Rachel got a second chance with Jesse, but she couldn’t stop thinking about how she never got a first chance with Quinn.
I desperately needed to do something for this prompt of Elyse’s but I couldn’t find a way to flesh it out in fic. I’m definitely not a graphic artist though. Sorry about that.
If you haven't read chapter 1, you can do so here, on FF.net, or AO3.
Rachel catches Kurt doing something she could never have expected. Could it be the catalyst for something between Rachel and Quinn?
Endless thanks to Faberry Prompts for the idea.
Read at FF.net, AO3, or here/under the cut
---
Rolling her head to the side, she took in Rachel’s profile for a few seconds, before Rachel turned to meet her gaze.
“I think I need to tell you something…”
Quinn swallowed.
“That sandwich was terrible,” she finished lamely.
“What?” Rachel shrieked, swatting at Quinn’s arm.
Quinn went with it, laughing until Rachel dropped the indignation and laughed too.
“Seriously though Quinn, I know it was a lot to hear. Are you okay?” Rachel asked, looking over at Quinn, whose gaze was fixed to the ceiling.
“Seriously Rachel, yes. I mean it’s not like there is any truth to it.”
“Of course there’s not,” Rachel hesitated, frowning. “I was just checking.”
A not-quite-comfortable silence settled over them and they stayed not quite touching until Rachel grew agitated.
“Let’s watch a movie,” she said, jumping off the bed and walking over to Quinn’s stack of DVDs. “Any preference?”
“Whatever you want,” Quinn replied, smiling to herself as her best friend tried to smooth things out the way she knew how - by acting overly normal.
Rachel slid back onto the bed with the remote, squinting as she pointed it at the television and tried to skip the annoying previews.
Quinn’s heart beat erratically as she watched Rachel’s adorable expression. Her hand twitched, aching to reach out and touch the side of that perfect face, to push a strand of dark hair behind her ear, or trace a finger along her jaw.
“What,” Rachel asked, glancing at Quinn with a self-conscious expression.
“Just wondering what you chose to put on,” Quinn covered smoothly.
“A classic, of course. You can’t beat Emma Stone, even if she does end up with that asshole.”
“Penn is a nice guy,” Quinn defends.
“So you keep saying, but remember that after-party?”
“I’m still not sure that cocktail waitress appreciated your interference.”
“Whatever Quinn, but I better never find out that he did anything like that to you on set.”
“You won’t, because he didn’t but either way I would have handled it.”
“Fine,” Rachel huffed. Pressing play, she dumped the remote on the bed and lay back only inches away from Quinn.
They were still not quite touching, but they were relaxed and inching closer towards normal. Whatever normal was turning out to be.
---
It was almost midday by the time Rachel awoke to the sound of Kurt’s very loud singing. She blinked, registering the fact that she was latched onto a pillow that smelled like her blonde best friend, who was nowhere to be found.
Padding downstairs and into the kitchen, she saw Kurt spinning around elegantly while putting away the dishes like some kind of kitchen choreography.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Oh Rachel,” he exclaimed, pressing his hands dramatically to his chest. “You scared me, I thought I was home alone. Quinn left about an hour ago and your bedroom was empty.”
“Yeah I slept with Quinn,” she replied.
Kurt’s raised eyebrows asked the question he didn’t voice out loud.
“Nothing like that, Kurt. Obviously those stories have gone to your head. We talked then watched a movie, and I must have fallen asleep.”
“I didn’t say a word, but since you brought it up, how was Miss Fabray about,” he paused and waved his hand, “all that?”
Rachel sighed.
“She seemed fine, but you know what she’s like,” Rachel said and Kurt nodded. “It’s a bit awkward but we’ll get through it. Like she said last night, it’s not like there’s any truth to it.”
Kurt attempted to cover his scoff by clearing his throat, and hurriedly asked Rachel about her plans for the day.
“Stacey emailed me some dress options for the benefit next week, and I need to figure out which ones I like. I think Quinn’s wearing green so I’ll have to make sure we don’t clash.”
“Ooh let me know if you need a second opinion. Once I’m done with this I’ll be upstairs trying to finish an article for work.”
“Will do. Good luck,” she said as she grabbed her iPad and settled into the couch.
Scanning through her unread messages, Rachel found one from Stacey with twelve photos attached and flicked through them. She earmarked two or three as possibilities but none of them really grabbed her.
Perhaps it was her experience with fashion - or lack thereof - in high school, but since her star began to rise she’s been so conscious of making good choices. One of her worst fears was ending up on anyone’s worst dressed list, so she hired the best stylist she could afford at this early stage of her career and always chose the conservative option.
Rachel pulled a face and sighed. She didn’t always want to play it safe, but she didn’t trust herself not to choose something that would see her ridiculed.
She hadn’t told Quinn, and probably wouldn’t, that she was so insecure about her wardrobe choices, because a lot of that insecurity could be traced back to their interactions in high school.
She decided to look back over her previous dresses for inspiration.
Pulling up a browser, she typed in her name with the term ‘red carpet’ and the screen filled with pictures. She smiled when she saw the first picture was her red dress from last year’s Helen Hayes awards. The Aladdin cast had been nominated for Visiting Production, and they walked the carpet together.
She let her mind drift back to the moment. Quinn had been standing off to the side while they snapped a cast picture, which is where Rachel had been looking as this photo was taken.
She remembered the tingles she had felt when their eyes met, which was obviously because of how excited she was to be there. She remembered the look of intense pride on Quinn’s face, and how her hazel eyes had danced as they looked at each other.
Shaking herself from that thought, Rachel scrolled through some more photos.
The next photo was from their very first carpet, the Flowers for Sarah premiere.
Rachel almost gasped at how young they looked, even though it was only three years earlier. She noticed how happy they both looked, like wide-eyed children experiencing the world for the first time, which was kind of true.
She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Enlarging the photo, she saw the source was a tumblr called faberryforevr. Intrigued, she clicked through and was taken aback. A header proclaimed she and Quinn were meant to be, a gif rotated pictures of the two of them, menu items included ‘Flowers for Sarah’, ‘Aladdin tour photos’, and ‘Fic Recs’.
Time disappeared as Rachel clicked through the site, examining the ‘evidence’ that had been collected in the case against their heterosexuality. Eventually she stumbled across the video from the Flowers For Sarah premiere.
Hesitantly she clicked play, not realizing she was holding her breath.
It started with the interviewer asking Quinn if this was her first red carpet and if she was excited. She saw rather than remembered herself squeeze Quinn’s hand reassuringly and Quinn shoot her a grateful look.
She saw herself watching Quinn with that mix of pride and reverence.
She heard Quinn tell the interviewer that she had brought her friend Rachel - who would be a big Broadway star one day - and the interviewer had fumbled a moment before shooting a polite question Rachel’s way.
She watched Quinn watching her answer the question. She saw the intensity of her gaze, the look of…she didn’t know what.
She watched as she finished answering the question and looked over at Quinn.
She watched as a second or more ticked by of them gazing at each other as if they were the only ones in the world, while the interviewer tried to get Quinn’s attention to ask another question.
She watched it all, and then she watched it again.
When it ended she sat, unable to move or process what was going on inside her head.
The sound of their front door broke her from her thoughts. She looked up to see Quinn hanging up her coat.
It was as if she was watching everything happen in slow motion. Quinn slipped off her shoes and turned to walk into the lounge.
She watched Quinn run her hands through her hair.
She saw Quinn’s eyes, shining slightly as they darted around.
She took in Quinn’s long neck, and her collarbones peeking out from the low v in her white shirt.
Rachel felt like she was seeing Quinn, truly seeing her, for the very first time.
Then she saw herself reach up and grab Quinn’s hand, pulling her down to the couch
A shiver ran down her spine as she imagined kissing that spot, and hearing Quinn breathe her name against her ear.
‘Rachel’
‘Rachel’
“Rachel!”
Rachel’s eyes snapped up to meet Quinn’s worried gaze.
“Huh? Um sorry,” she stammered.
“You were a million miles away. Are you okay?” Quinn asked.
Rachel took a brief moment to realize that no, she wasn’t okay, but she couldn’t let Quinn know that.
“Yes I’m fine, where have you been?”
“I had brunch with Paul. We talked about,” she hesitated, “that whole internet thing and the benefit.”
“Oh speaking of the benefit,” Rachel exclaimed. “Stacey sent me dress options. Do you want to see?”
A pained look crossed Quinn’s face.
“Actually, Paul and I agreed that I should take someone else to the benefit,” Quinn said quietly. “He’s setting me up with one of his other clients, Liam something or other.”
Rachel’s breath left her.
“Oh. Right yeah, of course. That makes sense.”
Rachel stood up, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles from her clothes.
“Excuse me,” she continued, walking out of the room and leaving Quinn standing alone, feeling like the biggest asshole in the world.
Started for Faberry Week (accidental stimulation) but obviously missed that by a few weeks! Inspired by two prompts on the Faberry Prompts tumblr (x) and (x)
The layout of the school is taken from Vulture's map of McKinley High.
Read at FF.net, AO3 or here/under the cut.
---
Rachel’s not sure what propels her in this particular direction on this particular day. Normally after belting out the day’s frustrations in song, she leaves the auditorium, drops by her locker, and then heads straight out to the parking lot.
Today she’s so preoccupied that she’s halfway to the gym before she even realizes. Perhaps her subconscious is hoping to run into Finn post-basketball.
She peeks through the gym doors, slightly disheartened to find it completely deserted, but before she can walk away a flash of movement catches her eye.
Pausing, Rachel realizes the door to the Cheerios locker room has been left ajar. Presumably by accident, as she’s sure the Cheerios – however confident they might be – would not want just anybody to be able to see in. Jacob Ben Israel walks these halls after all.
Despite the hell often rained upon her by McKinley’s cheerleaders, Rachel is not the type of person to just walk away. She takes a few steps towards the door and reaches for the handle when someone comes into focus.
She’s facing away from the door, clad only in her Cheerios skirt and a black sports bra.
Rachel’s hand grips the handle and she freezes. She wants to turn, to run, but she’s transfixed by the smooth, milky skin of Quinn’s back.
Quinn bends down to untie her white sneakers, and Rachel can’t help her eyes trailing up the back of Quinn’s long legs.
An unexpected burst of arousal shoots through her.
‘God bless the perv indeed,’ Rachel thinks wryly.
The desire to bend down and kiss every inch of those legs consumes her.
Until Quinn’s muscles tense and she reaches around to undo her bra strap.
A shiver runs down Rachel’s spine.
The bra falls away.
She’s sure she stops breathing.
A phone rings.
Her vision blurs.
As Quinn reaches for her phone, Rachel comes to her senses and runs.
She sprints down the corridor, accidentally banging her bag against the hallway wall. Without looking back she launches herself into Mr Schue’s classroom just as she hears Quinn call out ‘perv’ and slam the locker room door shut.
Rachel sinks down against the door, partly to block herself from view and partly because her legs just don’t want to hold her up anymore.
‘What just happened?’
She’s never been attracted to another girl before, but there is no mistaking what she felt while looking at Quinn.
It’s at least an hour before she dares to move, by which time it’s getting dark out, but she couldn’t risk being caught by Quinn and – if she’s honest – she couldn’t stop getting lost in the memories of what she’d seen and how her body had reacted to it.
It’s the memory of Quinn’s skin and the thought of touching it, of kissing it, that has Rachel searching against her hand later that evening.
In fact, it becomes a nightly activity.
Several weeks after the incident in the locker room, Rachel is much less confused but much more sexually frustrated.
Seeing Quinn walk around in her Cheerios outfit is the sweetest form of torture she’s ever experienced, but it’s their close proximity in the sectionals dressing room that leaves her barely able to breathe.
Almost all of the New Directions are in the foyer celebrating the win with their families, but Rachel’s dads aren’t there and neither are Quinn’s parents, which leaves them alone in the dressing room.
“You were wonderful tonight, Quinn,” Rachel says sincerely.
“Thanks, Rachel. So were you,” Quinn responds with a smile.
Rachel ducks her head and thinks, ‘it’s now or never’.
“I, uh,” she stops to clear her throat. “Could you unzip me?”
Quinn says nothing, just motions for Rachel to come closer.
When Rachel stands in front of her, Quinn’s long fingers slip under Rachel’s hair, gathering it gently and sweeping it over her left shoulder.
Some stray hairs dance against her neck and Rachel feels Quinn’s finger slide across her skin in an effort to put them back in place.
Gripping the zipper Quinn pulls it down agonizingly slow. Her thumb is either mistakenly or intentionally placed to drag a long line down Rachel’s spine and a trail of goose bumps breaks out beneath her touch.
Rachel’s shallow breathing is almost panting in and out of her dry mouth – the only part of her that is dry – and it’s all she can do to stay as still as possible.
When the zipper is fully down, Rachel sucks in a breath and starts to move but Quinn’s hand on her waist stills her.
The other hand slides inside the zipper and ghosts over Rachel’s back, pushing one side of the dress away.
Rachel stops breathing altogether when she feels Quinn’s lips press against the back of her neck.
The next kiss is wetter and behind her ear, which almost causes Rachel’s knees to buckle but Quinn’s firm hand on her waist grounds her.
She opens her mouth to say something, anything, because she’s Rachel Berry and she can’t help but speak even when it might ruin everything. But before she can, a burst of excited chatter is outside the door, and she freezes as she realizes her teammates are about to walk in.
Before Rachel can even pull her thoughts into any kind of plan or explanation, Quinn’s hand is out of her dress, her zipper has been returned to its original position and she feels a reassuring squeeze on her waist.
“To be continued,” is whispered in her ear before Quinn grabs her bag and walks out.
Written for Day Two of Faberry Week 2014 - Meeting Frannie.
Rachel volunteered her services to sing to patients at the hospital. She never expected anyone to recognise her voice from her MySpace videos, or as the patient laying in the bed said, "that voice from that video that my sister would listen to on loop for weeks"
Endless thanks to Faberry Prompts for the idea.
Canon until the scene referenced from 1x04 Preggers. Diverts from canon at that point.
Read at FF.net, AO3, or here/under the cut
---
Rachel Berry is entirely sick and tired of her talent not being appreciated.
Her MySpace posting schedule has significantly decreased since the videos became a playground for the Cheerios’ most vicious insults, and while Glee Club was supposed to be a sanctuary, it’s turning out to be anything but.
She is storming down the hallway after Mr Schuester once again ruined her life, this time by giving Tina the solo in Tonight, as she tries to decide how she might take revenge.
Arriving home, Rachel pulls out her notepad with the blue and yellow star border and sits down at her desk to write.
‘PLACES/PEOPLE THAT WILL APPRECIATE MY TALENT’
She starts to write ‘community theater’, but then she remembers how she was fired from young Cosette after a particularly heated difference of opinion with the director and asked never to return.
A few minutes later, the list includes ‘singing telegram’ and…that’s about it.
Turns out this is harder than it looks. Surely there are plenty of people that would appreciate her talent.
“That’s it,” Rachel exclaims moments later.
---
She tries Lima Memorial first, but they hang up on her when starts singing a Celine Dion song down the phone. On the second call, to Kindred, the receptionist laughs at her.
She finally gets through to St Rita’s volunteer coordinator, who tells Rachel that the only opening they have is delivering flowers.
“I’ll take it,” she says, deciding that no one will mind if her flower deliveries come with musical accompaniment.
---
Dressed in her best plaid skirt the next afternoon, Rachel plasters a smile on her face and marches through the front doors of St Rita’s Medical Center.
“I’m Rachel Berry. Could you please point me in the direction of the Volunteer Center? The patients are in for a treat today because–“
“Down that way, take the lifts down to LL, turn right, through the doors,” a tired voice cuts in.
“Thank you,” Rachel responds with a smile, and heads off with a skip in her step.
---
So far three nurses have shushed her, and a doctor cursed at her for accidentally hitting him with a bunch of flowers while she belted out the final note to ‘Let It Be’.
On her last delivery of the day - an arrangement of pansies to a young woman along with a spectacular - if she may say so herself - rendition of ‘Over The Rainbow’, when an annoyed voice cuts in.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Rachel hears from a young blonde woman across the room, who is giving her a very familiar glare.
“Excuse me,” Rachel says, suddenly uncertain.
“I thought being in here I’d at least get a break from your singing.”
“How, um, how…do I know you?”
“No,” the blonde says pointedly. “My irritating little sister will not stop playing your videos on Myspace. She’s obsessed. I mean, seriously, who still uses Myspace?”
“I’ll have you know that–“
“No no pipsqueak. Myspace is dead. Move on.”
“Just who do you think you are?”
“I’m Frannie. Frannie Fabray. I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but your voice is more annoying in person than in your videos.”
“You’re…Quinn’s sister?”
“She’s my sister, yes.”
“Wait,” Rachel says. “You said your sister watches my videos. You have another sister?”
“No, just Quinnie,” Frannie drawls with a roll of her eyes. “Anyway, you can leave now.”
“But–“
Frannie holds up her hand to silence Rachel then waves her out of the room.
Rachel backs out of the room, and turns to walk down the corridor. It’s not often that someone gets the better of Rachel in a verbal confrontation, but she puts it down to the surprising news that Quinn has been watching her videos, even if she can’t put her finger on why.
That question keeps her so preoccupied for the rest of the evening that she can’t focus on her homework, her fathers’ questions about her day, or even her vocal exercises. It’s a disaster.
She channels her frustration into song then spends an hour trying to decide whether or not to put it on her MySpace page. In the end, her ambition wins out and she sighs, hits the upload button, and gets ready for bed.
---
It’s between third and fourth period the next day when Rachel first spots Quinn, alone at her locker. She walks toward her and for a second is sure she hears Quinn humming the song from her most recent video. She stills, and unwittingly draws Quinn’s attention.
“What are you looking at, Treasure Trail?”
“I thought I heard you humming just now. It happened to be the same song that I recorded on my MySpace page last night,” Rachel responds.
A flash passes through Quinn’s eyes, before takes a step closer to Rachel and fixes her with a glare so fierce there are practically flames coming from her eyes.
“How would I know what songs you’ve ruined on your stupid MySpace page, Ra– Stubbles?“
They stare at each other for a few more moments, Quinn trying to keep her breathing under control, while Rachel tries to get a read on Quinn.
Before she can say anything else to an almost-shaking Quinn, Santana and Brittany walk up and Rachel suddenly sees Quinn fold her emotions into herself and replace them with an ice-cold mask.
“You best be moving along, midget,” Santana tells Rachel, who looks back at Quinn for a second before turning and walking away.
She turns back to look again as she reaches her classroom, but all she sees is Quinn and Brittany laughing while Santana is hitting herself in the nose with an imaginary microphone.
---
After school she’s back at the hospital, although this time with a strong caution from the volunteer coordinator that if there’s any more singing, she will be forced to ask Rachel to leave.
Rachel knows of at least three patients she can ask to sign a petition that she plans to submit to the volunteer coordinator, and as she’s mentally writing the accompanying letter, she turns the corner without looking and smacks straight into someone.
“Quinn,” Rachel squeaks.
Out of her usual Cheerios outfit, Quinn’s long hair is flowing around her shoulders and she’s wearing a pink dress and white cardigan.
Quinn’s hands fly up and she pushes Rachel backwards - hard. Rachel’s head hits the wall and her eyes close instinctively as she winces in pain. She awaits a flurry of insults to be hurled her way.
Instead, soft lips press urgently against hers and then, just as quickly, they’re gone again.
Mind reeling, Rachel’s eyes open but Quinn is already walking away, heading in the direction of Frannie’s room.
Rachel catches Kurt doing something she could never have expected. Could it be the catalyst for something between Rachel and Quinn?
Endless thanks to Faberry Prompts for the idea.
Read at FF.net, AO3, or here/under the cut
It could probably be traced back to the red carpet of Quinn Fabray's very first movie role.
It was a small role, with less than a dozen lines of dialogue, but it had a few big names in it and she was invited to walk the carpet when it premiered at Tribeca.
So maybe it was her connections from Jodie Foster's Clambake who were to blame…or thank.
Or maybe it was her ex-boyfriend, Steven, who cancelled on her at the last minute.
Or maybe it was inevitable.
---
Quinn had been sharing an apartment in Manhattan with Rachel and Kurt since graduating from Yale. It wasn't always smooth sailing, and she had to put up with her fair share of diva tantrums, but they also put up with her and at least Kurt helped keep the apartment clean.
That's what Kurt was doing that Saturday, cleaning the kitchen, while Rachel and Quinn bought groceries. Or at least that's what he was supposed to be doing. When he heard the keys in the door, he flew off the couch, slamming his laptop shut before rushing to the kitchen and picking up some dirty mugs.
"I'm telling you, Quinn. It's eleven years, not twelve," he heard Rachel insist as the door swung open.
"No it's not," Quinn's tone was matter-of-fact but playful. "In fact, I'm willing to bet you dinner that I'm right."
"Hello Kurt," Rachel addressed him as they entered the kitchen with several bags, overstuffed with food.
He looked up and caught Quinn's eyebrow raised at the lack of progress he'd made in cleaning, and he quickly turned away and back to the task at hand.
"Ladies," he greeted them. "What's the bone of contention today?"
He heard Rachel huff but he refused to turn around, afraid of the silent wrath Quinn Fabray might unleash with only her gaze.
"Oh, it's just Quinn trying to pretend she knows more about Broadway than I do," she tossed over her shoulder as she walked towards the living room.
"She's about to be proved wrong," Rachel said as she sat down on the couch and reached for Kurt's laptop. "I'm just going to use your laptop, Kurt."
"Wait Rachel, no!" he called loudly, stumbling over a grocery bag in his haste, but it was too late.
She was looking at the screen with a frown and his stomach lurched.
Time seemed to slow to a stop, and he debated making a run for the front door but his feet were rooted to the spot.
"QUINN," Rachel shrieked just then.
"Rachel," he started but she made no move to acknowledge him, continuing to scan the screen with wide eyes.
"So are you ready to concede?" Quinn questioned as she entered the room, trailing off as she looked between Kurt who was still frozen in horror and Rachel, who ignored her.
Suddenly, without a word, Rachel stood up and handed the computer to Quinn.
Quinn looked at her questioningly before gazing down at the words on the screen, scanning quickly down the page before her cheeks reddened and she closed it, returning it to the table.
She looked back at Rachel and felt as if she was watching the countdown to an explosion, but it never arrived.
"Kurt, what is that?" Rachel asked in an eerily calm voice.
He swallowed before responding.
"Well, it's called RPF," he began. "Real Person Fiction and it's, uh, well it's about the two of you."
When he received no response, he took it as his cue to continue.
"I found it about six months ago and–"
"Six MONTHS ago?" Rachel roared, finally breaking the peace. "Why didn't you tell us about it? I could have gotten my publicist to take it down, or…or I don't know, done something. How could someone write a story like this about us?" she motioned between herself and Quinn, who still had not uttered a word.
"Honey," he started calmly. "It's not just one story. There are over 300 stories."
"Three hundred?" Rachel whispered, with a tinge of awe. "But…"
He motioned for them to sit, but neither woman moved so he stayed standing and continued.
"From what I can tell, it's been going on for almost two years. Ever since the 'Flowers for Sarah' premiere.
"Some of them are sure you're a couple, others aren't convinced, but everyone WANTS you to be a couple," he finished.
"Me and…Quinn," Rachel shook her head incredulously.
"Yes Rachel. You and Quinn," he chanced another look over at Quinn, whose features were perfectly schooled into a mask of nonchalance.
"But why would you read them?" Rachel questioned.
"Well I don't read the smutty ones," he responded.
"There are SMUTTY ONES," Rachel exploded, rubbing her temples.
Quinn slipped quietly from the room at that moment, closing her bedroom door behind her.
---
Several hours later there was a knock at Quinn's door, and a head of long brown hair poked inside.
"I brought you some food," Rachel said quietly as she waited for a sign that she could come in. Normally they went in and out of each others' rooms with ease, but this time it seemed right to wait.
"Thanks Rachel," Quinn said, sitting up and smiling as Rachel made her way over, passed Quinn the plate and settled onto the other side of the bed.
"Are you alright, Quinn? You haven't said anything.
"I'm fine," Quinn replied, reaching out to give Rachel's hand a reassuring squeeze. "How are you?"
"Well it's been quite the evening. You wouldn't believe the things that Kurt showed me," she paused momentarily.
"I admit it's slightly overwhelming that they are so invested in whether or not we are romantically involved, but they love it, they love us."
She was pretty sure that wasn't going to be the argument that convinced Quinn, fiercely private as she was, but Rachel couldn't ignore that small part of her that had always kind of, but not really, but sort of thought having a stalker was truly 'making it'.
"They look at photos of us at events, for instance at the press event when they announced the cast for the Aladdin national tour, and they analyze the way we look at each other and how many times we touch or hold hands.
"And then they were keeping track of how many times you came to see the show when we were touring. I don't even know how they would know that but they do.
"Like Kurt mentioned, there's a video of our interview at your premiere, and they go gaga over it, convinced that we're staring at each other, completely besotted."
If Quinn knew what Rachel was talking about, she didn't let on. She just continued to eat the sandwich Rachel brought and listened.
"And then, and this is what you saw, they write stories that fill in the blanks between all these moments. Or they take us and put us in another situation entirely, like meeting for the first time on the set of a film or giving us completely different jobs and history.
"I still haven't gotten to the bottom of why Kurt is reading it and why he didn't tell us about it, but I will," she finished with a nod just as Quinn took her last bite and placed her plate on the nightstand.
They leaned back against the headboard, Rachel's arm falling naturally between their bodies, while Quinn consciously kept her hands to herself.
Her relationship with Rachel wasn't something she spent a lot of time thinking about. It just was. They were close, like lots of close girlfriends, and of course that translated to holding hands or lying in bed talking until all hours of the morning.
But skimming that page of text, which described some overly saccharine, grand romantic declaration of love from the top of the Empire State Building, awoke something inside her. Sure, the story was tacky and Quinn didn't think she'd ever actually be okay with such a public and predictable display of emotion, but it suddenly had her questioning herself.
She'd been in the same spot, staring up at the ceiling for hours, contemplating the question over and over.
'Do I have feelings for Rachel?'
Ever since Rachel stepped in for Steven the first time, there was never any doubt that Rachel would be her date to any premieres, parties or other industry events that followed. She used to tell herself it was because Rachel was so good at networking, and that it was good for them to be seen at each other's events.
But the longer she thought about it, the harder it was to ignore the funny flip her stomach would do whenever Rachel emerged from her bedroom dressed in a form-fitting dress with her hair swept to one side.
She couldn't help but remember the tingling in her palm whenever Rachel held her hand on red carpets, or played with her fingers while they lay in bed talking.
There was no avoiding the fact that looking Rachel in the eye caused her breath to catch, or that being around her made Quinn happy in a way she didn't think she ever had been.
She knew Rachel would be getting anxious about her silence.
Rolling her head to the side, she took in Rachel's profile for a few seconds, before Rachel turned to meet her gaze.
