oh i look in your direction (but you pay me no attention, do you?)
The next time Matt Rutherford sees Quinn Fabray, it's in sophomore year and he can finally fit into his football equipment with no problem.
Well, that's a lie.
He still had some trouble strapping on his shoulder-pads, and he had seen Quinn Fabray almost every single day up until this point.
Honestly, it was almost tough not too.
Catching glimpses of the blonde-haired cheerleader in the hallway, or on the football field during practice, or in Spanish class where he sat near her – 3 desks to the left, to be exact.
Wherever he was, she was always just there; like some kind of ghost.
He doesn't pay her much attention when he's with his teammates. She was dating the star quarterback, so what right did the lowly-linebacker have to even gaze her way? None.
But he'd be lying if he said that he didn't try.
Some days when it's just him and his stupid varsity jacket, Matt will find her eye, sharing a glance with her in Spanish class and… and what?
He'll smile.
A big toothy-smile that no self-respectable McKinley jock would ever give. His own eyes glint, as he tries so very hard to get the honey-haired Cheerio to look his way – in hopes that he'll finally remember who she is, and why he's seen those eyes before.
It is, always, to no avail. She just doesn't see him.
Though those hazel-eyes look right at him – they see right through him. Like he wasn't there, and perhaps in her world, he wasn't.
He looks down at the varsity-letterman which he wore. Perhaps, this was the issue? Perhaps to her, he was just another meat-headed athlete? She would tolerate his existence, but never accept it.
Matt frowns at the thought. He doesn't like it, and so decides it's maybe time to concentrate on his Spanish worksheet instead.
When she sees him, finally, sees him – it's right where Matt expected for her to be.
He's standing alone one early school-morning - fiddling with the tap of the Big Quench slushie-machine, as he absent-mindedly waits for his teammates.
The hallways of McKinley High are quaint in the mornings, as a steady stream of students begin to trickle in. Matt was never fond of being dropped off early to school, begging his mother to start her work-shift later just so he didn't have to stand alone without any friends.
And yet, now, he almost relished it. These quiet moments gave him a kind of solitude that would go missing the moment Puck or Karofsky would enter the building.
He sighs with content.
Across the hall he could faintly hear crooning-voices belt out a Destiny song, he taps his foot rhythmically to it – quietly murmuring the lyrics under his breath, eyes darting around the hallways, careful not to get caught by his teammates.
He's in a trance almost, and after a while, becomes a bit unaware to his surroundings. So when he feels a dainty pair of hands tap his shoulder, he nearly jumps a foot in the air.
"Linebacker. Move."
The voice is soft, which juxtaposes the utterly commanding nature of it's tone. He takes his absent-minded eyes off the Big Quench machine, and looks around – what he finds nearly makes him jump again.
Her.
Quinn Fabray – in all her Cheerio glory.
Matt feels like he should curtsy.
She looks at him, actually looks at him, with those same green eyes that he swore he's seen before. With those same green eyes that he could never quite place.
"Are you slow or something?" she sneers, crossing her arms.
Matt is at a loss for words – his first reaction is to say, yes. But then quickly decides against it. He couldn't be the lowly linebacker right now, no, Matt Rutherford needed to be a star-player.
He quickly fixes his posture, mimicking the stances he's seen Puck and Karofsky do all the time. One arm leans against the slushie machine, while the other digs it's hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"Er, hi Quinn." He murmurs, as he attempts a smile. His words come out clunky and not at all like those 80s rockstars he had grown up adoring.
Matt thinks if he could punch himself right now – he would.
She raises an eyebrow in response. And he figures he best stay out of her way, so he moves over for her – nearly, tripping himself in the process.
She pays him no real attention (Matt Rutherford could've been a ghost for all she cared), picking up an XL cup and filling it up gleefully with red slush.
Matt stands awkwardly next to her, unsure of what to really say – and so he just says the first thing that pops into his mind:
"Red is… a good choice!" his voice squeaks, higher than he'd like it. "I… er, personally like the purple flavour! But they're out right now…"
His rambles trail off, as he notices the blonde-headed Cheerio eye a certain Glee club member down the hall, not paying attention to his own clunky ramblings.
There is venom in Quinn's stare. Different to the one she had given him, different to the one she would give anyone.
No, Quinn's green eyes had reserved this particular venom at that Glee club member – and only for her.
Matt fixes his gaze at her as well.
Peering over, he finds Rachel Berry open her school-locker, taking out a stack of textbooks and binders.
Goodness, was that her voice this morning?
He doesn't ponder on the thought for too long, gazing back at Quinn Fabray and the large, sinister cup of slushie she was pouring – he's already put two-and-two together.
Quickly, without thinking, he grabs the slushie from Quinn's hands – and begins downing it.
The cold, cold slushie brings him momentary relief. The red one was never his favourite flavour – he always felt that it was a bit too tart, preferring the saccharine sweetness of the purple flavour instead.
However, that enjoyment only lasts a moment – the very next, he feels a piercing headache penetrate his skull; a brain freeze.
It forces the young linebacker to bend over in pain and massage his temples – closing his eyes shut. He doesn't think it can get any worse… but it does; of course it does. As Quinn Fabray's shrieking voice bangs against his skull, making his momentary migraine even worse.
"Oh my god! What are you doing you idiot?!" her voice is loud and chaotic – as it echoes down the quiet McKinley hallways. Nearly everyone snaps their heads to peer over at the duo, greeting them with looks of confusion.
As his momentary brain-freeze subdues itself, Matt opens his eyes – and the sight he sees is enough to make him run.
An angry Quinn Fabray stood in front of him. Her face so red that it became hard for Matt to tell if it was makeup or not.
He shifts in place – he needed to give her an answer, and he needed to give it now.
"I… er, sorry Quinn." He mumbles, carefully positioning himself between her and the slushie machine in the process, "did you want some?"
"No, you fool! Do you have any idea how many calories ar-… argh!" Quinn stops mid-sentence, half-out of anger, half-out of exasperation. She makes a grunting sound, which Matt can only attribute to anger.
It was a once in a lifetime opportunity, Matt thinks – watching the Ice Queen of McKinley High, melt away into a pool of frustration and anger.
If he wasn't scared shitless right now, he might have even been a bit entertained.
He sees her jaw clench, and fists tighten into little balls. "Move. Matt." They are two words, but they are enough to almost send him running to the hills.
Emphasis on, almost. The fact that she knows him – knows his name – is enough to keep him planted in that spot for the rest of his days.
He shakes his head at her request, eyes peering over at Rachel Berry down the hall – who was casually chatting to a friend.
Matt grimaces, "Go." He wants to tell her, "I can't stall the Head Cheerio forever… leave, please."
But Rachel Berry doesn't budge – and neither does Quinn Fabray.
"Move Matt, goddamn it!" there is entitlement and urgency in her voice like he's never heard before, as she attempts to force the young linebacker out of the way – which, of course, is no use. She pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing deeply.
Matt jiggles the slushie cup around in his hand, peering at the deep artificial red colour; it matched the colour of his letterman, it matched the colour of her Cheerio outfit.
He chuckles at the comparison.
"What's so funny?" she snaps.
Matt shrugs – pondering for a moment, unsure how to explain his amusement of the colour red.
He then takes a couple steps, and moves out of the way – giving Quinn Fabray free reign of the Big Quench slushie machine.
Her eyes don't light up the way he expected them to – and that confuses him. So he leans in towards her, his big brown eyes searching for answers in her green ones.
"Why do you do this?" he whispers, nodding towards the slushie in his hands. "Why do you wanna ruin someone's day?"
His voice is faint, and for a moment he expects her to explode.
Because how dare Matt Rutherford talk down to the Queen of McKinley High, right? Lowly linebackers have no right to question the whims and wants of Cheerios Captains.
He half-expects her to take the drink in his hands, and throw it in his face. He half-expects for her to just slap him.
She does none of that.
Instead, she leans in close – real close. Until he can smell the faint fragrance of her strawberry shampoo and feel her breathe tickle his skin.
Her eyes harden, but there is no anger in them, just conviction. "Don't act like you're too good for this, Mattie."
'Mattie'
The name sends a jolt through him, making his knees go like jelly and his breath hitch.
No one calls him "Mattie" except for his family. No one at school has called him that in ages – and he's thankful for it. He used to hate the name, mostly because it rhymed with a rather distasteful word. Matt grimaces, trying not to let childhood memories seep through – but's no use.
He looks into Quinn Fabray's eyes, and it's like looking into a crystal ball – and just like that, all the horrible names seep back into his mind, starting with the worse of them all:
"Mattie the Fattie"
He swallows hard. And just like that he feels like he's 8 years old again – crying alone on the swing set during recess, thinking of all the mean things kids say sometimes.
Matt wants to ask how she knows this. He wants to ask who she was – who she really was? Did she know Matt from before?
But that takes a certain amount of clear-headedness, and all Matt felt right now was anger.
"Don't call me that." He finally spits out. His tone is rough and cold, and unlike anything his mother would find acceptable for when talking to a girl – he thinks Karofsky would be proud though.
Quinn smiles – he doesn't like it. It's a nasty smile, like she's just won the game; like she knows it's gotten underneath his skin.
She's taunting him with her pearly whites, as if to say, 'See? You aren't any better any me. We're both just terrible people, huh? '
Or maybe she isn't – and this was just his own insecurities. His own inadequacies projecting themselves onto her. He wonders if he just needs to think through it, and then decide what to do.
Though, he guesses he doesn't think fast enough. Because when he's finally ready to say something else, she's gone– having disappeared down the hallway, where to? Who knows. Probably to Finn. Or maybe to Santana and Brittany.
Matt sighs, looking over at Rachel Berry – who was still deeply engrossed in conversation with her friend, unaware to the sticky plight the young linebacker had saved her from.
He looks into the half-drank slushie in his hands.
'Mattie The Fattie' echoes through his mind.
Matt grimaces and throws the drink out, he wasn't thirsty – and besides, he liked the purple flavour better anyway.
a/n: cool! umm, quinn povs might come in the future - idek, im having fun with the matt povs. also, if i haven't made this clear, the fic is canon compliant, and will follow a chronological timeline of the show - so stay tuned for matt + pregnant quinn REAL soon
lyrics credit: shiver - coldplay