "This'll work Quinn."

"I hope so," you force a tight smile. You desperately want this to work. You want this to work more than anything.

"It will," she swings your hands between you and tilts her head to the side, causing her hair to fall away from her face, "I promise."

"Pinkie promise?"

She laughs and drops your hands, "You spent all night with Brittany didn't you?"

You laugh with her, but offer your pinkie anyway. She takes it, but uses it as leverage to pull your hand closer and intertwine your fingers, "I pinkie promise. It'll work."

After a moment of just looking at each other you decide that you need to stop touching her now before you invite her for a sleepover. When your hands part, she looks disappoint, but moves to the refrigerator, "So…people have been asking about you." You follow her into the kitchen.

"Asking what?" you sit down at the table again and twirl your phone around.

"They want to know who was singing with the illustrious Rachel Berry," she opens the freezer and pulls out a bottle of champagne. "They loved you."

You're a little hesitant to believe that. You haven't sung in front of people in a long time and you could have sworn you were sharp in some places. Plus, you're no Rachel Berry. You sigh, "I don't really believe you."

She pops open the champagne and pours you both a glass before seating herself at the table. "Why not?" She slides one in front of you, "You have a beautiful voice Quinn. You're an amazing singer."

The compliment warms your insides, but you still don't really believe her. Mostly because she spent the entirety of her high school career telling you that you'll never be as good as her. Who are you kidding? You're not.

When you voice your thoughts to your best friend, tears fill her eyes. You frown, wondering what could have made her sad about that statement. She looks down at her drink. Her voice grows serious, "You know I was threatened by you. I was just trying to assert my one shining attribute over you."

"I was horrible to you," you shake your head. "I deserved it."

"No you didn't," you watch her swallow hard and finally bring her eyes up to you, "Have you ever- have you ever thought about a career in singing?"

You shake your head. The thought may have crossed your mind when you first joined the glee club, but after a while it sort of faded out. "Not really. Maybe at the beginning of sophomore year, but that was a pipe dream. You're the only one-"

"No," she cuts you off and shakes her head, "I'm not the only one who could have made it on their voice." She pauses and cocks her head to the side, "Can we go back to the couch? I feel a soul bearing experience coming on and you know they can take me a while."

You nod. You wonder where this is going. You don't really see a correlation between your two-week long singing dream and Rachel. So you follow her into the living room. You're surprised that she brings the entire bottle of champagne.

"You know how when someone is told something over and over they believe it, even though it may not be true?" she asks.

You nod. You've done that a lot. You're straight Quinn. You don't care how those skirts expose Rachel's legs. Puck is totally trustworthy. One wine cooler won't hurt. Yeah, you got the brainwashing thing down.

"Well I feel that many people in our glee club are extremely talented and could have made it on Broadway or in LA or singing wherever," she shrugs and takes a long gulp of her drink. "Mercedes for sure. Santana would have done amazing. Artie, Tina, and Kurt," she takes a shallow breath, "They all could have make livings singing." She looks at you, turning in her seat to completely face you, "I can't help, but think, my constant oppression kept some of them from their dreams. They all could have done great things and I stopped them. I kept telling everyone, you included-you especially that I was better than you. That I was the only one that was going to do anything with music." Tears are trickling down her face and you reach forward, gently wiping them as they fall. She shakes her head, stopping your strokes.

"Rachel, you didn't stop any of them," you dip your head down to catch her downcast eyes, "Artie and Tina are making movies together. I remember how happy Blaine and Kurt were before graduation when they moved to LA. And Mercedes was ecstatic when she got into dental school," you crack a smile, hoping to make her feel better, "And Santana's only dream is a blonde dancer to still makes people pinkie promise."

She smiles through her tears and shakes her head. You can tell that she feels a little better. "What about you?"

You open your mouth, but close it again. Maybe Rachel had a little something to do with it. I mean, how can you compare yourself to her? You shake your head. It had nothing to do with her. "I self-destructed. You know that. I make sure none of my dreams came true until a few months ago, but now I have my dream. I'm out of Lima and that's all thanks to you."

She narrows her eyes at you, "Are you sure? Because you're amazing Quinn. I've always been jealous of you. You have the voice and the look…and the smile." She grins, drawing her knees up to her chest. You can't help, but smile at the compliment and go warm all over. She adds, "There are several hundred comments on our video to prove it."

"You've seen the video?" you ask.

She nods, "Of course I have. It was part of the benefit deal. They recorded the whole thing and it's up on their website and now it's all over the internet."

You're hesitant to ask, "What did people say about me?"

She smiles dreamily and lays her head on the back of the couch, "Beautiful, radiant, voice of an angel. There were a few, 'who's the hot blonde?' They really did love you Quinn. You keep talking about how you hate real estate and the people are sleazy. You could have a career in music."

Your automatic response is to shake your head. "I couldn't Rachel. I'm not like you."

"That's why you could do it," she leans forward and picks up your hands, "You're not like me. You have a soothing voice and a beautiful prom queen from small town Ohio look," she pauses while you laugh, a delighted smile on her face, "Music needs different people. You'll never convince me that I didn't help bring you down, but please let me help you pick you back up."

You look into her pleading eyes, but you still shake your head, "I don't want to sing. I'm fine being a real estate agent, roommate of Rachel Berry extraordinaire."

She lets out a frustrated sigh, "Fine. But if you change your mind, which you will, let me know. You've already done the hard part of breaking into the music business the rest of it is gravy."

You decide that you need a quick change of subject so you pick up your glass of champagne, "How do we always have champagne?"

She begrudgingly smiles, "I have no idea."

You raise your glass in a toast, "To Barbra."

"To Barbra."

After a while of catching Rachel up on the lives of Brittany and Santana, she suggests a movie. You eye her as she puts it in, a little suspicious of her. She turns from the DVD player and puts her hands behind her back, rocking from her heels to her toes and back. "So I was thinking about this whole no cuddling thing…"

"Twice a week," you interrupt her. It's not like you can say no when you want it just as bad.

She giggles and a huge smile takes over her face. She trots over to the couch and falls into your arms, "I was going to suggest that we invite Santana, Brittany and their new friend over, so we could all cuddle but I think this is better." She slides her arms around your waist and presses her body hard against yours.

You shake your head at yourself. There's absolutely no hope for you to ever resist her and your weak attempt at creating some distance between you for some perspective is failing miserably. You rest her cheek against the top of her head and decide that for now that's okay. You'll deal with your diva addiction later because she sighs contently in your arms and you melt against the cushions.