Glee 1. Fluff

**AN:** This is basically where I'm going to post drabbles/one shots etc that people have given me prompts for on tumblr

My tumblr url is: bh9uk

Feel free to send me prompts and/or to track my tag which is bh9uk prompt

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing

This is for pensieri23 who wanted some fluff. I'm starting small to try and oil the wheels because as some of you may know, I'm much more at home with angst and heart ache :P

This is terrible and unbetad but it's a start haha.

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The walk from the VW bug to Santana's dorm was made in comfortable silence, even if her heart was racing a mile a minute. The night held so much she would never have expected but maybe she should have, it's not like she hadn't seen the brunette with her ex.

The adjustment was weird; they'd spent so many years as friends only to become some warped mix between that and more. It'd been unhealthy, the amount of time they'd spent with their heads buried deep beneath the sand and Quinn was happy to finally free herself from the confusion and truly experience Santana.

As the warm breeze blew comfortably through her hair; a hand grazed Santana's, her heart almost escaping her chest at the briefest of touches. She found her cheeks warming, a slow smile forming on her lips as she bashfully turned to look off at the distant soccer field in an attempt to hide from her date.

Before she even had a chance to calm the racing in her chest; Santana's fingers laced through her own, pulling to turn her, so they were facing one another. The breathy chuckle that fell from her friend's lips has Quinn's breath hitching, finding her mouth is suddenly far too dry to speak.

Santana looks calm and contented, like this is the easiest thing she's ever done and it leaves the ex-captain uneasy in her own mass of nerves. She's never felt so vulnerable, her heart feeling as though it could float off at any second. It's scary to think one person could make her feel so.. everything. There isn't a word that could describe the beautifully conflicting emotions that are swimming round inside her and even if there was, it could never do it justice.

She worried her lower lip, Santana stepping forward to close the distance, at such ease with her movements that the blonde simply lets her eyes flutter closed. The smell of familiar perfume sends a wave of calm over her as she bows her head to lean against her date's, the free hand finding itself on a slim waist.

Really, it doesn't make sense. Everything's been done backwards; from sleeping together after a long night of drinking to Santana finally relinquishing her insecurities and asking Quinn out on an official date. She shouldn't be feeling the swarm of butterflies that are currently inhabiting her stomach, not from such simple gestures that this doorframe has seen umpteen times over the past few months.

Still; her heart stuttered all the same as a soft hand caressed a cheek, hazel meeting chocolate through hooded lids before they glance down to full lips. Grip tightening on the fabric of her dress; their noses brush before their sweet, warm breath is mixing, being inhaled by the other, Santana's thick voice breaking the silence as she speaks softly, not wanting to lose the seemingly impenetrable bubble that's grown around them in this moment.

"..So, I can call you mine now?" Quinn's heart squeezed pleasantly at the words, sincerity evident in both the steady voice and warming eyes as she continued to search them besides. Their lips touched ever so slightly, the taller girl husking out a response before capturing a soft pillow between her own; her heart threatening to stop completely as her entire being felt like it was being run on adrenalin alone.

"I was always yours." Slender fingers tangled through blonde as Santana reunited their lips, Quinn's breath growing shallower the longer it continued. She couldn't help the smile that tugged on her lips only for it to widen as she felt Santana mirror the movement.

Oddly, this felt like the most intimate moment they'd shared, because despite the lack of bare skin; the night had seen them shed their deepest fears which they'd always help so tightly, instead, choosing to hold each other.

As they blindly found their way into the room, pausing every few steps as they got lost in one another, everything else was forgotten. The only thing that mattered was each other. They had finally dared to risk it all and now they lay half naked atop Santana's comforter, the brunette looking down into the eyes she'd been lost in so many times before, finally allowing the words she'd held back so many times to be breathed out.

"I love you."


	2. You're Not Easy To Love

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing

_It's slightly longer than a drabble but you can deal ;)_

_The prompt is loosely the lyrics to Rihanna's Complicated._

_(Un-edited & un-beta'd)_

I don't want to leave; it's the absolute last thing I want. But I can't keep running in the same circles, playing into the same hand, time and time again. I'm a glutton for punishment yet even _I_ know I've been playing this masochistic game for long enough.

I'm sat on our bed, packed suitcase lying next to me and I don't think I could tell you how many times I've been here. In a way it's become part of our routine and I honestly couldn't tell you what I'd think if we made it a month without having had this same argument, without ending things; without me leaving the woman I love to stand alone in our kitchen, glass of wine in hand.

The only difference this time is I don't think I have it in me to come back. I'm sick of living this monotonous routine, I'm not happy and I know she isn't either. I don't know how we could possibly get back from this; she's not willing to reduce her hours and I'm not willing to have a relationship with an answering machine. It's not that I don't understand her drive to work, the passion she has for her job; I know I love my own more than most. For her though, it's an obsession. She trusts no one, she hates delegating the many tasks to her team, a perfectionist through and through which usually leaves her to do the job of 5.

I couldn't pin point the moment Santana began to love her job more than her fiancé but I can tell you it was a long time back now. I've stayed, hoping, praying that she might see what she's doing to us, what she's doing to me.

But here we are again.

It's our anniversary, yet the dinner I spent hours preparing is sat cold at the dinner table, the candle wax spilling down the side from the hours they've been lit. She left the house at 6am for work, getting home past 9 having promised me she would be home for 7. I begged her to take the day off, I knew she'd be exhausted and more than that, I knew she'd be late. Two hours. Two hours she had me sat there, not a phone call or text, heading straight to the kitchen for wine upon getting home, walking right past me without so much as a hello, let alone a sorry.

I don't know who she is anymore. She's not the loving, passionate woman that stole my heart on the streets of New York. She's not who I fell in love with but that doesn't change the fact that I do, still, love her. Just as I don't know how I can continue this self-destructive routine, I don't know how I'd survive without her.

She's not only my fiancé, the love of my life, she's my best friend. But would leaving really be all that different? We barely exchange pleasantries as is; if I left, my day to day life wouldn't change. It's the idea that leaving means giving up. Giving up on her, giving up on us; giving up on happiness. And it's that thought that keeps me grounded to the bed; I know I could never be happy without her so surely it's better to be miserable with the one you love, than miserable and alone?

Shimmers of the old Santana still shine through, it's when I least expect it that she proves to me there's a chance. There's a chance we can be what we once were, or better yet, we could be something else entirely. But the glimpses are few and far between.

My heart sits heavy in my chest as I pull the suitcase off the bed and drag it across our bedroom floor, unlatching the door before walking through the living area. Santana's exactly where I left her, standing in the kitchen, wine glass in hand except she's already two thirds through her second glass and I've barely been gone half an hour. She knows this time is different, just as I do and she's hunched over the counter, forehead pressed to the cabinet above as she no doubt debates what to say to me.

I'm hovering in the door way and I know she senses my presence, she's tensed up, awaiting the words she knows are coming. They sound foreign on my tongue, as though they are betraying my every wish, probably because they are. And like that, I'm closing the door behind me, leaving the home we made for ourselves, tears sliding down my cheeks as I make the familiar walk for the very last time.

"I tried."


	3. The Morning After The Night Before

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing

**Prompt**  
_Anonymous: Santana and Quinn get completely drunk at a party and sleep together. In the morning Santana realizes it meant more to her than she assumed, but she reaches over to find Quinn and she is already gone. The pillow is already cold, and all that is left in her place is a short note…_

_(Un-edited & un-beta'd)_

Her head's pounding and her mouth is disgustingly dry as a crack of light fight's it's way through the closed blinds. It hadn't been a hard decision, whether or not to go to the party, her best friend having gotten the train in from New Haven to spend the weekend with her in her cramped dorm at NYU. They hadn't seen one another in months and a good night out was in dire need for both of them.

Burrowing her face further into the pillow, she can smell the remnants of Quinn's perfume and it's then when it hits her.

_I slept with Quinn last night._

Her stomach immediately turns to mulch as angst builds in her chest, yet she couldn't tell you why if you asked. So maybe she wasn't _normally_the one night stand type of girl but it wasn't like she'd never had friends with benefits. This though.. this definitely wasn't how she'd felt after any of them. In fact, she couldn't recall _ever_ feeling this way and that thought alone had her body stiffening in realisation.

Eyes now open; she sucks in her lips, brow furrowed as she tries to wrap her head around the idea that she just might have feelings for her best friend. It's the absolute last thing anyone wants to be faced with after a drunken one night stand, even more so when said friend was supposedly straight.

Grimacing; she finally finds it within herself to roll over, preparing herself for the most awkward conversation possible, only to be faced with empty space. Her stomach sinks and before she has time to convince herself that she's just gone to the bathroom, she spots the note on the side table. She knows it won't hold anything she wants to read and screams at herself to turn back around and pretend none of this ever happened.

Being the masochist she is, her hand reaches out, shaking ever so slightly as it hovers over the ripped paper. She's sat up now, back against the wall as she stares at the perfect calligraphy she'd come to recognize as Quinn's but nothing's going in. Her eyes look blankly at the paper, not acknowledging the words as they run repeatedly over the small message.

Finally; the words absorb into her mind, eyes widening further with each word and she thinks she might throw up from how quickly everything just did a 360.

_Morning,_

_I've gone on the hunt for showers seeing as you would sleep through the zombie apocalypse. Don't leave or I'll be locked out,_

_Q x_

Unable to stop the smile creeping across her face, she rolled back down into her bed, squeezing her eyes tight for an entirely different reason as she tried to control the racing of her heart. Turning to look up at the ceiling, the grin refuses to leave her lips as she the nerves from earlier settle back in, all too comfortably.

The sound of her door opening brings her back to reality as she leans up on one elbow, heat warming her cheeks as Quinn slides into the room in nothing but a towel, her towel. Hazel eyes find her easily, noting the message still held between caramel fingers as she rests her back to the door.

"Hey.."


	4. Jelous Quinn vs Britt

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing

_So I'm a terrible person and stole inspiration from a prompt my good friend Pensieri23 was talking about haha. We both took completely different routes and I look forward to reading hers!_

_**Prompt: Jelous!Quinn vs Britt**_

_Mine is set the Summer after I Do_

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It's June by the time all the graduates return to Lima and Summer Vacation's well and truly on the way. Whilst Quinn would rather be holed up alone in New Haven, preferably reading her favourite childhood Classic, she'd been forced to spend the holiday back in Lima

When the group text flashed on her phone from Puckerman, she knew before even opening it, that it was an invite to one of his infamous pool parties. After tapping out a reply, she rifled through her drawers, pulling out various bikini sets before finally settling on her favourite red one.

It'd been four months since she and Santana had stood in the same room, let alone the same state and despite having spoken umpteen times on the phone; she couldn't help the nerves bubbling in her stomach as she approached the house. Walking round the back, her face lit up instantly at the sight of her old school friends, Brittany squashing her in a bear hug before she'd even managed a hello.

After greeting the majority of the group, she was finally given the chance to find a deck chair, eyes betraying her as they searched in vain for the brunette she'd been most looking forward to seeing. Less than ten minutes later; Santana had turned up, donning nothing but a skimpy bikini top and jean shorts that shouldn't really qualify as anything other than underwear.

Waiting for the crowds to disperse, Quinn stayed put, hoping for a reunion slightly more personal than the generic 'wow it's been forever' that the rest of the group had been gushing.

Most people had drifted away, returning to their drinks and pool games, leaving hazel eyes to watch critically as a blue eyed blonde pulled the brunette over to her chair. She watched as Brittany jumped into easy conversation, barely leaving Santana room for comment as her hands seemed drawn, naturally, to the caramel skin they used to wander daily.

She was glad for her sunglasses as her gaze refused to leave the sight of her friends across the pool, jaw stiff as her brow furrowed ever so slightly. She didn't even know why she was so bothered; they'd always been like this, always inseparable, leaving her to watch from the side lines.

Something was different this time though and she wasn't sure if it was due to the rigid way Santana sat as a cream hand touches her thigh affectionately or if it's the way she snatches the sun lotion from those same hands before she had a chance to spread it over her already tanned skin.

For some reason, watching that relaxed her slightly and she felt herself melting into the deck chair as she forced her mind from over-analysing the scene she'd just watched play out. Eyes only closing for what felt like the briefest of moments, she was shocked to feel the shift in weight, causing them to snap open once again. Feeling glued to the spot, it felt almost impossible to breathe as her eyes remained locked with chocolate, _even behind_ her aviators.

Pulling her legs in to cross them; she allowed space for her friend to mirror the position, sitting in comfortable silence as a shy smile tugged on full lips, working like a domino effect for her own.

She didn't know why, but her gaze shifted over the shorter girl's shoulder, noting the pale blonde sat stiff in her chair, frown etched visibly onto her features as she no doubt tried to comprehend when it changed to _her_ being left the outsider.

Maybe it was selfish but Quinn couldn't bring herself to think on it for more than a moment, her eyes already being pulled back to the girl in front of her as she noted the ease in their situation. Taking off her sunglasses, she took Santana's hand, pulling her up as she stood from the seat. "Come on, it's about time you showed me your drink mixing skills."


	5. Forbidden Love

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing_

_I really enjoyed this prompt, I'm not entirely sure if it's what the anon was looking for but it definitely fulfilled an idea I'd been playing with for a while._

_My favourite film is The Help. I've set this in that era in Jackson, Mississippi and I honestly don't mean to offend anyone with the content; I've just tried to keep the realism of how things were back then._

_I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)_

_(un-edited & un-beta'd)_

_-it flits between pov's and im tired so sorry if it doesn't flow well-_

Please track the tag **bh9uk prompt** for all drabbles and oneshots.

**Prompt:**  
**Anonymous: quinntana AU: forbidden love :) thanks**

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It's Friday night; family night and the Fabray household are sat in silence around the dinner table. Frannie and her husband still come over, after all they only live 3 doors down and Sam is sat pride of place, to Russell's right having married his youngest only a few months back.

Everyone is focused on Sam's news; he's taking over his Father's business, a very respectable company, no doubt why he was chosen as a suitor for her in the first place. They're hanging on his every word but Quinn's heard this story 5 times already and she could recite it backwards in her sleep after a bottle of wine. Unlike the eyes directed at the blonde to her left; hazel follow the slim frame that circles the table, plating the various items of food with such intricacy, noting the way her brow is slightly furrowed in concentration, how she's silently repeating the order she needs to follow.

She can feel eyes on her but she knows better than to return the look, only letting her eyes dart up as she walks through the doorway to the kitchen. Their eyes lock and for a moment it's like nothing else exists except the soulful eyes that seem to tell a thousand stories and she'd give anything to pause the world and give each one her undivided attention, learning about this beautiful woman that cares not for the iron fist that rules their lives.

This is the last thing she should be thinking about, everything about this is wrong and she's not even sure which reason damns her the most. For a start, she's a woman and there's nothing in this world that would make that be okay, especially not in Jackson, Mississippi. If that fact alone wasn't enough; her Father is her employer, she's his maid and further still, his Hispanic maid.

Slapping her forehead; she reminds herself just how much is riding on this job, that she has brothers and sisters at home that will go hungry if she doesn't pull this off. It's her first week here, meaning her first Friday and she's already terrified of her own shadow.

Back in the dining room Quinn's barely touched her food. The incessant talking has turned into white noise as she replays the deep, chocolate eyes that seemed to read her bare soul in that short moment, unsure if she's ever known such beauty. She never understood how she could be raised by a 'woman of colour' yet as soon as she was old enough to marry; she was expected to treat the person she considered her Mother like a second class citizen. But here in Jackson, she isn't supposed to think; she isn't here to offer her opinion, however educated and more importantly, here in Jackson, they _are_ second class citizens.

Still, as the raven haired girl enters the room again, she finds it impossible to tear her eyes away. She's drawn to her, in every way possible and unlike the message that's been drilled into her since birth; she wants nothing more than to see just how perfectly the caramel skin compliments her own cream, to lace their fingers together.

It's instinct, almost animalistic how she craves the girl's closeness and it's feeling she knows she shouldn't be appeasing but as she subtly spills some of the red wine down her dress, she reminds herself that she's never been one to accept statements as fact without personal experience.

As she quietly excuses herself from the table, Sam stands in a gentlemanly fashion but the rest of the table barely bats an eyelid. It's just as she expected and she's grateful for that as she makes her way into the kitchen, running the warm tap over a dish cloth before it's being flicked off by slender fingers. Turning to face the offending woman, she's a little surprised to note just how close she's standing but definitely more than comfortable with it.

The atmosphere is thick and it feels hard to breathe as her head grows cloudy with their close proximity. There's something about her. This girl that can't be much older than herself, the way she stands tall when they're alone, how she seems unaware of the table full of people barely 3 steps away. Her eyes take in the maid's every feature appreciatively, noting how her lips seem impossibly full but finally settling that it's those eyes she can't stray away from.

They look at her like no one else does, like she's not just a daughter, a wife, a woman. She's a person and she's worthy of more than just to be owned by the various men in her life. It's a look appreciated by both sides, the worker having never been given more than a quick once over by any white person, never having had _anyone_ look at her with the intensity this blonde does.

Tanned fingers slip the cloth easily from Quinn's and finally their gaze is broken as she tips the bottle of white in her left hand to drench it entirely. Leaving the bottle on the side, she looks to the young girl for permission, moving to dab the stain after the almost unnoticeable nod of her head.

Quinn wants to tell her that she doesn't need to do this, that she has two perfectly good hands of her own but there's something about this that feels different and the brunette feels it too. If this was Miss Judy, she'd have waited for her to change before cleaning the stain and something in the back of her head is screaming that this is leading to trouble but she can't help herself. This girl didn't expect her to fix it and that only makes her want to do it more.

Glancing up, her breath hitches as she finds hazel boring into her. She feels the warmth of Quinn's breathe against her lips and it's working like liquor to take away all her inhibitions. It feels like an age that they stay like that, breath mixing as they stare intently into one another's eyes, neither daring to move for fear of breaking the moment. Her heart rate picks up and she's sure those hazel eyes are getting closer as her grip tightens slightly where it was holding the dress still at her hip.

"SANTANA!"

And like that, the moment's gone. The blonde remains unmoved, her eyes daring the brunette to stay, to let her relish in this for a second's longer. But she's already backing away, cloth dropped into the sink before she's walking back out to her father, only leaving an apologetic glance before she disappears.

Quinn can't help but stare after her, unable to move as she tries to comprehend what, exactly this is she's feeling. She's only just met this girl and yet it feels like everything she's ever dreamt of is getting further and further out of reach with each step she's taking back to the dining room. As she turns to take in her reflection in the kitchen window, realization washes over her like a bucket of cold water. Nothing will ever be the same now, not now she's felt such emotion. She's had a taste of what it feels to really be alive, to live as opposed to survive and it terrifies her to think she could never feel this again.

Her fingers trace the bottle, following the pattern of the glass as she remembers how delicate the girl's touch had been yet how deeply they'd touched her. She felt more in two minutes today than she's felt in her entire relationship with her husband but for now, this is it. For now, she needs to go back to Sam. For now, she needs to smile like she's not already breaking inside.

But behind her lids burns the memory of chocolate orbs, on her skin tingles the graze of soft fingers and in her heart whispers the name of_Santana._


	6. Thunderstorms

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing

_Okay so this kind of turned out more of a short one shot as opposed to a drabble but sue me :P_

_(un-beta'd)_

_[Thank you to Pensieri23 for forever being there to listen to me drone on 3 and to the anon that requested this]_

**Prompt:**

**Anonymous: Quinn is afraid of thunderstorms and it embarrasses her Santana is there to comfort her**

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Santana was a heavy sleeper, always had been; always would be. It was only in certain situations where she would wake before her third snooze alarm went off; and one of them was when her sub-conscience could tell something was off.

It had been 3 months since Mr Schue's non-wedding and Santana and Quinn had alternated getting the train to see each other every couple of weeks. Somehow, they'd managed to avoid the awkward, post one-night-stand tension and had eased into their usual dynamic. Well, that wasn't quite true. Their dynamic had changed ever so slightly, not enough for an outsider to notice but it was still there, underneath the surface, something both avoided and neither brought up.

Quinn had got in around 7pm and instead of hitting the New York club scene like they'd discussed, they ended up staying in with a bottle of red and one of Brooklyn's finest pizzas. After talking well into the night, the pair had finally decided to head to bed, still gossiping until their words were an incoherent slurr and marred with sleep deprivation.

It was around 3am when Santana stirred, face pushed impossibly deep into the pillow; it was a miracle she hadn't suffocated to death. As she heaved her body to roll blindly backwards across the bed; her hand landed on the cool mattress, contrasting horribly with how snug she was beneath the duvet.

A rumble of thunder was enough to tell her what was going on and she forced her eyes open a crack as she looked in vain around her section of the loft. Grunting as she dragged her heavy limbs from the bed, she didn't know what she'd expected at finding no Quinn in sight; after all, it wasn't like there was space to _breathe_ in her 'bedroom', let alone lounge around. Trudging into the living area, she wasn't surprised to see a blonde head poking up from the sofa, completely unaware of her presence.

Quinn had always been afraid of thunderstorms, it was something Santana had grown used to in their years of friendship but every time, without fail, Quinn would slink off in embarrassment to hide away in what she considered irrational fear.

Reaching the couch, Santana let her arms slide 'round her friend's neck, letting her head drop to the crook of her elbow as it leant against the blonde's.

Quinn's heart nearly jumped out of her chest at the unexpected contact, having been too busy counting the seconds between the thunder and consecutive lightning. The brunette groaned, mumbling into the sofa, eyes glued shut in an attempt to not wake up completely. "You're freezing." It was all she said but both girls knew; as Santana slid her arms back, slowly standing up, that it was a request to come back to bed.

Sighing softly, Quinn appeased her friend, raising herself off of the couch before walking round it to walk in step with the shorter girl. Grabbing the blonde's hand; Santana towed her along to her own side of the bed, sliding gratefully into the warmth of the bed and pulled her ex-captain so she lay on top. Santana was too tired to even consider her actions, all she knew was that Quinn was an ice block and that she was getting back to sleep if it was the last thing she did.

Blindly searching for her earphones with one hand, she almost shuddered at her friend's icy skin as their legs tangled amongst the sheets. Finally finding them, Santana clicked play on her 'Qs playlist' and lifted the Dre Beats to place over messy blonde hair. Blocking out the sound of the thunder, she pulled the covers over their heads, just as a flash of lightning lit up the room.

Within minutes she could feel Quinn sinking into her, her body relaxing as the music worked its' magic, her body melting into the heat of Santana's. They were both exhausted and half asleep; caramel hands finding the soft, creamy skin of the girl's back; sliding absentmindedly up and down beneath a thin pyjama top.

The comforting contact instantly pulled Quinn into a state of drowsiness and she felt her head lulling further into Santana's neck, soft breathes blowing against the sensitive skin there.

Santana wasn't too far behind, Quinn now not so much an ice sculpture as she was a human water bottle. The skin felt like silk beneath her fingers but she was already, almost too comatose to even acknowledge it. They fell asleep within minutes; the soft voice of Ed Sheeran playing a lullaby in Quinn's ears, her steady breathes playing a lullaby for Santana's. Wrapped in each other, thunderstorms were forgotten as their hearts matched pace, unaware of what the morning would bring them.


	7. Three Words

**Disclaimer:** I know nothing

An ACTUAL drabble for once. I'm tired and this sucks but it is what it is.

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We'll never happen because I read your texts over and over until my screen goes black and I no longer need to see them to know what they say. A thousand words battle for dominance over my mind but only 3 ever win out. My fingers remain un-moving, until I finally put my phone to the side. There's so much I've almost told you that I have to read everything back to check how much you know.

But you know nothing.

So we have nothing.

All because I'm too scared to say _I miss you._


	8. Fire and Ice

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing

**Prompt: **_Anonymous: fire and ice_

_(Set thanksgiving S4 -piano scene)_

_**A/N:**__ I find it hilarious that I was so exhausted when I posted the last one that my disclaimer says that I know nothing lmao_

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I've done it again.

It's not really all that much of a surprise; I've always had a short temper and Quinn's known how to push my buttons since 9th grade, she's never failed to make me bite. To think we've made the jump from frenemies to genuine friends isn't too much of a surprise_._ Quinn's always held a piece of me that I never quite understood and only now that we're over 800 miles apart has it sunk in just how much I need her in my life. It's insanity of the best kind, we're so incredibly similar yet so incredibly different that you'd think it'd be a disaster and in this moment, maybe it is.

The words are spat from my mouth before I have time to stop them, their venomous sting burning like hot flames as I try desperately to suck them back in. It seems to go in slow motion; the realisation of what I've said coursing through me like the feeling of liquor penetrating your every vein. I can see the flash of hurt, the disbelief that taints her features and pinpoint the exact moment that her shutters come crashing down.

Coincidentally it's after the slap fest, after her hand bruises my cheek and my own flies out in reflex. _Before_ Brittany comes in,_ before_ she catches us going at it; it's _then _that her eyes change. They close down, not allowing me entrance as she locks herself behind the safety of the walls she throws up –not unlike my own mechanism.

Half of me is ready to drag her back to me, to ignore Brittany and force Quinn to listen to the apology that's already dying to escape but I'm too caught up in the echo of her words that recur in my mind.

_You're just a scared little girl with low self-esteem who's too frightened to chase her dreams._

She's right. Still, I don't know how I'm even the slightest bit surprised because Quinn's always been a genius slapper and my mouth betrays me upon the realisation.

"Wait! Quinn!" The words are chasing after her before I'm even aware of my lips moving. As though she can't hear them bouncing from the walls; she continues to the corridor, leaving me to shake Brittany's grasp from my arm. "Quinn!"

It's seconds before I reach the space she occupied only moments ago but looking down the hall, she's already halfway out the side exit. I sprint after her, nothing but regret weighing me down as a slide through the closing door and reach her just as she moves for her car door.

My hand is on hers, a silent plea for her to hear me out before she checks out completely. "_What Santana?_" Her tone has me flinching, visibly taking a moment to register everything before I'm wetting my lips to continue.

"I.. uh.. I.." The words aren't coming. I don't know what's wrong because they were being screamed in my head as I chased after her but I guess Quinn's always been able to wipe my mind of all comprehendible thoughts.

"Spit it out; I'm not waiting around to be insulted again. Either say whatever it is you want to say or move." She's refusing to meet my eyes; hers are focused at a spot over my shoulder, purposefully avoiding the silent begging my own are doing.

It doesn't stop me from looking into them though; daring her to really _see_ me. Their usual hazel warmth has long since disappeared, now replaced with hard green as her jaw stays locked firmly in place. I reach out my hand but just as it brushes her forearm she yanks it away. Disgust is evident in her features and I find myself unsure of where to go from here.

This is different than the other times. We're no longer in high school and I can't use teen idiocy as an excuse any more.

"Please." My begging is barely above a whisper, eyes trained on the ground as I feel that tightening in my chest that always seems to come from inciting Quinn's pain. It's insane really, to think this entire back and forth came about because I couldn't handle Puck touching her like.._that._ I couldn't handle _anyone_ touching her like that.

I don't think I could ever admit it, even _if_ it explained away my actions because that's all it is –explanations, not excuses. Would she even understand if I tried? Could she fathom that it's _her? _That it's _always_been her? I can't remember a time when my heart hasn't ached for her closeness, that I haven't pushed us to breaking point just so I can see how I affect her; so I can feel her hand on my face, even for the briefest of moments.

The singular word is what manages to pierce through her armour as I feel her eyes burning into me. Her sigh is quiet and tired, defeat swimming through her entire body as her shoulders slump forward. The slightest quirk of an eyebrow tells me she's willing to listen and if I'm honest it throws me completely.

Again, I reach out for her, this time taking her hand and to my surprise, she lets me. The step forward is tentative; my entire body cautious, like approaching a wild horse that could spook at any second. As the distance is closed, her eyes follow suit and I can visibly see her body relaxing as my eyes scour her every feature.

I'm opening my mouth to speak but before a single syllable can escape, my body is flush against Quinn's. All I can feel is her warmth and how her head seems to curl into my neck despite the height difference. The action is completely unexpected and leaves me frozen for a good minute as her steady breaths that blow against my skin seem to calm my racing heart.

Her arms wrap tightly around me and it's only then that my body returns to life. I mirror her position, my chin resting on her shoulder as my forehead creases in an attempt to understand what's happening. I can feel her tears wet against my neck as she melts into me, raising a hand to slowly stroke through her blonde locks.

It's grown a bit since we last saw one another and she's changed her perfume. She doesn't smell like _my_ Quinn anymore and even though she was never mine to claim, I can't help missing the familiar scent.

The passion from earlier has simmered down and I'm left with nothing but questions to taunt me as I try to allow myself to enjoy the embrace, however unpleasant it is to be the cause of her tears.

I guess this is me and Quinn all over; her, the ice queen and me, the disgustingly stereotypical hot head that I am. I can't seem to decide if we'd be the perfect match or the ultimate death trap. After all, do fire and ice level each other out? Or does the flame melt the ice to nothing, leaving it to drip until the fire is fully extinguished?

I'm not sure how much it all matters in the end. I'm in love with her, have been for as long as I can remember. She's a part of me and whether she's the solution to my every problem or the cause; there _is_ no light without shade and _no_ good without bad. For me, there is no future without Quinn.


End file.
