Edit: I had to repost this chapter because of some serious technical issues with ff (*side eye*). It's still exactly the same, so don't worry about checking for changes! (Sorry about this.) But thank you again for reading and for any and all kind words!

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee

A/N: (Wow I'm on a roll with these updates)

I'm driving down to college later today because my semester starts on Wednesday so I REALLY wanted to post something before I have to lock myself away in the library. I understand that it's not exactly a lot with this chapter, but holy crap it just did not want me writing it. I actually intended for some other things to happen (like some slight time jumps), but they just didn't happen.

However. With that being said, I think you'll enjoy the direction my muse dragged me in.

Things will start moving again next chapter... I'm just not too sure when that will be. And – a little hint – comments and reviews motivate me to write faster ;)

Thank you for sticking with me and taking a chance on my story!

Enjoy! X

Sophomore Year Part 4

.

"Quinn I need you to breathe, okay? Just breathe: in and out, in and out."

You pause your frantic pacing to shoot Rachel an unimpressed look. "A few months too early for breathing exercises, don't you think, Berry?" But Rachel keeps standing as calm as can be as you walk back and forth so fiercely you're not sure how Rachel's floor doesn't have a rut in it yet.

A part of you finds it funny how your positions have all of a sudden flipped.

But the larger part of you wants to vomit because you're so nervous.

Okay, Quinn, compartmentalize. One thing at a time. First: fix yourself.

So you stop pacing, take a deep breath, and tighten your ponytail. You swivel to face Rachel and she looks slightly shocked at your sudden switch of emotions but you have a mission you need to concentrate on.

"Did you happen to bring my cheerio bag up?"

Rachel blinks owlishly and points to the bag you hadn't seen resting against the wall. "Yeah, it's –"

"– Perfect, thank you, Rach." You stalk over to your bag and point to the closed door. "Is this your bathroom?"

"Uh, yes –"

"– Great." And then you pick up the bag and walk into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

And Rachel thought only she could pull off a dramatic exit.

You start rooting through your bag, pulling out various things, and you wonder how long it will take for Rachel to question you.

(You want to giggle when you remember the confused look on her face.)

She only lasts about thirty seconds before she's knocking on the bathroom door.

"… Quinn? Are you… Is everything alright?" You pull on your skirt and sigh when you realize that most of your clothes won't be fitting you in a few months. You pull off your cheerio's top before you answer her.

"Everything's fine, Rachel. I just don't want your fathers believing the only thing I'm capable of doing is crying. Frankly, it's even getting on my nerves." You pull on your favorite top and relax at the instant sense of comfort that surrounds you. "I'll be out in a few."

"Okay. Come out whenever you're ready." You freeze, the makeup bag in your hands forgotten, as the colors around you blur together. Because even though Rachel didn't mean it any other way than you walking out of the bathroom, the words still knock the air out of your chest. Because you'll actually have to probably do that for real one day.

No – no, I – just because – it doesn't mean I'm – No. No, I am not … that… I can't be… No… No, I won't… I can't…

You shake your head to clear the cacophony of colors.

One mess at a time, Quinn.

So you wipe away your makeup as if you could wipe away everything that's wrong in your life right now. And you put on fresh eyeliner and blush with a steady hand as if you were putting on your armor. Because, in a way, you are. You know that others find you beautiful (they would have never allowed you to be head cheerlead if you weren't), and you know that makeup accentuates that beauty, and so you wear it with your nose in the air – because that way no one would be able to see what you really looked like. No one would be able to see the ugly little girl inside of you, still clinging to her stuffed lamb.

No one would see how gray you are.

So with a final flick of your wrist, you've fixed one problem.

Okay, Fabray – time for damage control. The Berry's think you're a total basket case now, so you have to charm the pants off of them.

Your mind immediately imagines Rachel's pants off and on the floor at her feet.

You force yourself to stare at the blush on your face until it burns you.

Enough.

So you grab your bag and, with the colors still swirling around you, walk out of the bathroom.

You see Rachel sitting on the edge of her bed, lost in thought, with her feet being kicked out in front of her in a constant motion. She hasn't noticed you yet so you allow yourself this moment to take in the sight of her.

You suddenly feel very sorry for her. Because it's almost as if it just completely sank in that she's stuck with you. You and your messy colors that have a tendency to be in places they shouldn't be. And she probably has spent just as much time as you did dreaming of her own fairytale and happily ever after. Of shiny knights and bright city lights. But so far all she's gotten are slushies and a mess that she never signed up for.

And it's all your fault.

And it makes your colors blur because, while this is technically your mess and you're stuck cleaning it up… she goes along willingly. Never asking for anything other than for you to try.

So you make a silent promise to yourself that that's exactly what you will continue to do. You'll try until the colors swirl together until they're tie dye and you'll try until the colors fade like a photo left in the sun for too long. Because even though your armor is worn and has dents and scratches, you can still try to piece together the best happy ever after for Rachel.

But then she finally notices you standing in the doorway and she's looking at you like you've already given her that happy ending. So you will your body to relax, for your walls to disappear completely, and you allow Rachel to look at you. To see you. And you pray that she understands just what you're trying to do – what you're trying to express to her – because when she finally smiles at you, the colors sort themselves out.

And she's smiling at you and it reminds you so much of the sunset at the dock… you know that she understands exactly what you're doing.

"Hi."

And then you smile the softest smile that contains more of the sky than of your lips – because you know what she's doing. She has changed quiet moments and ordinary words into something that is more reverent to you than any religion could ever be again. Because you want to count her freckles the way you used to count your rosary and trace her skin with your fingertips like how you used to read your bible. Because you find yourself worshiping the daze that she constantly puts you in – the way her eyes crinkle and her mouth curls like the golden cup that holds bitter red wine. But you know that if you were to press your lips against hers, bitter would be the last word to ever touch your tongue.

(You would press prayers against her skin and sigh out psalms because there is a sun streaming through your stain glass windows once again.)

So you let your eyes crinkle and your mouth curl as you respond because you understand. You understand and you hold it so close to your chest you feel it with every beat of your heart.

"Hello."

And even though you would like nothing more than for this moment to last forever, you still have messes to fix. So you stand a little taller and draw from that inner confidence that is merely bricks built upon sand. Rachel sees the transformation and her smile is tinted with a melancholy that reminds you of the grayest blue that's reserved for storm clouds above ocean waves. And you want to erase the gray completely so you do your best to reassure her.

"Rachel… I'm still here. You're just going to be meeting a Quinn you haven't had the pleasure of being introduced to yet." And you smirk and you see her squint her eyes at you, but the gray is fading so you breathe a little bit easier. "You'll find I can be quite charming when I want to be."

And then her smile is back and you see the yellow slowly spreading with it.

"Well then," and she stands up and walks to her bedroom door. With a flourish she opens it and extends her arm toward the hallway. "Shall we?"

And you share her smile and cheerfully reply, "we shall," and your steps are bleeding so much blue and pink they turn into lavender below your feet. Because even though your heart is pounding you are so nervous, you find that's it's not because you're scared (although you are slightly) but rather it's because you want the Berry men to like you. You want them to like you because they are such a huge part of Rachel's life and – the real thing that scares you is that – you want to be a huge part of her life as well. And so having her fathers like you is extremely important.

So you walk down the stairs with your eyes trained on your feet until you get to the bottom. You hear them talking in the kitchen and it makes you pause. Rachel stands next to you, shoulder to shoulder, until she squeezes your hand.

"You can do this, Quinn. I believe in you."

And then with a reassuring smile, Rachel's hand slips out of yours and she makes her way into the kitchen. You look at her for a moment before following.

.

It's almost two hours later and you're back in Rachel's bathroom changing into a pair of her pajamas. She's shorter than you so the shorts don't really leave much to the imagination (not that your cheerio skirt does either) and the top is slightly tighter than you would enjoy it to be (you have to almost slap yourself from tugging at it because the action was so Lucy), but it smells like Rachel.

So you guess the are clothes okay.

You walk out of the bathroom to see Rachel bent in front of the shelf with her back to you.

"I figured we could watch a movie if you wanted, Quinn? I've never had someone sleep over so I'm not exactly positive which genre is the most appropriate. But since you are the guest you may take your pick if you would like. Although, I must warn you, that the majority of the movies that I own are in fact musicals. Surprising, I know. However, I do feel as if I have an adequate enough range of diversity with the movies that I do own that aren't musicals. Obviously I'll have to invest in some more, but this should do for now."

But you don't hear a word she said.

Because Rachel's changed into her own pajamas while you were gone. And if you thought her skirts were short… then Rachel's sleep shorts completely redefine the term for you.

Oh. My. God.

"Quinn?" Rachel calls out when you don't answer. And then she's standing up and turning to look at you – and there's nothing you can do about your raised eyebrow and dropped jaw, so you just make peace with your ogling and only hope you're not drooling. "Quinn what are you –" but the words die on her lips because suddenly Rachel sees what you're wearing.

And then you're both just standing on opposite ends of Rachel's bedroom, staring at each other like the teenagers you are. Neither of you say anything and you struggle with your breathing and the heat that is crawling up your neck, turning your face a deep maroon.

You feel your eyes rake up and down, drinking in the sight of tan skin and long legs. Her shirt is also a form fitting one and you want to personally thank her elliptical because you can only imagine what's underneath there – and the shirt is making it very easy to do.

But then a loud bang came from downstairs, jolting you out of your fog. You hear Rachel's father jokingly scolding her dad, but all you hear is your own father's voice shouting at you. It's enough for your jaw to clamp shut, and for any thoughts you most certainly should not be thinking, to fly out of your mind.

"W-whatever you want, Rachel," and you hate the way you stutter and you hate the way you're blushing and you hate the way that your heart is stammering in your chest when you think of the way Rachel was looking at you. "We can watch your favorite."

Rachel nods mutely and turns back to the shelf while you walk over to sit on Rachel's bed. You scoot up until your back is resting against her wall and your head drifts back as your eyes slid shut. You don't like how it feels like you and Rachel just took five steps backwards. Because you actually made some progress tonight, surprisingly. And even though you want to pinch yourself because of how awkward everything feels right now, you can't help but quirk your lips in a phantom of smile when you remember the last two hours.

You actually had… fun.

You were right, for the most part, about Rachel's other dad that you had yet to meet. He was quiet and had a gruff voice and calloused hands. But he looked you in the eyes when he spoke to you and you noticed how he was always, somehow or another, touching his husband or his daughter. And you knew it was a reassurance for him that they were there and you would let your hand drift to your stomach and you understood. Because the reason why he asked you so many serious questions and gave you a harder time than Rachel or her dad, was because that he had to make sure. He had to make sure that you had changed from that mean cheerleader into someone who had made so many mistakes and was trying everything she could to fix those wrongs.

So you spoke with your voice as strong as violet and shook his hand with your own. You answered his questions, one by one, never once looking away from his eyes because you needed to make sure that he knew you weren't that girl anymore. You needed to make sure that he knew that – even though your colors were messy, they were yours and, day by day, you were sorting them out.

And Rachel sat next to you at the table and her hand was in yours and you knew it was to reassure you. To reassure you that it's okay. To reassure you that she believes in you.

And so you held her hand under the table to tell her that you were here and you were scared out of your mind, but you were trying.

The only time there was ever a potentially catastrophic moment was when Rachel's father – Leroy, as he eventually told you call him once your interrogation was over – mentioned your own family. Or, more specifically, your father.

You remember the way you felt the black tinting your blood until it was everywhere inside of you. You were doing so well up until that point, but you shut down and didn't know how to answer him. You were scared you were going to break Rachel's hand you were holding it so tightly because what are you going to tell them?

But that was also the moment that everything flipped for you. Because even though it was so quiet in that kitchen you could hear your heart pounding, and even though every part of your body froze so you couldn't move an inch even if you wanted to – that was the moment you witnessed Leroy melt.

He had stood up from the table and walked slowly over to you. And instead of towering over your slightly shaking frame, he squatted down next to you, and held your other hand. He held your hand and you felt comforted knowing that those hands worked every day to fix people. And he whispered to you that the only thing that matters is that you do what's best for you. He said that there will always be options to choose from, there will always be different roads to take, there will always be more chances for us to start over. Even if we can't necessarily see them ourselves.

And he held your one hand while his daughter held your other and he told you that you are not alone. He reminded you to keep holding on and to never give up because even though giving up may the easiest thing to do, you deserve better than a half finished story. And you wanted to cry because you don't remember the last time someone told you that you deserved better. That you deserved to be happy.

Despite the fact that the moment lasted no longer than a minute, you felt like you were able to exist in the world around you a little easier. Because even though Leroy had let go of your hand to turn on the radio, Rachel was still holding on. And you understood where her kind-heartedness and seemingly infinite amount of compassion comes from. So you looked to Hiram and then to Rachel and they were both wearing the same smile and you just really wanted to cry.

But then you heard the opening notes of the song on the radio and you couldn't help the smile that exploded on your face. And you giggled at the curious smile on Rachel's face and you saw her eyes twinkle and it made the moment all the more beautiful to you.

"What?" She had asked you and you almost gave in to the standard reply of it's nothing – but you were trying. And it wasn't nothing, so you bit your lip and sheepishly admitted,

"It's just San, Britt, and I have made our own routine to this song." And you're blushing but Rachel and her dad look absolutely thrilled.

"Quinn! You have to perform it!" Rachel had been so excited she grabbed your arm with both of her hands and Hiram grinned at you and nodded his head.

So you covered your face with your hand and shook your head, but you were smiling too. So you rolled your eyes good naturedly and stood up and walked to the middle of the kitchen.

The lyrics had already started so you quickly ran through the steps in your head until you caught up.

And so before you even knew what happened, you were dancing and singing to the Supremes' Come See About Me and Rachel was laughing and clapping ecstatically while her dads cheered you on. And you were smiling and laughing and felt so god damn pink and yellow and orange you felt like every molecule of your being was made out of sunsets.

And then the song was over and you bowed and couldn't remember the last time you smiled so big. But the next song came on and Hiram jumped up from the table and was the one to grab your hand this time. And he pulled you around the kitchen in circles and you danced with him to The Temptations. He had poked fun at Rachel and Leroy before Leroy had Rachel twirling around next to you.

And that's how the next hour went for you: singing and dancing and twirling and laughing. And with every step you took, with every giggle that bubbled past your lips, with every dip Hiram spun you into, you felt yourself healing.

You felt yourself glowing.

And – for the first time in far too long – you felt as if you had finally understood what it meant to be home.

So now you're lying on Rachel's bed and you can't help but whisper those words you would beg to hear lifetimes ago.

"Orange is the feeling after a long, fun day and you think about all the times you laughed and smiled. Pink is the feeling you get when you sing and dance to your favorite song. And brown is the feeling of being home."

And you open your eyes and look next to you. And you didn't notice when the lights were turned off and you didn't notice when Rachel sat next to you and you didn't notice the movie beginning to play in the background. You didn't notice that you had begun to softly cry.

But you do notice the way Rachel is looking at you. You notice the astonished look that is underlined with awe. You notice how close she is to you. You notice how warm she is. You notice how warm she always is.

You notice. You see. You understand.

"Is that…" She whispers and then licks her lips and takes a shaky breath. "Is that how you used to see colors? Before…?"

"Yeah," you whisper back.

And she nods slowly and looks at you like she's peering into your soul, and even though it's your natural instinct to close yourself off, you allow her to look. You allow her to notice. To see. To understand.

Tears pool in her eyes.

"I used to see through music." Your replying smile is gentle and full of periwinkle. You turn and scoot down until you're lying on your side, and Rachel follows suit.

The movie is forgotten except for the way the light from the TV flickers in Rachel's shimmering eyes.

You watch the way her eyelashes flutter.

"I used to pair emotions with the sounds of different instruments and different tempos. And sometimes it would all just be so intense, I swore I could have seen the actual colors." Her voice is smooth and gentle and you continue to silently cry as you listen to her. Because she is opening herself to you in return and you hold her heart with the softest fingers.

"And how does everything sound right now?" And your words are barely there just like everything in the world around you.

Because there is only Rachel and every shade of beautiful that she is.

Her hand reaches until it's lightly caressing your cheek, wiping away your tears.

"Like there's a symphony in my chest."

And you understand.

So you wipe away her tears and lean forward.

And you kiss her.