Sins of My Youth
Title: Sins of My Youth
Author: only_because3 or jeytonbrucasnaley
Rating: T for now
Pairing: Quinn/Santana, Quinn/Puck, Santana/Brittany
Summary: “God, that’s such complete bullshit, especially coming from you.” Quinn pulls her hand back sharply as Santana takes in a big gulp of air to continue. “Not winning prom queen is going to make you feel ever more insecure about yourself for like, ever, even though that stupid piece of plastic doesn’t mean shit. Brittany is my best friend. I’ve known her since we were eight. She’s always going to matter, more so now that she… That I’m… That.” She squeezes her eyes shut, still unable to say it out loud because there is no coming back from that. She’s not a Fabray, even though she has spent the entire summer thus far in their house. She can’t acknowledge something and then pretend it didn’t happen.
Author's Note: Neon Trees has this album right? You have have heard of it, it's called Habits, and it's really amazing. I was listening to it on a loop a while back and expressed to my friend that it would be a nice concept to explore via Quinn and Santana. She immediately told me that I had to write this and I'm not allowed to quit this story. I plan on this story being on the long side (it's been growing and growing since I first came up with the concept) and I hope you all will give it a shot. I also apologize for the angst that accompanies this story.
--
It’s weird how much this reminds her of before. They’re at Puck’s, a place Quinn has avoided since she moved out of it, and all the usual suspects are there. Even though they’re not Cheerios anymore, they still hold enough rank at the school (and with Puck) to not get any shit for being at a party for jocks and cheerleaders.
Everyone is drinking, dancing, or both, and she remains on the edge of all of it. Before Santana would’ve ditched her in favor of Brittany or some other faceless jock the moment they walked through the door. Tonight, however, Santana stays next to her, nursing her 3rd cup of beer with her eyes trained on Brittany (who is already half naked on top of the coffee table). Before, Quinn would’ve been yelling at Finn to stop playing beer pong and pay attention to her, but now she doesn’t even bat an eye at her ex-boyfriend. Instead, she stays focused on Puck, who has been stopping by the old bookstore she works at during her shift to bug her. She’s already stopped drinking because two beers in, and she could feel anger rising inside of her and she honestly doesn’t want to fight with anyone tonight, especially if she’s going to have to take care of a weepy Santana.
She’s not sure if this is ‘growth’ yet.
“Do you guys even talk anymore,” she asks over the music, watching as Brittany unhooks her bra before turning her attention to the girl next to her.
Santana licks her lips unconsciously and shrugs. “Not really. Not about anything that matters.”
She and Santana have never been particularly close. There’s always been a rivalry between the two and they’re almost too alike for their own good. But New York was a bonding experience or whatever, and while she’s not exactly sure if they consider each other friends yet, this summer would be lonely without the other. Quinn spent most of last summer holed up in her room alone and she’s not looking for a repeat. It’s almost a good thing that Santana doesn’t have Brittany to hang out with anymore, but Quinn knows Santana is practically lost without her other half, so she can’t be too happy about not having a repeat of last summer. They’ve been hanging out pretty regularly since they came back from Nationals and obviously they talk (about clothes, gossip, and the merit of horrible reality shows), but the last serious moment they shared was when Santana suggested she cut her hair and that was over a month ago.
So her asking about Brittany is tentative and cautious, even if the booze in her makes it sound more bitchy than usual.
Santana downs the rest of her drink before tossing the cup on to the couch next to them. “This party blows.” Her hand snakes under the strap of her bra, pulling out a slightly damaged cigarette and a lighter. Brittany glances at her, a flirty smile on her face, as she holds the unlit cigarette between her lips. The other blonde invites her over with a tilt of her head, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet which makes other things bounce even more invitingly. Quinn elbows her and then points, as if she hadn’t seen the half naked girl she loves invite her over. “No,” she breathes out quietly, shaking her head so Brittany knows her answer too.
“Why the hell not?” Quinn’s voice is shrill and it makes her head hurt already, even though she’s only had 3 shots and 3 beers.
She finally flicks open her zippo and lights her cigarette, ignoring the pout that forms on Brittany’s face by turning to look at Quinn so Brittany is just a blur in her peripheral vision. “Can we go now?” Even though it’s a question, she nudges Quinn towards the door before she can answer.
--
“I don’t get it.” Santana blows out a stream of smoke before she turns to look at Quinn. “Why didn’t you go ‘dance’ with her?”
“Why didn’t you talk to Puckerman?” Her answer comes in the form of a glare and she can’t help the smirk that plays on her face.
Quinn seems to drop it after that and Santana’s glad because there’s too much going on in her head. It’s bad enough when she’s sober, but the fact that she’s more than a little drunk makes it worse. All she can think of is Brittany, Brittany, Brittany (for a split second, she thinks about the Brady Bunch and then grimaces because, really, could she think of a creepier comparison?).
Usually, when she’s drunk, she emotionally unloads or fucks someone. No matter what she does, that person is, or was, almost always Brittany. But they’ve only had sex twice this summer and Brittany was sad after the first time and just plain mad after the second.
“I don’t want you to touch me anymore,” she whispered, her bare back the only thing visible to Santana. “Not when you can’t kiss me in front of our friends.”
The problem is, Brittany is an easy drunk. And even though Santana wants (god, does she want) to touch Brittany again and as good as she knows they’d both feel, Brittany will be upset with herself. Besides, if Santana had actually ditched Quinn in favor of topless Brittany, that’d be like taking advantage of her and Santana’s tired of doing that to the girl she loves. And she supposes it’s kind of shitty to Quinn too.
She glances over at Quinn briefly, smiling when she notices the blonde carefully avoiding the cracks in the sidewalk. The thought of having extreme word vomit in front of Quinn is in no way appealing. Quinn doesn’t do feelings, even more so than Santana, which actually worries her a lot. Santana may be a bitch but if she were in Quinn’s shoes, she doubts that she’d be able to stand most days, and as fucked up as Quinn is, she’s pretty functional. The only time she’s really seen Quinn break down was in New York and even then she still seemed so… guarded. Santana can only assume that Quinn would stare at her awkwardly if she broke down crying about how much she loves Brittany.
On the other hand, Santana knows that talking about her shit is more likely to happen than getting in Quinn’s pants. The blonde is decidedly straight, even if she does make Santana’s gaydar ping on occasion (and Santana’s gaydar is nothing short of amazing), and Santana doesn’t really want to have sex with Quinn. She hasn’t wanted to sleep with anyone but Brittany ever since she realized she loved her. But a warm body is a warm body and Quinn is pretty hot.
Still no where near drunk enough to experiment with her though.
She lets out a heavy sigh as they approach the Fabray house. Maybe she’ll lock herself in Quinn’s bathroom and cry for a bit. Or get off. She’s not really picky when she’s drunk.
--
“I’m kind of surprised you haven’t started crying yet.”
They’re laying on Quinn’s bed above the covers because it’s hotter than fuck. That’s the reason Quinn’s in an oversized t-shirt (one, Santana guesses, that is left over from her pregnancy) and Santana isn’t in much more than a tank top. They’re both staring at the ceiling and haven’t said much since they laid down, so it surprises Santana a little. She knew Quinn wasn’t asleep but she was hoping that she was getting there because there’s an unfortunate ache in her chest and between her legs and she’d at least like to take care of one before she goes to bed. “Honestly?” Quinn turns her head to look at Santana but she keeps staring up at the crack above Quinn’s bed. “I’m waiting for you to fall asleep.”
Quinn stops looking at her, but then Santana feels Quinn’s hand brush hers. “I didn’t drink much because I planned on taking care of you.”
Her faces scrunches. “Why?”
Quinn shrugs the best she can. “Isn’t that what friends do?”
“I thought we weren’t those kind of friends.” She’s not trying to be a bitch, but they’ve really never done this. Quinn keeps to herself and Santana’s never needed to have ‘feeling time’ with Quinn. She’s had Brittany for that since she was eight years old and whenever Santana needed to talk about Brittany, she just dealt with it herself.
Quinn looks at her again and this time Santana turns to look back. “We’re not, but you really don’t have anyone else anymore.” It kind of weirds her out how soft Quinn’s voice is and her only reaction is to say something mean.
“Have you ever had anyone like that?” There’s no real bite in her words and she blames the booze for making her soft.
“’Course not. I’ve never had friends,” Quinn laughs and it is so self deprecating that Santana finds herself grabbing Quinn’s hand.
“Maybe we could try it this summer,” Santana offers as Quinn squeezes her hand once before pulling away.
“Maybe when we’re drunk.”
“You make stupid decisions when you’re drunk.”
“Exactly.”
Maybe word vomit in front of Quinn wouldn’t be too bad. Santana’s still not eager to find out how that would go down though.
--
She wakes up because, somehow, it’s already hotter than it was yesterday and it’s only 7:30. She groans and rolls off the bed, tripping over Santana’s dress as she walks over to her windows. “Shit,” she whispers, her feet falling loudly on the floor. Santana rolls over, mumbling nonsense in her sleep and Quinn sighs in relief when she realizes she didn’t wake the other girl. Santana’s a bitch normally, waking her up before noon on a day when she’s probably hung over is suicide.
Quinn opens her windows, squinting at the harsh sunlight that pours into the room. She pulls the curtains closed as she hears a faint vibration and she turns to notice Santana’s phone lit up at the foot of the bed. It’s a text from Brittany and without any hesitation, she reads it. She probably shouldn’t and she’d kill Santana if she read her texts, but she can’t help herself. It’s early and she knows she won’t be able to fall back asleep (her sleep patterns have been all kinds of messed up ever since she was pregnant).
Did we have sex last night?
Quinn rolls her eyes and tosses Santana’s phone back down. She doesn’t really know what’s going on between those two anymore (she’s pretty sure she’s never really understood what went on between them) but the text leaves her with this feeling in the pit of her stomach that she can’t quite make heads or tails of. She doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships, but she’s not BrittanyandSantana and that sort of means something to her. She knows they’re going through something, but she’s been spending a lot of time with Santana and hasn’t noticed her going off to sleep with someone else. It’s unsettling knowing that Brittany hasn’t been following suit.
She decides she’s just hungry and brushes past the fact that what she used to know as fact (Brittany and Santana are BrittanyandSantana. No explanation needed) could be a lie.
Santana rolls over again, eyes blinking open slowly. “It’s too early,” she mumbles, clutching on to her pillow tighter. “It’s before noon isn’t it?”
“You want breakfast,” Quinn asks as she walks over to her dresser, pulling out a pair of shorts so her mom doesn’t freak out, if she’s actually still home. She grabs a pair for Santana too, tossing them over to the brunette who is still stretched out on her bed, eyes drifting shut more often than not. They land on her hips and Santana lets out a strangled whine.
“It’s too hot for clothes, Q. Why the fuck don’t you guys have the AC on again? It used to be colder than hell in here when your parents were still together. It explained why you were such a frigid bitch.” She glances at Quinn and resists the urge to close her eyes when Quinn bends over to step into her shorts. Even though she’s not generally attracted to Quinn, she’s got an amazing ass and Santana’s more than a little thankful that Quinn hasn’t changed any of her habits (like changing in front of Santana or letting Santana lounge around in her underwear) now that it’s common knowledge between them that Santana’s more or less gay. It’s obscenely early, her head feels like it’s going to explode, but what little she sees of Quinn’s ass is a surprisingly soothing sight.
“I think my dad broke it when he came to get the rest of his stuff.” Quinn shrugs, turning around to face Santana. “Brit text you.” She juts her chin out towards Santana’s phone as she grabs two bobby pins, tucking some of her hair behind her ear before pinning it back. “I may have read it.”
Santana glares at her before turning her glare to the phone in her hand. “Awesome,” she breathes out, quickly deleting the message without replying. As it turns out, the morning after not sleeping with Brittany sucks even more than if she had.
She really shouldn’t be upset. She’s slept with enough guys while she and Brittany were… whatever and right now they’re not anything more than they were then. She had assumed the ‘I love you’ was a game changer, but clearly she was wrong since someone hit it and quit it last night and Brittany doesn’t even remember who. She knows Brittany was drunk last night and she shouldn’t hold it against her, but fuck, shouldn’t Brittany know that Santana never leaves until after Brittany wakes up? They’ve been doing this thing for two years now and never once has Santana left without telling her first.
She throws her phone down and lays back down, ignoring the fact that Quinn is still staring at her. After last night, she’s not really sure where she and Quinn stand but she doesn’t want to talk about this right now even if Quinn wants to listen. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you when I’m done cooking.” She nods against the pillow, thankful that Quinn seems to get it even though they don’t talk.
Author: only_because3 or jeytonbrucasnaley
Rating: T for now
Pairing: Quinn/Santana, Quinn/Puck, Santana/Brittany
Summary: “God, that’s such complete bullshit, especially coming from you.” Quinn pulls her hand back sharply as Santana takes in a big gulp of air to continue. “Not winning prom queen is going to make you feel ever more insecure about yourself for like, ever, even though that stupid piece of plastic doesn’t mean shit. Brittany is my best friend. I’ve known her since we were eight. She’s always going to matter, more so now that she… That I’m… That.” She squeezes her eyes shut, still unable to say it out loud because there is no coming back from that. She’s not a Fabray, even though she has spent the entire summer thus far in their house. She can’t acknowledge something and then pretend it didn’t happen.
Author's Note: Neon Trees has this album right? You have have heard of it, it's called Habits, and it's really amazing. I was listening to it on a loop a while back and expressed to my friend that it would be a nice concept to explore via Quinn and Santana. She immediately told me that I had to write this and I'm not allowed to quit this story. I plan on this story being on the long side (it's been growing and growing since I first came up with the concept) and I hope you all will give it a shot. I also apologize for the angst that accompanies this story.
--
It’s weird how much this reminds her of before. They’re at Puck’s, a place Quinn has avoided since she moved out of it, and all the usual suspects are there. Even though they’re not Cheerios anymore, they still hold enough rank at the school (and with Puck) to not get any shit for being at a party for jocks and cheerleaders.
Everyone is drinking, dancing, or both, and she remains on the edge of all of it. Before Santana would’ve ditched her in favor of Brittany or some other faceless jock the moment they walked through the door. Tonight, however, Santana stays next to her, nursing her 3rd cup of beer with her eyes trained on Brittany (who is already half naked on top of the coffee table). Before, Quinn would’ve been yelling at Finn to stop playing beer pong and pay attention to her, but now she doesn’t even bat an eye at her ex-boyfriend. Instead, she stays focused on Puck, who has been stopping by the old bookstore she works at during her shift to bug her. She’s already stopped drinking because two beers in, and she could feel anger rising inside of her and she honestly doesn’t want to fight with anyone tonight, especially if she’s going to have to take care of a weepy Santana.
She’s not sure if this is ‘growth’ yet.
“Do you guys even talk anymore,” she asks over the music, watching as Brittany unhooks her bra before turning her attention to the girl next to her.
Santana licks her lips unconsciously and shrugs. “Not really. Not about anything that matters.”
She and Santana have never been particularly close. There’s always been a rivalry between the two and they’re almost too alike for their own good. But New York was a bonding experience or whatever, and while she’s not exactly sure if they consider each other friends yet, this summer would be lonely without the other. Quinn spent most of last summer holed up in her room alone and she’s not looking for a repeat. It’s almost a good thing that Santana doesn’t have Brittany to hang out with anymore, but Quinn knows Santana is practically lost without her other half, so she can’t be too happy about not having a repeat of last summer. They’ve been hanging out pretty regularly since they came back from Nationals and obviously they talk (about clothes, gossip, and the merit of horrible reality shows), but the last serious moment they shared was when Santana suggested she cut her hair and that was over a month ago.
So her asking about Brittany is tentative and cautious, even if the booze in her makes it sound more bitchy than usual.
Santana downs the rest of her drink before tossing the cup on to the couch next to them. “This party blows.” Her hand snakes under the strap of her bra, pulling out a slightly damaged cigarette and a lighter. Brittany glances at her, a flirty smile on her face, as she holds the unlit cigarette between her lips. The other blonde invites her over with a tilt of her head, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet which makes other things bounce even more invitingly. Quinn elbows her and then points, as if she hadn’t seen the half naked girl she loves invite her over. “No,” she breathes out quietly, shaking her head so Brittany knows her answer too.
“Why the hell not?” Quinn’s voice is shrill and it makes her head hurt already, even though she’s only had 3 shots and 3 beers.
She finally flicks open her zippo and lights her cigarette, ignoring the pout that forms on Brittany’s face by turning to look at Quinn so Brittany is just a blur in her peripheral vision. “Can we go now?” Even though it’s a question, she nudges Quinn towards the door before she can answer.
--
“I don’t get it.” Santana blows out a stream of smoke before she turns to look at Quinn. “Why didn’t you go ‘dance’ with her?”
“Why didn’t you talk to Puckerman?” Her answer comes in the form of a glare and she can’t help the smirk that plays on her face.
Quinn seems to drop it after that and Santana’s glad because there’s too much going on in her head. It’s bad enough when she’s sober, but the fact that she’s more than a little drunk makes it worse. All she can think of is Brittany, Brittany, Brittany (for a split second, she thinks about the Brady Bunch and then grimaces because, really, could she think of a creepier comparison?).
Usually, when she’s drunk, she emotionally unloads or fucks someone. No matter what she does, that person is, or was, almost always Brittany. But they’ve only had sex twice this summer and Brittany was sad after the first time and just plain mad after the second.
“I don’t want you to touch me anymore,” she whispered, her bare back the only thing visible to Santana. “Not when you can’t kiss me in front of our friends.”
The problem is, Brittany is an easy drunk. And even though Santana wants (god, does she want) to touch Brittany again and as good as she knows they’d both feel, Brittany will be upset with herself. Besides, if Santana had actually ditched Quinn in favor of topless Brittany, that’d be like taking advantage of her and Santana’s tired of doing that to the girl she loves. And she supposes it’s kind of shitty to Quinn too.
She glances over at Quinn briefly, smiling when she notices the blonde carefully avoiding the cracks in the sidewalk. The thought of having extreme word vomit in front of Quinn is in no way appealing. Quinn doesn’t do feelings, even more so than Santana, which actually worries her a lot. Santana may be a bitch but if she were in Quinn’s shoes, she doubts that she’d be able to stand most days, and as fucked up as Quinn is, she’s pretty functional. The only time she’s really seen Quinn break down was in New York and even then she still seemed so… guarded. Santana can only assume that Quinn would stare at her awkwardly if she broke down crying about how much she loves Brittany.
On the other hand, Santana knows that talking about her shit is more likely to happen than getting in Quinn’s pants. The blonde is decidedly straight, even if she does make Santana’s gaydar ping on occasion (and Santana’s gaydar is nothing short of amazing), and Santana doesn’t really want to have sex with Quinn. She hasn’t wanted to sleep with anyone but Brittany ever since she realized she loved her. But a warm body is a warm body and Quinn is pretty hot.
Still no where near drunk enough to experiment with her though.
She lets out a heavy sigh as they approach the Fabray house. Maybe she’ll lock herself in Quinn’s bathroom and cry for a bit. Or get off. She’s not really picky when she’s drunk.
--
“I’m kind of surprised you haven’t started crying yet.”
They’re laying on Quinn’s bed above the covers because it’s hotter than fuck. That’s the reason Quinn’s in an oversized t-shirt (one, Santana guesses, that is left over from her pregnancy) and Santana isn’t in much more than a tank top. They’re both staring at the ceiling and haven’t said much since they laid down, so it surprises Santana a little. She knew Quinn wasn’t asleep but she was hoping that she was getting there because there’s an unfortunate ache in her chest and between her legs and she’d at least like to take care of one before she goes to bed. “Honestly?” Quinn turns her head to look at Santana but she keeps staring up at the crack above Quinn’s bed. “I’m waiting for you to fall asleep.”
Quinn stops looking at her, but then Santana feels Quinn’s hand brush hers. “I didn’t drink much because I planned on taking care of you.”
Her faces scrunches. “Why?”
Quinn shrugs the best she can. “Isn’t that what friends do?”
“I thought we weren’t those kind of friends.” She’s not trying to be a bitch, but they’ve really never done this. Quinn keeps to herself and Santana’s never needed to have ‘feeling time’ with Quinn. She’s had Brittany for that since she was eight years old and whenever Santana needed to talk about Brittany, she just dealt with it herself.
Quinn looks at her again and this time Santana turns to look back. “We’re not, but you really don’t have anyone else anymore.” It kind of weirds her out how soft Quinn’s voice is and her only reaction is to say something mean.
“Have you ever had anyone like that?” There’s no real bite in her words and she blames the booze for making her soft.
“’Course not. I’ve never had friends,” Quinn laughs and it is so self deprecating that Santana finds herself grabbing Quinn’s hand.
“Maybe we could try it this summer,” Santana offers as Quinn squeezes her hand once before pulling away.
“Maybe when we’re drunk.”
“You make stupid decisions when you’re drunk.”
“Exactly.”
Maybe word vomit in front of Quinn wouldn’t be too bad. Santana’s still not eager to find out how that would go down though.
--
She wakes up because, somehow, it’s already hotter than it was yesterday and it’s only 7:30. She groans and rolls off the bed, tripping over Santana’s dress as she walks over to her windows. “Shit,” she whispers, her feet falling loudly on the floor. Santana rolls over, mumbling nonsense in her sleep and Quinn sighs in relief when she realizes she didn’t wake the other girl. Santana’s a bitch normally, waking her up before noon on a day when she’s probably hung over is suicide.
Quinn opens her windows, squinting at the harsh sunlight that pours into the room. She pulls the curtains closed as she hears a faint vibration and she turns to notice Santana’s phone lit up at the foot of the bed. It’s a text from Brittany and without any hesitation, she reads it. She probably shouldn’t and she’d kill Santana if she read her texts, but she can’t help herself. It’s early and she knows she won’t be able to fall back asleep (her sleep patterns have been all kinds of messed up ever since she was pregnant).
Did we have sex last night?
Quinn rolls her eyes and tosses Santana’s phone back down. She doesn’t really know what’s going on between those two anymore (she’s pretty sure she’s never really understood what went on between them) but the text leaves her with this feeling in the pit of her stomach that she can’t quite make heads or tails of. She doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships, but she’s not BrittanyandSantana and that sort of means something to her. She knows they’re going through something, but she’s been spending a lot of time with Santana and hasn’t noticed her going off to sleep with someone else. It’s unsettling knowing that Brittany hasn’t been following suit.
She decides she’s just hungry and brushes past the fact that what she used to know as fact (Brittany and Santana are BrittanyandSantana. No explanation needed) could be a lie.
Santana rolls over again, eyes blinking open slowly. “It’s too early,” she mumbles, clutching on to her pillow tighter. “It’s before noon isn’t it?”
“You want breakfast,” Quinn asks as she walks over to her dresser, pulling out a pair of shorts so her mom doesn’t freak out, if she’s actually still home. She grabs a pair for Santana too, tossing them over to the brunette who is still stretched out on her bed, eyes drifting shut more often than not. They land on her hips and Santana lets out a strangled whine.
“It’s too hot for clothes, Q. Why the fuck don’t you guys have the AC on again? It used to be colder than hell in here when your parents were still together. It explained why you were such a frigid bitch.” She glances at Quinn and resists the urge to close her eyes when Quinn bends over to step into her shorts. Even though she’s not generally attracted to Quinn, she’s got an amazing ass and Santana’s more than a little thankful that Quinn hasn’t changed any of her habits (like changing in front of Santana or letting Santana lounge around in her underwear) now that it’s common knowledge between them that Santana’s more or less gay. It’s obscenely early, her head feels like it’s going to explode, but what little she sees of Quinn’s ass is a surprisingly soothing sight.
“I think my dad broke it when he came to get the rest of his stuff.” Quinn shrugs, turning around to face Santana. “Brit text you.” She juts her chin out towards Santana’s phone as she grabs two bobby pins, tucking some of her hair behind her ear before pinning it back. “I may have read it.”
Santana glares at her before turning her glare to the phone in her hand. “Awesome,” she breathes out, quickly deleting the message without replying. As it turns out, the morning after not sleeping with Brittany sucks even more than if she had.
She really shouldn’t be upset. She’s slept with enough guys while she and Brittany were… whatever and right now they’re not anything more than they were then. She had assumed the ‘I love you’ was a game changer, but clearly she was wrong since someone hit it and quit it last night and Brittany doesn’t even remember who. She knows Brittany was drunk last night and she shouldn’t hold it against her, but fuck, shouldn’t Brittany know that Santana never leaves until after Brittany wakes up? They’ve been doing this thing for two years now and never once has Santana left without telling her first.
She throws her phone down and lays back down, ignoring the fact that Quinn is still staring at her. After last night, she’s not really sure where she and Quinn stand but she doesn’t want to talk about this right now even if Quinn wants to listen. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you when I’m done cooking.” She nods against the pillow, thankful that Quinn seems to get it even though they don’t talk.