A/N: Another day another chapter! Next one will be from Rachel's POV
Quinn wakes up to the sound of rustling sheets and the soft shuffle of movement across the cabin floor. For a moment, she doesn't move. The early morning light filters through the window, casting golden streaks across the wooden walls. It's quiet except for the faint chirping of birds outside and the rhythmic breathing of Rachel in the other bed. Quinn turns her head slightly, peering across the small space between them. Rachel is sitting up, stretching her arms over her head, her hair messy and wild from sleep. She hasn't noticed Quinn is awake yet. There's something unbearably peaceful about the sight of her—soft and unguarded, completely different from the loud, insistent version of Rachel that exists when she's fully alert.
Quinn should close her eyes again. Pretend she's still asleep until Rachel leaves for the bathhouse. But she doesn't.
Instead, she watches as Rachel rubs the sleep from her eyes, murmuring something to herself under her breath before sighing and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She stands, reaching for the neatly folded clothes at the foot of her mattress, and that's when Quinn moves—just a small shift, a rustle of fabric, but it's enough. Rachel turns, meeting Quinn's half-lidded gaze. For a second, they just stare at each other.
"Good morning," Rachel says cautiously. Her voice is still thick with sleep.
Quinn doesn't answer right away. She doesn't know why she hesitated, but the sight of Rachel, sleepy and blinking at her like she's still adjusting to the day, does something strange to her chest.
She forces herself to sit up. "Morning," she mutters, rubbing her face as if she can scrub away whatever stupid feeling is creeping in.
Rachel lingers for a moment like she wants to say something else, but instead, she just nods and grabs her things. A few seconds later, the door swings shut behind her, and Quinn exhales slowly. She flops back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling. It's the first time they haven't snapped at each other upon waking. The first time they've just… coexisted.
Quinn isn't sure how to feel about that. She stares at the ceiling for a long moment after Rachel leaves, listening to the faint sounds of the camp waking up outside. Distant chatter, footsteps crunching on gravel, the occasional burst of laughter from another cabin. She should get up. Instead, she rolls onto her side, curling into herself, burying her face against the pillow like she can block out the day entirely. It's stupid, she knows that—she can't just sleep through the summer—but there's a deep, aching reluctance sitting heavy in her chest. Yesterday was exhausting. The relentless cheerfulness of the Fox Tribe, the way Rachel had thrown herself into every activity with that ridiculous intensity of hers, the stupid Capture the Flag game where Quinn had let herself get dragged into the chaos. She hadn't even meant to play, not really. She had just… gotten caught up in it. And then Rachel had gone and won the whole thing like it was some kind of Broadway audition, basking in the attention while Quinn had slunk away before she could get roped into the celebration.
She sighs and rubs her face, knowing she can't stay in bed forever. The morning bell will ring soon for breakfast, and if she doesn't go, someone—probably Ethan—will come knocking, trying to drag her along. With a groan, she swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands. The floor is cool against her bare feet, and she stretches, rolling her shoulders, trying to shake off the sluggish weight of sleep. She grabs her clothes and heads for the bathhouse, keeping her head down as she steps out into the morning light. The air is crisp, the sky bright and clear. A few other campers are already moving around, some heading toward the dining hall, others still bleary-eyed as they trudge toward the bathhouse.
Quinn keeps to herself, slipping inside, half-hoping Rachel will already be gone so she can have a moment of quiet. But she isn't that lucky. Rachel is standing at the sinks, brushing her hair with sharp, determined strokes. She's already dressed for the day—navy camp shorts and a light-yellow tank top, her Fox Tribe bandana tied around her wrist. Rachel catches her reflection in the mirror and meets Quinn's gaze.
"You actually got up," she says, raising an eyebrow.
Quinn rolls her eyes and moves toward the showers. "Shocking," she mutters.
Rachel hums, brushing out a stubborn tangle. "I half-expected you to skip breakfast."
Quinn doesn't answer. She just turns the water on, letting the sound drown out whatever Rachel might say next. She doesn't need a conversation. She just needs to get through today without feeling like she's drowning in the noise of this place. And most of all, she needs to stop noticing Rachel Berry.
Breakfast is loud, bustling with the energy of campers still waking up or already buzzing with excitement for the day ahead. The dining hall is packed, the long wooden tables filled with tribes chatting and laughing between bites of scrambled eggs and toast. Campers move in a steady stream between the food stations, grabbing plates, pouring cups of juice, and scooping fruit onto their trays. Quinn keeps her head down, focusing on her own food, barely listening to the conversations happening around her. She eats quickly, the din of the hall grating on her nerves. Across the table, Rachel is engaged in an animated discussion with Olivia about something Quinn doesn't bother to tune into. Ethan and Nate are talking about the upcoming activity schedule, their voices weaving in and out of the general noise. The bell rings, signaling the end of the meal, and campers start to clear their trays. Quinn is one of the first to stand, moving quickly to escape the clamor, slipping outside before anyone can rope her into more small talk.
After breakfast, Quinn makes her way toward the clearing near the edge of camp, where the Fox Tribe had gathered the day before for their morning activity. It's quieter here, away from the chaotic hum of campers milling around the dining hall. She doesn't really have a plan—just a vague hope that if she looks unapproachable enough, no one will try to talk to her. That hope lasts about thirty seconds.
"Hey, mind if I sit?"
Quinn glances up to see Ethan standing there, hands stuffed into the pockets of his camp shorts, his expression open but expectant. She could tell him no—could make some excuse about wanting to be alone—but that would be pointless. Ethan doesn't seem like the type to get deterred easily.
She shrugs. "Do what you want."
Ethan takes that as an invitation, dropping down onto the grass beside her, stretching his legs out in front of him. For a moment, he doesn't say anything, just leans back on his hands and tilts his face toward the sun. Quinn watches him warily out of the corner of her eye.
"So," he says eventually, turning his head to look at her, "you and Rachel go to the same school?"
Quinn tenses. She should've known this was coming. Ethan had noticed last night at dinner—his gaze had flickered between them when it was brought up and Quinn had immediately gone still, stiff in her seat. It had been brief, probably something no one else had registered, but Ethan had clocked it.
Quinn keeps her expression neutral. "Yeah," she says flatly.
Ethan hums like he's waiting for her to elaborate. She doesn't.
A beat of silence stretches between them before he grins, tilting his head slightly. "Alright," he says, dragging the word out. "I see how it is."
Quinn frowns. "How what is?"
Ethan just keeps smiling like he knows something she doesn't. "You don't want to talk about it."
"That's because there's nothing to talk about," she says quickly, too quickly, and Ethan lets out a low chuckle.
"Uh-huh." He picks at a blade of grass between his fingers. "It's just interesting, you know? You and Rachel clearly have some kind of history, but neither of you really explained it."
Quinn stiffens. "Not everything needs an explanation."
Ethan studies her for a second, then nods, like he's filing that away for later. "Fair enough," he says easily. "I just like knowing people's stories."
"Well, there's no story here."
"Right." He grins. "Just weird tension and some interesting reactions whenever Rachel's name comes up."
Quinn glares at him, but Ethan just laughs, nudging her shoulder with his. "Relax, Fabray, I'm just messing with you."
She exhales sharply, trying to shake the defensive edge creeping up her spine. "You're annoying."
"I've been told that before," Ethan says, completely unfazed.
Despite herself, Quinn almost smiles. Almost. But she presses her lips together and shakes her head instead. Ethan doesn't push further. He just sits there with her in the quiet, letting the moment settle, and for once, Quinn doesn't mind the company.
Their morning activity takes place in a clearing just past the main campgrounds, surrounded by towering trees and the occasional call of birds overhead. The ground is soft with packed dirt, the air smelling faintly of pine and last night's bonfire smoke. A few logs have been arranged in a loose circle around a set of supplies—bundles of sticks, rope, and small flint kits—giving an immediate hint at what they'll be doing. Quinn stands at the edge of the group, arms crossed, already ready for this to be over.
"This morning, you'll be learning some basic survival skills," Jake, their counselor, says, clapping his hands together like this is the most exciting thing in the world. "Fire-starting, knot-tying, and a little bit of shelter-building—things that could save your life if you ever find yourself lost in the wilderness."
Olivia lets out a dramatic gasp. "Oh no. Whatever would we do without a five-star resort in the middle of the woods?"
The group laughs, and Jake rolls his eyes. "Laugh it up now, but when the zombie apocalypse hits, we'll see who's begging who to build them a decent shelter."
Quinn barely pays attention as he launches into a demonstration, showing them how to use flint to spark a fire, how to tie basic knots for securing things, and how to stack branches to create a sturdy lean-to. She already assumes she'll be terrible at this, and frankly, she doesn't care. She just wants to get through the next couple of hours without someone enthusiastically trying to make her participate.
But then she actually starts trying. And she's… good at it.
Her fire catches on the first real spark, flickering into life on the small pile of dry kindling she set up. Her knots come together with a sort of instinctive ease, muscle memory from years of growing up with a father who valued discipline and practicality over anything else. Even the shelter-building makes sense once she gets into it, something about the structure and balance clicking in her brain. It isn't until she hears a frustrated noise from Rachel that she realizes she's actually enjoying this.
Quinn glances over just in time to see Rachel furiously striking her flint together, producing nothing but dull sparks that refuse to catch. Her brow is furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin, irritated line as she tries again. And again. And—
"Ugh!" Rachel throws the flint down onto the dirt beside her, glaring at it like it personally insulted her.
Quinn doesn't want to help. She could just stay quiet, keep doing her own thing, let Rachel suffer through it. But before she can stop herself, she's moving, crouching down beside her.
"Here," she says, picking up the flint. "You're going too fast. You need to—"
"I know how to do it," Rachel snaps, snatching the flint back.
Quinn raises an eyebrow. "Clearly."
Rachel narrows her eyes at her, and Quinn sighs, already regretting stepping in. But instead of walking away, she reaches for the pile of kindling Rachel has arranged and starts adjusting it.
"The setup matters," she mutters. "You need to give the spark something to catch onto."
Rachel watches her with wary suspicion, arms crossed over her chest, "Are you actually trying to help, or is this just another way to make yourself look better than me?"
Quinn scoffs, pulling back. "Are you serious?"
Rachel lifts her chin. "I wouldn't put it past you."
Quinn clenches her jaw, biting back the immediate instinct to snap something sharp and mean in response. Instead, she exhales slowly, leveling Rachel with a steady look.
"Do whatever you want," she says, standing up. "Just don't blame me when you're the only one who doesn't start a fire."
Rachel's face twists in indignation, and Quinn turns away before she can argue, feeling frustration curling in her chest. Why did she even bother? Rachel keeps struggling. Quinn keeps pretending not to notice. As the activity winds down, campers gather around Jake for a final demonstration on fire-starting. Some—like Olivia and Nate—have successfully built small, flickering flames, while others still struggle with the process. Rachel is among the latter, her fire nothing more than a sad pile of unburned twigs.
Jake scans the group, nodding approvingly at the small fires that have managed to catch. "Alright, nice work, guys. Now, for those of you who are still having trouble, let's go over this one more time." He steps over to one of the failed attempts—Rachel's—and crouches down, inspecting it.
"See, the setup here is the issue," he explains, picking up a few of her twigs and rearranging them. "You have to give the spark something to catch onto. If it's too spread out or the pieces are too big, it won't light. You need a solid base of dry kindling first, then you build up around it."
Rachel stills. Quinn doesn't have to look at her to know what she's thinking—because it's exactly what Quinn had told her earlier. When she finally does glance up, Rachel is already looking at her. There's no frustration now, no suspicion—just something quieter, something almost regretful. It lasts for only a second before Rachel quickly looks away, focusing back on Jake as if nothing happened. Quinn exhales, turning her attention back to her own small but well-built fire, watching the flames flicker. She doesn't say I told you so. But she's definitely thinking it.
Just as she's about to stand, she catches a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye. Ethan. He's sitting a few feet away, still absently working on a knot, but his gaze had been on her. The moment Quinn notices, he quickly glances away, pretending to focus on his hands instead. Something unsettles her about it—not in a bad way, exactly, but in a way that makes her feel watched. Like Ethan is quietly piecing something together that she doesn't want anyone to figure out. Quinn scowls to herself, shoving the thought aside as Jake claps his hands together.
"Alright, great work today, Foxes. Go grab some water and cool off before lunch!" Jake smiles at them all before heading back to clean up their supplies.
As the group begins to scatter, Rachel lingers for a second longer. Then, without a word, she turns and walks away, leaving Quinn sitting by her fire, pretending that nothing about this morning got under her skin.
The lunch bell rings just as the Fox Tribe starts making their way back toward the main camp. Quinn falls into step a few paces behind the others, wiping her hands off on her shorts as they reach the dining hall. The inside is just as loud and chaotic as it was at breakfast, filled with the clatter of trays and the steady hum of overlapping conversations. She moves through the line, grabbing whatever looks decent—some kind of grilled cheese, a bowl of fruit, and a bottle of water—before heading to the Fox Tribe's usual table. Olivia and Nate are already seated, deep in conversation about some drama from a previous summer. Ethan takes his usual spot across from Quinn, stretching his arms over the back of the bench before digging into his food. Rachel slides into her seat a little more carefully than usual. She doesn't say anything right away, but Quinn notices how she keeps sneaking glances in her direction—small, quick looks, like she's trying to figure something out.
Quinn ignores it, focusing on her food.
A few minutes pass, filled with the easy chatter of the others, but there's something different about the way Rachel is carrying herself. She's still as expressive as ever, still quick to join in when Olivia says something funny, but her usual dramatic energy is slightly… off. And then it happens.
Rachel reaches for the pepper shaker in the center of the table at the same time Quinn does, their hands brushing against each other for the briefest second. Normally, Rachel would huff and yank her hand away, make some pointed remark about personal space, or insist that Quinn go ahead in a way that somehow feels more combative than polite. But she doesn't. Instead, she just freezes for half a second, looking at Quinn like she's debating something. Then, she pulls back—not in a sharp, annoyed way, but with a quiet sort of hesitation. Quinn watches her for a moment, half-expecting some sarcastic remark, but it never comes. Rachel just grabs her fork and stabs at her salad, expressing carefully neutral. It's not much. It's barely anything. But it's a shift. Quinn isn't sure if she likes it.
Lunch has barely ended when Olivia claps her hands together, grinning at the table like she's just had the best idea in the world.
"Alright, Foxes," she announces. "We've all been thrown into this tribe together, and frankly, I don't think we know nearly enough about each other. So, congratulations—you're all about to be forced into friendship."
Quinn groans, already regretting whatever is about to happen. "That sounds awful."
"Too bad," Nate says cheerfully, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "We're doing it. There's a whole summer ahead of us, and I, for one, refuse to spend it with strangers."
Ethan nods. "Yeah, we've barely had a chance to actually talk. Morning activities don't count—we need real bonding time."
Rachel, unsurprisingly, perks up at this. "I love structured bonding," she says, sitting up straighter. "It's an excellent way to build trust and strengthen our interpersonal relationships."
Quinn gives her a flat look. "God, you would say that."
Rachel ignores her, turning back to the others. "What did you have in mind?"
Olivia grins. "Lakefront. We hang out, maybe play some cards, maybe get into some deep campfire-style discussions. You know, really dig into each other's souls."
Quinn feels an immediate urge to say no. She doesn't do group bonding. She doesn't do hanging out just for fun. But before she can even begin to make an excuse, Ethan casually slings an arm over her shoulder like they've been best friends for years.
"Come on, Fabray," he says. "I promise it won't kill you."
Quinn glares at him, but he just grins, completely unfazed. Rachel, on the other hand, looks a little too pleased at the idea of Quinn being forced into something social.
"Fine," Quinn mutters, shrugging Ethan's arm off. "But if this turns into some kind of weird therapy session, I'm leaving."
Olivia waves a hand. "No promises."
With that, the group heads toward the lake, the midday sun casting dappled shadows over the path. It's not exactly where Quinn wants to be, but at this point, she figures she's lost the battle. At least Ethan and Olivia seem amused by her suffering.
The lakefront is a perfect mix of sun and shade, the water stretching out in front of them, glittering under the midday light. A few other campers are scattered around—some wading in the shallows, others sprawled out on the dock or skipping rocks along the shoreline. The Fox Tribe claims a grassy patch near a cluster of trees, dropping onto the ground in a loose circle. Olivia flops down dramatically, sprawling onto her back like she's soaking in the moment.
"Alright," she sighs. "This is the life."
Rachel, ever the overachiever, is still upright and alert, her gaze flickering toward the direction of the dining hall. "Should we have invited the others?" she asks, referring to the three quieter members of their tribe. "I feel like we're excluding them."
Olivia waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, please. Maya, Lucas, and Drew barely acknowledge the rest of us. They're perfectly happy being their own little trio of misery."
Nate nods. "Yeah, I tried talking to Lucas the first day, and he just gave me this look—like I'd personally insulted his ancestors or something."
"They're definitely not looking to make new friends," Ethan adds. "And even if they were, I don't think they'd be our kind of friends."
Rachel frowns, but she doesn't argue. "Well, alright," she says, settling into her spot.
Quinn, who had absolutely no intention of extending any kind of goodwill toward the other half of their tribe, says nothing.
"So," Nate says, leaning back on his hands. "The real question is—how deep are we going with this whole 'getting to know each other' thing? Like, are we talking fun-fact level, or are we trauma-dumping?"
Quinn groans. "Jesus, please don't say trauma-dumping."
Ethan smirks. "Alright, so that's a no from Quinn. Rachel, what's your take?"
Rachel lifts her chin, all business. "I think a balance is important. Too superficial, and we don't form real connections. Too personal, and it risks becoming an uncomfortable experience for those who may not be ready to share."
Quinn stares at her. "Do you memorize therapy textbooks in your spare time?"
Rachel glares. "Excuse me for valuing meaningful conversation over whatever nonsense you contribute to social settings."
Quinn smirks. "Would you rather I contribute my trauma?"
Rachel blinks, looking momentarily thrown. Quinn enjoys the brief flicker of speechlessness before Rachel recovers and turns back to the group, clearing her throat. "Anyway. Perhaps a structured game would be best."
"Oh no." Ethan groans. "Please tell me you're not about to suggest more icebreakers."
Rachel straightens. "What's wrong with icebreakers?"
"Everything," Quinn mutters.
Olivia claps her hands together. "Alright, fine, no icebreakers. Instead, let's keep it simple—Two Truths and a Lie. It's easy, it's fun, and it keeps us from oversharing too hard."
There's a collective nod of agreement, even from Quinn, though she mostly stays silent, letting the others take the lead. Nate goes first, giving them three statements—one about getting kicked out of a waterpark, one about knowing how to juggle knives, and one about having a twin brother. Rachel is quick to call out the knife-juggling as the lie, and he groans in defeat. Olivia follows, tossing out random facts about her various pets, one of which turns out to be fake (though no one is surprised she actually owns a turtle named Leonardo DiTurtleo).
When it's Rachel's turn, she lifts her chin, ever the performer. "Alright. One—I once received a standing ovation for a solo performance of 'Don't Rain on My Parade.' Two—I can recite the entirety of Romeo and Juliet from memory. Three—I can do a cartwheel."
Quinn snorts. "There's no way you can do a cartwheel."
Rachel scowls. "Excuse me, I absolutely can."
Ethan tilts his head. "Reciting all of Romeo and Juliet seems like a lot of work. I'm gonna go with that one."
Rachel smirks. "Incorrect. I do in fact know the entire play."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Of course you do."
Rachel lifts her chin, smug. "And I can also do a cartwheel."
"Prove it," Olivia challenges.
Rachel glares but pushes herself to her feet, brushing the grass from her shorts. "Fine."
She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and then… launches into a terrible attempt at a cartwheel. It's more of a sideways leap, her legs barely leaving the ground before she stumbles back onto her feet, teetering slightly. There's a beat of silence.
Then Olivia bursts out laughing. "Oh my god."
Ethan doubles over, clapping his hands. Nate is wiping tears from his eyes. Even Quinn, despite herself, lets out a breath of amusement, shaking her head.
Rachel folds her arms, looking deeply unimpressed. "It was a successful attempt."
"No, babe," Olivia wheezes. "That was an event."
Rachel huffs, flopping back onto the grass, but there's a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. Quinn glances at her, watching the way Rachel relaxes a little under the weight of the laughter. The way she doesn't seem nearly as tense as she had that morning. it's still not much. But it's something.
As the laughter over Rachel's cartwheel finally dies down, Olivia wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. "Alright, alright—Ethan, you're up."
Ethan props himself up on his elbows, smirking. "Alright, my turn. Let's see… One—I once ate an entire extra-large pizza by myself in under ten minutes. Two—I've never been in a relationship. Three—I can play the guitar."
Rachel immediately hones in. "Okay, the guitar thing feels real. Again, very much your… thing."
Ethan raises an eyebrow. "Still unsure how I feel about being reduced to a 'thing.'"
"Take it as a compliment," Rachel says breezily.
Nate hums. "I kinda believe the pizza one. But ten minutes? That's pushing it."
Olivia leans in, considering. "I say the lie is the pizza. I want to believe you, dude, but that's a lot of food, even for you."
Rachel nods. "Yeah, I'm going with that one too."
Nate wavers before sighing. "Same. Pizza's the lie."
Quinn, however, wasn't considering the pizza. She's watching Ethan himself, the way he's too relaxed, too unreadable—except for the way his fingers drum lightly against his knee, almost absentmindedly.
And suddenly, she knows.
She exhales. "The third one. You have been in a relationship."
Ethan glances at her, just for a second, before grinning. "Damn, Fabray. Nailed it."
Rachel's mouth drops open. "Wait, seriously?"
Olivia smacks his arm. "You let us fall for that!"
Ethan chuckles, shaking his head. "Hey, it was a solid lie! And for the record—I did eat the whole pizza. Nine minutes and forty-five seconds."
Quinn doesn't say anything, but she watches as Ethan brushes the topic off easily, like it doesn't really matter. She files that information away, not quite sure why it catches her attention.
And then Olivia turns to Quinn. "Alright, Fabray, you're up."
Quinn sighs, knowing there's no getting out of it now.
"Fine," she says, voice dry. "One—I used to do gymnastics. Two—I hate horror movies. And three—I've never broken a bone."
Rachel frowns immediately. "You were a cheerleader. Gymnastics seems like it would be true."
Olivia nods. "Yeah, I feel like that's way too normal to be a lie."
Nate tilts his head. "The horror movie thing? I don't know. You seem like someone who would hate horror movies, but maybe that's just reverse psychology."
"I could see her secretly being into them," Ethan adds, smirking slightly.
Quinn keeps her expression neutral, letting them argue amongst themselves.
Finally, Rachel sets her jaw. "I say the lie is the horror movie thing. You do like them."
Olivia nods. "Agreed."
Nate sighs. "Fine, I'll go with that too."
Ethan, however, watches Quinn for a moment longer before shaking his head. "Nope. I think the broken bone thing is the lie."
Quinn meets his gaze. He raises an eyebrow like he's daring her to call him wrong.
She huffs, looking away. "Damn it."
Rachel's mouth drops open. "Wait—really?"
Ethan grins, looking smug. "Called it."
"I knew it," Olivia says. "You just seem like the type of person who would hate horror movies."
Quinn shakes her head. "Hate them. Don't see the point in paying money to be stressed for two hours."
Rachel scoffs. "Ugh, you are such a control freak."
Quinn glares. "I am not—"
"You are," Rachel insists, looking almost delighted. "It makes so much sense now."
Before Quinn can argue, Nate stretches his arms over his head. "Well, this was extremely enlightening."
"I feel closer to you all already," Ethan says, clutching his chest dramatically.
Rachel beams. "See? Bonding is good for the soul."
Quinn just groans. "Can I leave now?"
Olivia laughs. "Yeah, yeah, you're free. But don't think we're letting you off the hook for the next round of forced friendship."
Quinn mutters something under her breath, but as she stands and stretches, she realizes she doesn't actually hate the idea as much as she thought she would. Which is… annoying. Even more annoying is the way Rachel's eyes flick toward her as she gathers her things—like she's still watching, still trying to figure her out.
Quinn ignores it.
For now.
As the afternoon activity begins, Jake leads the Fox Tribe into the craft room of the Activity Center, a sprawling building at the heart of camp that houses everything from arts and crafts to woodworking and music sessions. Inside, shelves line the walls, packed with supplies—paint, beads, twine, and stacks of unfinished projects from past campers. The space is buzzing with activity, multiple tribes scattered at different stations, working on various crafts.
Jake claps his hands together as they reach their designated table. "Alright, Foxes, this afternoon's all about self-expression," he says, grinning. "Which means friendship bracelets. Make 'em, trade 'em, hoard 'em like a little camp goblin—I don't care. Just have fun with it."
Quinn regrets showing up.
Rachel, takes to the activity with her typical enthusiastic determination, carefully selecting colors and weaving her threads with precision. Olivia and Nate turn it into a competition, seeing who can make the most bracelets before time runs out, while Ethan opts for a more laid-back approach, messing around with knots and occasionally tossing beads at Nate when the counselor isn't looking. Quinn, for her part, knots a few strings together half-heartedly, not particularly invested in the outcome. She isn't bad at it, but she doesn't see the point either. The only real amusement she gets is when Rachel gets too confident and messes up a pattern, her gasp of horror making Olivia dissolve into laughter. By the time the session ends, Rachel has a small but technically perfect bracelet, Olivia has a pile of half-finished ones, and Ethan has managed to tie his around his wrist in a way that now requires scissors to remove. Quinn leaves hers on the table, unnoticed. And just like that, another camp activity is over.
By the time dinner rolls around, the day's heat has settled into something softer, the air cooling as the sun starts its slow descent. The dining hall is already packed when the Fox Tribe arrives, the usual mix of chatter and clattering trays filling the space. Quinn slides into her usual seat, only half-listening as Olivia and Nate argue over some inside joke from their earlier craft session. Rachel, as expected, is still very pleased with her perfectly knotted friendship bracelet and has already launched into a conversation with Ethan about color symbolism. Quinn tunes it all out, focusing on her food—until a familiar voice cuts through the noise.
"Alright, listen up, campers!"
Dave, the ever-enthusiastic camp director, stands at the front of the dining hall, his hands cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice. The conversations around the room quiet down as he grins out at the crowd.
"Couple of quick announcements before you all run off to whatever trouble you're planning on getting into tonight," he says. "First up—camp clubs! Sign-ups are officially open and posted on the notice board by the bonfire pit. We've got all kinds of options—sports, arts, debate, outdoor adventure, board games—if you can think of it, we probably have it. So if you wanna get involved, go check it out after dinner. First club meetings will be on Thursday after dinner."
Rachel, unsurprisingly, perks up at this, already sitting straighter like she's mentally highlighting this moment.
"And," Dave continues, "if that wasn't exciting enough, it's also time to get ready for the all-camp talent show!"
There's a ripple of interest through the hall, some campers cheering while others groan dramatically.
Dave laughs. "Come on, don't pretend you're not excited. The show's happening Sunday night at the amphitheater, and sign-ups are on the same board as the club list. You've got a couple of days to figure out if you wanna bless us with your talents, so give it some thought."
Rachel is practically vibrating in her seat now, and Quinn already knows—knows—exactly where this is going.
Dave claps his hands together. "Alright, that's it! Eat up, hydrate, and I'll see you all at the bonfire later!"
As soon as he steps away, Rachel turns to the table, eyes bright with determination. "I'm signing up for the theater club." Quinn isn't even a little surprised.
Quinn isn't surprised that Rachel is signing up for the theater club. Of course she is. There was never a world where Rachel Berry would let the opportunity to perform go to waste.
What does catch her off guard, though, is the way Olivia grins and says—
"Oh, babe, we know."
Quinn clenches her jaw before she can stop herself. It's not a big deal. It's nothing, really. Olivia has been casually throwing out that nickname since they started hanging out, and Rachel clearly doesn't mind it. If anything, she looks pleased, preening slightly at the easy affection.
And Quinn? Quinn shouldn't care.
Except she does—just a little. Not enough to really dwell on, but enough that she suddenly finds her grilled chicken a lot more interesting than whatever conversation is happening around her.
Rachel, still glowing with enthusiasm, turns back to the table. "And obviously I'm entering the talent show."
"Obviously," Ethan echoes, smirking. "Are you even capable of not performing?"
Rachel scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous."
Nate leans forward. "Okay, but the real question is—what are you gonna sing?"
Rachel gasps, like this is the greatest question anyone has ever asked her. "Oh my god, I haven't even thought about that yet!"
Quinn lets the conversation wash over her, tuning in just enough to catch snippets of song suggestions and Rachel's impassioned debate over ballads versus showstoppers. She's fine. It's fine. Olivia calling Rachel babe doesn't mean anything. And it definitely doesn't bother her.
Not even a little.
After dinner, the Fox Tribe drifts toward the bonfire pit, where a large wooden notice board stands covered in flyers and sign-up sheets. The surrounding area is already buzzing with campers scanning their options, some excitedly writing their names down while others hover uncertainly.
Rachel is practically beaming as she finds the theater club's sign-up sheet. "Ah-ha! Here it is," she declares triumphantly before immediately scrawling her name across the list.
Quinn watches as Ethan, standing beside her, glances at the sheet. After a moment of consideration, he shrugs. "Eh, why not?" He grabs the pen from Rachel and writes his name down, too.
Rachel blinks. "Wait, really?"
Ethan grins. "I like musicals. And I've got range, babe." He winks.
Quinn waits for that same flicker of irritation from earlier—but it doesn't come. When Olivia had said it, something had twisted in her stomach. But with Ethan? Nothing. She frowns, pushing the thought away. It's just a word. It means nothing.
Rachel looks utterly delighted. "Oh, this is fantastic news."
Quinn rolls her eyes but says nothing. Meanwhile, Olivia and Nate have wandered a few steps away, looking over a different sign-up sheet together. "Ooooh," Olivia hums, tapping her chin. "Debate Club?"
Nate smirks. "You mean an excuse to argue with people for sport? I'm in."
They both sign their names with a flourish before turning back to the group. "Alright, what about you, Fabray?" Olivia asks.
Quinn scoffs. "Pass."
But then—she hesitates. Because even as she says it, her gaze lingers just a second too long on one of the sheets. Outdoor Adventure Club. The description is straightforward—hiking, kayaking, climbing, survival skills, all that outdoorsy stuff. The kind of thing she's good at. The kind of thing that, if she weren't so determined to avoid getting sucked into the camp experience, she'd probably sign up for in a heartbeat. Her fingers twitch slightly. But then she shakes it off, stepping back, shoving her hands into her pockets. She doesn't need to sign up for anything. She doesn't need to get involved. She just needs to get through the summer. Ethan, still watching her, raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. Rachel, meanwhile, is already launching into plans for the theater club's first meeting, her voice animated as she talks about the summer production. Quinn tunes it out, focusing instead on the flickering light of the bonfire pit. She's not joining a club. She's not.
After lingering near the bonfire pit for a while, the Fox Tribe drifts away from the noise of camp, following the winding dirt paths that cut through the trees. The air is cooler now, the scent of pine and lake water hanging in the breeze, and for the first time all day, things feel quiet.
"Where exactly are we going?" Quinn asks after a few minutes, kicking at a loose rock on the path.
"No clue," Olivia admits, stretching her arms behind her head. "We're just walking."
Rachel hums thoughtfully. "I think it's nice. We've been surrounded by so much noise all day. It's good to just… slow down."
Quinn doesn't respond, but she agrees. She won't say it out loud, obviously—admitting she actually likes something about this place is not on her agenda—but there's something almost peaceful about walking like this, the world settling into that hazy, dreamlike feeling that only exists on warm summer nights. Eventually, they step into a clearing—a small, open patch of grass surrounded by tall trees, the sky above stretching wide and endless. The stars are bright out here, sharper without the glow of the campfires and lanterns. The moon hangs low on the horizon, casting just enough silver light to soften the dark.
"Oh, this is nice," Ethan murmurs, dropping onto the grass.
The rest of the group follows, scattering in a loose circle. Olivia stretches out completely, arms behind her head, while Nate leans back on his elbows. Quinn, without really thinking about it, sits near the edge of the group, a little apart from the others—until Rachel settles down right next to her. Too close. Not obviously too close, but enough that their arms brush when Rachel shifts slightly, enough that Quinn can feel her presence like a pull in the air. She should move. She doesn't.
Rachel exhales softly, tilting her head back to look at the sky. "You don't get stars like this in Lima," she murmurs, her voice quieter now, lacking its usual sharp edges.
Quinn glances at her before looking up, letting herself take it in. The stars are bright, scattered across the sky like shattered glass, stretching infinitely beyond them. For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of the wind rustling through the trees, the occasional distant call of an owl. No structured activities, no forced interactions—just existing. And somehow, that's worse.
Because it's in moments like this—when things are still, when she isn't actively fighting against it—that Quinn can feel herself slipping, can feel the edges of whatever she's been trying to hold back creeping closer. She shifts slightly, barely an inch, but it brings her even closer to Rachel. Ethan, who has been lying on his back with his hands folded behind his head, suddenly moves—just a small glance in Quinn's direction, quick and unreadable. She stiffens.
He doesn't say anything—doesn't even really react—but Quinn can tell. He saw the way she hesitated. The way she let Rachel sit too close and didn't move away. She clenches her jaw and looks back up at the sky, forcing herself to focus on anything but the warmth of Rachel's arm next to hers, anything but the way Ethan's gaze lingers for just a second longer before he looks away. The group lingers in the clearing for a while, the conversation fading into a comfortable quiet. The night is cool but not cold, the distant hum of camp still barely audible in the background. Quinn stays still, staring up at the stars, feeling the weight of the moment pressing into her—something unspoken, something she refuses to name.
Eventually, Nate lets out a loud yawn and stretches his arms over his head. "Alright, I hate to ruin the aesthetic of this whole thing, but I'm calling it. I'm exhausted."
Olivia groans. "Ugh, yeah. We do have another thrilling day of forced bonding ahead of us."
Rachel sighs but pushes herself up off the ground. "Fine. But we should do this again."
Ethan nods, standing and dusting off his shorts. "Agreed. This was almost pleasant."
Quinn follows suit, not saying anything as she brushes dirt off her hands. She still feels too aware of how close she and Rachel had been sitting, how easy it would've been to shift just a little more, to—
No.
She pushes the thought away, falling into step with the group as they make their way back to camp. The walk back is quiet, the kind of tired silence that comes after a long day spent outside. When they finally reach the cabin area, Nate and Ethan wave them off, disappearing toward their own bunks. Olivia lingers for a moment, stretching her arms over her head before smirking at Rachel.
"Night, babe," she says, throwing a wink over her shoulder before heading toward her cabin. Quinn clenches her jaw.
Rachel, unfazed, just shakes her head with a small laugh. "Goodnight, Olivia."
Quinn doesn't say anything, just heads inside their cabin before Rachel can catch whatever expression is on her face. By the time she's in bed, tucked into her side of the room, the air is still again. Rachel clicks off the light, and in the quiet darkness, Quinn lets herself stare at the ceiling, listening to the soft sound of Rachel shifting under her blankets. She should sleep. She needs to sleep. But she can still feel the ghost of warmth from where their arms had brushed, still hear the distant echo of Olivia's voice calling Rachel babe. She exhales, rolls onto her side, and squeezes her eyes shut.
Tomorrow. She'll deal with all of it tomorrow.