i love a woman that rains
Title: i love a woman that rains
Author: idontneedtobeforgiven (on tumblr)/only_because3 (on live journal!)/
Rating: Uh, I’ll go with M.
Word Count: 2813
Prompt: For wristlocks on tumblr: "I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul."
Author’s Note: Written for the Quinntana exchange on tumblr. It might be useful to read this oneshot I’ve already written to fully understand the Fabray portion of this oneshot but it’s not necessary since this is a story about our girls :) I hope you enjoy!
--
You are almost certain that you fell in love with Quinn the first day you saw her. Freshmen year, zero period (which you loathed because it meant you had to be up at 6 to get to class by 7), she sat beside you in the middle of the class. You had caught yourself staring the moment she walked in, with her blonde hair falling in perfect curls down her back and her white dress swishing at her knees. In order to distract yourself, you put on the make up you didn’t have time to do before you left the house, and you only looked back at Quinn when you not her staring at you. “What are you doing to your eyes,” she asked innocently, pointing to the eyeliner in your hand.
You showed her how to do a cat eye before offering to do it on her but she politely declined, stating that her mother and father would kill her if she wore dark make up like that.
You thought Quinn Fabray was the exact opposite of you that day. You thought she was perfect and light and everything your grandmother said you couldn’t be. Your first thoughts bordered on the delicately creepy line of wanting to be Quinn or just wanting to be her friend. But then, when class was over and you walked down the hall side by side and she viciously spit at an upperclassmen that her face looked like someone took a cheese grater to it, you knew that you absolutely loved Quinn.
Seven years later, with your slacks unbuttoned and your shirt halfway off, you lean in the doorway of the bathroom. You assumed Quinn was out since the apartment you sometimes share was dark and quiet when you entered, but as you were taking off your shoes on the edge of the bed, you heard water slosh in the tub. You can barely see Quinn now, the reading light attached to her book only dimly illuminating her face and hiding it even more when she flips to the next page. Even though, visually, she’s still the light to your dark, this is how you know and love Quinn; shrouded in her darkness and contorted by the unique way Quinn loves you.
--
To put it simply, you only fuck Brittany because she looks like Quinn Fabray. Brittany is your best friend but she’s too tall, too blonde, and her beautiful blue eyes aren’t as gorgeous as Quinn’s hazel ones. Eventually though, fucking Brittany turns into a lot more, which you need, because Quinn Fabray will never be yours; Quinn is not someone you could openly wrap your arms around, tuck your head in the crook of her neck, and breathe her in.
But, even though you know you love Brittany, when Quinn shows up at your house one night, her face pained but ultimately composed, you lead her up to your room.
Quinn’s shirt is damp and there are bags under her eyes that she’s tried to cover up with make up. You notice that she keeps her arms at her sides, not curling around the curve of her deflated stomach, tucking her hands under her thighs when they start twitching. “Were you asleep,” she asks but you’re not sure why.
“No. Just listening to music.” Quinn nods and lays down. She stares at the ceiling and you stare at her. Quinn hasn’t been back to school since she gave birth two days ago. You can’t help but wonder if anyone has noticed the change you see in Quinn. Part of what you loved about her was this sense of lightness that radiated from her. You wouldn’t call it innocence or niceness, you know Quinn well enough to know that she can be a ruthless bitch (and that makes you want her all the more), but there’s always been something else you can’t quite put your finger on. But all of that is gone now, has slowly been slipping away for the past six months. This Quinn is broken and tired and dark. Her head turns and she meets your eyes. It’s like looking at someone else even though you’ve studied these eyes for years. “What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know.” It’s a surprisingly honest answer from her, the very first you think. You lay down next to her, intending to leave a huge amount of space between you two, but Quinn rolls closer before stopping herself. “Are we friends?”
You feel your face twist before softening. “Do you think I would have let you in so late if we weren’t?” Quinn doesn’t finish scooting over but instead laces her fingers through yours, holding on tight.
--
You know that you fell asleep staring at her face but when you wake up, you’re met with her back and her soft cries. You think of saying her name but instead you touch her. She flinches then relaxes and cries harder. “It hurts.” When you get up, you see she’s clutching her chest but you’re certain that’s not the only thing she’s talking about.
You bring two of your sports bras to the bed, kneeling behind the blonde you’ve been infatuated with since freshmen year. Your fingers curl under the hem of Quinn’s shirt, somehow finding the right words to get Quinn to allow you to pull it off of her shacking body. Slowly, you put one bra over Quinn’s head, her arms slipping into place, and you repeat the process with the second one. You tug at the fabric so that it sits better around Quinn’s ribs before your hands get trapped at her sides when Quinn presses her palms against her breasts. “Do you want me to lie to you?” A sound tears through Quinn’s lips that terrifies you (and you don’t know it then, but you have a hard time not replaying it in your head for months afterwards whenever you look at Quinn). You wrap your arms around her and whisper, “Everything will be okay, Q. The pain… It won’t last forever.”
Quinn calls you a liar and pushes you away. You expect her to leave then, but she turns and presses against you fully. You’ve been with a lot of people, yet it has never been like this; you’re not sure you have ever been this close to someone and it makes your chest tighten uncomfortably. Quinn’s tears coat your neck, hands grip your shirt so tight that it feels like it’s about to be ripped off, and lips graze where your pulse is quickening.
--
“You’re such a creeper.”
You roll your eyes, smile creeping onto your face though you fight to keep it hidden. “Says the girl who is sitting in the dark.” You can’t see it but you know that Quinn barely arches an eyebrow in response, already drug back in by the words on the page in front of her. “What’re you reading?”
“Sylvia Plath.” You nod as you walk back in to the bedroom you sometimes share, taking off your shirt and bra before falling back down on the bed.
“Don’t you ever read anything happy?”
The water splashes against the sides of the tub again. “I don’t think there is a book that’s always happy. Anything worth reading has conflict.” The bed dips near your knees and your eyes open only when you feel water drop on your chest. Quinn stares down at you, thighs flexing around your hips. You’ve known Quinn long enough now to know that she won’t say a single thing that’s swimming around in her head, but after seven years, you know how to read her. Threading your fingers in Quinn’s hair, effectively loosening the bun Quinn had constructed, you bring her down for a kiss. Quinn bites at your bottom lip, tongue curling under your teeth just before pulling back. It’s an ‘I missed you’ which is unfortunate, you think, because you doubt you’ll be able to stay the night and you know you won‘t be back like this until Brittany leaves again.
--
You two never really talk about what you do together and so you certainly don’t tell other people about it. Through high school you carry on, no one suspecting a thing, and yeah, Quinn has boyfriends and you have Brittany. When you and Quinn first have sex (and that’s not until senior year, following the horrible cliché of fucking on prom night), you start to think that maybe you shouldn’t be doing this. Quinn’s single-ish but you’re dating Brittany. Kissing is one thing but prom night ends with Quinn’s cum running down your chin and your scent lingering on her fingers for two days.
“Do you think this is wrong,” you ask, watching Quinn shuck off her pretty dress that you couldn’t be bothered to take off earlier.
Once all the taffeta is on the ground far away from Quinn’s face, she works on the bobby pins keeping her hair up. “I think that you’re my best friend.” You nod slowly as Quinn sits down next to you on the bed, pressing kisses along your shoulder while still searching for more metal in her messy blonde hair. “But if you need me to leave so you and Brittany-”
“No,” escapes you faster than you’d like and Quinn doesn’t smirk or grin up at you, just wraps her arms around your waist like she’s thanking you.
Later that night she tells you about things you never wanted to hear. That’s your relationship with Quinn though. You are the ears that pick up every little detail of the memories that have rotted Quinn from the inside out. You know all about what her father did when he found out she had sex, what he did the night he kicked her out (you remember being surprised that it wasn’t the same night but that was quickly replaced with the churning in your stomach when you listened to Quinn tell the story of how her father forced her to strip down in front of him), and you know each and every thought she’s had about Beth. But that night she tells you that she’s never had a best friend before. “I’ve never really had a lot of things,” she whispered, her breath hot against your collarbone (she never looks at you when she speaks like this). “A real father, a real mother, and never a real friend… But now there’s you.”
--
Quinn goes back for a fresh bath, her water having gone cold while her fingers pumped inside you, and you go into the kitchen to make the two of you dinner. Brittany texts you while you’re tossing the salad to go with your tortellini. She’s been on tour for the past nine months, which means you’ve pretty much been living at Quinn’s (only going home when Quinn needs space), but also that it’s time for you to be getting back to your life with Brittany.
You know that you should leave her. You’re just not sure which ‘her’ you’re talking about.
Quinn makes you feel needed and wanted. Brittany makes you feel loved.
You think Brittany probably knows what you do with Quinn, knows that it’s much more than being her best friend (after all, you and Brittany were once that too) but she’s never once said anything, never tried to stop you from seeing Quinn. For the duration of your time with Brittany, she’s kept you happy and warm and light… You just can’t help but be drawn to the dark that Quinn is endlessly swimming in.
Quinn’s never asked you to leave Brittany, never asked you to pick her over your girlfriend. You think that might be because she’s afraid you won’t choose her even though you’ve chosen Quinn every day for the past 7 years. Truth is, you’re a little scared Quinn won’t choose you either. She’s had no problems having boyfriends during your time together. Brittany, while still responding to the label of girlfriend, often chooses jobs over you. You’re grating carrots when you realize that maybe Brittany only does that, opts for leaving you alone for months at a time, because of Quinn.
The pot on the stove starts boiling over but you don’t pay attention to it until you hear Brittany’s voice on the other end of the phone.
--
nbsp; You accompany Quinn to her father’s funeral your second year of college. It involves taking a train down to Boston, because that’s where Quinn’s dad relocated apparently, and an awkward weekend surrounded by a bunch of white people. Quinn’s mom doesn’t go but her sister does and you feel almost uncomfortable meeting her eyes. But you do, tell her sorry for her loss with a shrug, and she stares blankly at you.(Later, at the wake, she’ll tell you that she wishes people would stop telling her that. Quinn will chime in, saying that they’re wasting their breath) She had to plan the funeral since she was the oldest and actually lived in the state already (not that she knew her father lived in Massachusetts). The priest goes off on some tangent in the middle of the sermon (or maybe this is the sermon? It’s been too long since you’ve stepped inside a church) and Quinn leans into you, holding your hand in public for the first time.
Once the crowd clears from the cemetery, you stand by Quinn and watch her sister push all of the flowers and trinkets off their father’s coffin. Paige’s husband tries to calm her down but she pushes him too before throwing dirt at the shiny white casket. Paige breaks and cries but Quinn stays strong, her back straight and face emotionless. You never would have known she was angry if you didn’t know her (well, and if she never spit on the coffin). “That’s it then,” she exhales, her body deflating just so.
The next day you’re dragged along with Paige’s husband over to the Fabray residence. Neither of you are sure why you’re there because the girls are just trying to find any personal items they’ll want before there’s an estate sale and you don’t know what’s important.
You two discover soon enough that you are the two who will be going through things and asking the girls, who sit like ghosts, if it’s anything they want to keep.
When Derek (or Eric… You’re not too sure what the hell his name is) takes Paige downstairs to start going through the basement, you continue through Mr. Fabray’s bedroom. There’s nothing really in the bedside table: a book of matches next to a smoking pipe, a small tub of Tums, reading glasses, and a bible. You hold up the bible for Quinn to see and pictures flutter out just as Quinn pales. You try not to look at them. You see Quinn’s blonde hair and skin and tears in the polaroids, near identical poses in other polaroids of a different girl in a different room. “That was my bible.” You look up at Quinn who is staring at the pictures scattered on the floor instead of the bible that you still hold.
You pull the drawer out of the bedside table and throw the pictures back in, along with the bible Mr. Fabray’s tainted. You light match after match, throwing them into the drawer until all of the pictures sizzle and snap and disappear.
--
“I want to be an adult,” you calmly explain to Quinn as she sits at her vanity, drying her hair with a towel.
“Aren’t you anyway,” Quinn counters and you find yourself simultaneously annoyed and adoring.
“I’d like a straight answer, just this once please.” Quinn’s back straightens, tips her head just enough for you to understand that she’s giving you permission to continue. “Brittany and I broke up. And I’ve loved you since I first met you. Can you just love me now?”
Quinn stays silent. She throws her wet towel over the back of her chair and then picks up her hair brush. “Do you honestly think that I don’t?” You open your mouth but Quinn raises her hand. “I’ve told you things that I never thought I’d share with anyone. I’ve already let you into my heart Santana, you’ve just never taken it.”
You blink and fall back against the wall next to the closet. Quinn finishes combing her hair and then curls her finger at you. Wordlessly, you French braid her hair. Quinn grabs your hand when you go to take the hair tie, bringing the inside of your wrist to her lips. “Why did you or Brittany never tell me I was an idiot?”
“We both love you too much to.” Quinn turns when she stands, kneeling on the chair you stand behind. “Though I was beginning to think that I’d always be your other woman.”
“Everyone else is the other,” you admit. “Because I have always been yours.”
Author: idontneedtobeforgiven (on tumblr)/only_because3 (on live journal!)/
Rating: Uh, I’ll go with M.
Word Count: 2813
Prompt: For wristlocks on tumblr: "I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul."
Author’s Note: Written for the Quinntana exchange on tumblr. It might be useful to read this oneshot I’ve already written to fully understand the Fabray portion of this oneshot but it’s not necessary since this is a story about our girls :) I hope you enjoy!
--
You are almost certain that you fell in love with Quinn the first day you saw her. Freshmen year, zero period (which you loathed because it meant you had to be up at 6 to get to class by 7), she sat beside you in the middle of the class. You had caught yourself staring the moment she walked in, with her blonde hair falling in perfect curls down her back and her white dress swishing at her knees. In order to distract yourself, you put on the make up you didn’t have time to do before you left the house, and you only looked back at Quinn when you not her staring at you. “What are you doing to your eyes,” she asked innocently, pointing to the eyeliner in your hand.
You showed her how to do a cat eye before offering to do it on her but she politely declined, stating that her mother and father would kill her if she wore dark make up like that.
You thought Quinn Fabray was the exact opposite of you that day. You thought she was perfect and light and everything your grandmother said you couldn’t be. Your first thoughts bordered on the delicately creepy line of wanting to be Quinn or just wanting to be her friend. But then, when class was over and you walked down the hall side by side and she viciously spit at an upperclassmen that her face looked like someone took a cheese grater to it, you knew that you absolutely loved Quinn.
Seven years later, with your slacks unbuttoned and your shirt halfway off, you lean in the doorway of the bathroom. You assumed Quinn was out since the apartment you sometimes share was dark and quiet when you entered, but as you were taking off your shoes on the edge of the bed, you heard water slosh in the tub. You can barely see Quinn now, the reading light attached to her book only dimly illuminating her face and hiding it even more when she flips to the next page. Even though, visually, she’s still the light to your dark, this is how you know and love Quinn; shrouded in her darkness and contorted by the unique way Quinn loves you.
--
To put it simply, you only fuck Brittany because she looks like Quinn Fabray. Brittany is your best friend but she’s too tall, too blonde, and her beautiful blue eyes aren’t as gorgeous as Quinn’s hazel ones. Eventually though, fucking Brittany turns into a lot more, which you need, because Quinn Fabray will never be yours; Quinn is not someone you could openly wrap your arms around, tuck your head in the crook of her neck, and breathe her in.
But, even though you know you love Brittany, when Quinn shows up at your house one night, her face pained but ultimately composed, you lead her up to your room.
Quinn’s shirt is damp and there are bags under her eyes that she’s tried to cover up with make up. You notice that she keeps her arms at her sides, not curling around the curve of her deflated stomach, tucking her hands under her thighs when they start twitching. “Were you asleep,” she asks but you’re not sure why.
“No. Just listening to music.” Quinn nods and lays down. She stares at the ceiling and you stare at her. Quinn hasn’t been back to school since she gave birth two days ago. You can’t help but wonder if anyone has noticed the change you see in Quinn. Part of what you loved about her was this sense of lightness that radiated from her. You wouldn’t call it innocence or niceness, you know Quinn well enough to know that she can be a ruthless bitch (and that makes you want her all the more), but there’s always been something else you can’t quite put your finger on. But all of that is gone now, has slowly been slipping away for the past six months. This Quinn is broken and tired and dark. Her head turns and she meets your eyes. It’s like looking at someone else even though you’ve studied these eyes for years. “What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know.” It’s a surprisingly honest answer from her, the very first you think. You lay down next to her, intending to leave a huge amount of space between you two, but Quinn rolls closer before stopping herself. “Are we friends?”
You feel your face twist before softening. “Do you think I would have let you in so late if we weren’t?” Quinn doesn’t finish scooting over but instead laces her fingers through yours, holding on tight.
--
You know that you fell asleep staring at her face but when you wake up, you’re met with her back and her soft cries. You think of saying her name but instead you touch her. She flinches then relaxes and cries harder. “It hurts.” When you get up, you see she’s clutching her chest but you’re certain that’s not the only thing she’s talking about.
You bring two of your sports bras to the bed, kneeling behind the blonde you’ve been infatuated with since freshmen year. Your fingers curl under the hem of Quinn’s shirt, somehow finding the right words to get Quinn to allow you to pull it off of her shacking body. Slowly, you put one bra over Quinn’s head, her arms slipping into place, and you repeat the process with the second one. You tug at the fabric so that it sits better around Quinn’s ribs before your hands get trapped at her sides when Quinn presses her palms against her breasts. “Do you want me to lie to you?” A sound tears through Quinn’s lips that terrifies you (and you don’t know it then, but you have a hard time not replaying it in your head for months afterwards whenever you look at Quinn). You wrap your arms around her and whisper, “Everything will be okay, Q. The pain… It won’t last forever.”
Quinn calls you a liar and pushes you away. You expect her to leave then, but she turns and presses against you fully. You’ve been with a lot of people, yet it has never been like this; you’re not sure you have ever been this close to someone and it makes your chest tighten uncomfortably. Quinn’s tears coat your neck, hands grip your shirt so tight that it feels like it’s about to be ripped off, and lips graze where your pulse is quickening.
--
“You’re such a creeper.”
You roll your eyes, smile creeping onto your face though you fight to keep it hidden. “Says the girl who is sitting in the dark.” You can’t see it but you know that Quinn barely arches an eyebrow in response, already drug back in by the words on the page in front of her. “What’re you reading?”
“Sylvia Plath.” You nod as you walk back in to the bedroom you sometimes share, taking off your shirt and bra before falling back down on the bed.
“Don’t you ever read anything happy?”
The water splashes against the sides of the tub again. “I don’t think there is a book that’s always happy. Anything worth reading has conflict.” The bed dips near your knees and your eyes open only when you feel water drop on your chest. Quinn stares down at you, thighs flexing around your hips. You’ve known Quinn long enough now to know that she won’t say a single thing that’s swimming around in her head, but after seven years, you know how to read her. Threading your fingers in Quinn’s hair, effectively loosening the bun Quinn had constructed, you bring her down for a kiss. Quinn bites at your bottom lip, tongue curling under your teeth just before pulling back. It’s an ‘I missed you’ which is unfortunate, you think, because you doubt you’ll be able to stay the night and you know you won‘t be back like this until Brittany leaves again.
--
You two never really talk about what you do together and so you certainly don’t tell other people about it. Through high school you carry on, no one suspecting a thing, and yeah, Quinn has boyfriends and you have Brittany. When you and Quinn first have sex (and that’s not until senior year, following the horrible cliché of fucking on prom night), you start to think that maybe you shouldn’t be doing this. Quinn’s single-ish but you’re dating Brittany. Kissing is one thing but prom night ends with Quinn’s cum running down your chin and your scent lingering on her fingers for two days.
“Do you think this is wrong,” you ask, watching Quinn shuck off her pretty dress that you couldn’t be bothered to take off earlier.
Once all the taffeta is on the ground far away from Quinn’s face, she works on the bobby pins keeping her hair up. “I think that you’re my best friend.” You nod slowly as Quinn sits down next to you on the bed, pressing kisses along your shoulder while still searching for more metal in her messy blonde hair. “But if you need me to leave so you and Brittany-”
“No,” escapes you faster than you’d like and Quinn doesn’t smirk or grin up at you, just wraps her arms around your waist like she’s thanking you.
Later that night she tells you about things you never wanted to hear. That’s your relationship with Quinn though. You are the ears that pick up every little detail of the memories that have rotted Quinn from the inside out. You know all about what her father did when he found out she had sex, what he did the night he kicked her out (you remember being surprised that it wasn’t the same night but that was quickly replaced with the churning in your stomach when you listened to Quinn tell the story of how her father forced her to strip down in front of him), and you know each and every thought she’s had about Beth. But that night she tells you that she’s never had a best friend before. “I’ve never really had a lot of things,” she whispered, her breath hot against your collarbone (she never looks at you when she speaks like this). “A real father, a real mother, and never a real friend… But now there’s you.”
--
Quinn goes back for a fresh bath, her water having gone cold while her fingers pumped inside you, and you go into the kitchen to make the two of you dinner. Brittany texts you while you’re tossing the salad to go with your tortellini. She’s been on tour for the past nine months, which means you’ve pretty much been living at Quinn’s (only going home when Quinn needs space), but also that it’s time for you to be getting back to your life with Brittany.
You know that you should leave her. You’re just not sure which ‘her’ you’re talking about.
Quinn makes you feel needed and wanted. Brittany makes you feel loved.
You think Brittany probably knows what you do with Quinn, knows that it’s much more than being her best friend (after all, you and Brittany were once that too) but she’s never once said anything, never tried to stop you from seeing Quinn. For the duration of your time with Brittany, she’s kept you happy and warm and light… You just can’t help but be drawn to the dark that Quinn is endlessly swimming in.
Quinn’s never asked you to leave Brittany, never asked you to pick her over your girlfriend. You think that might be because she’s afraid you won’t choose her even though you’ve chosen Quinn every day for the past 7 years. Truth is, you’re a little scared Quinn won’t choose you either. She’s had no problems having boyfriends during your time together. Brittany, while still responding to the label of girlfriend, often chooses jobs over you. You’re grating carrots when you realize that maybe Brittany only does that, opts for leaving you alone for months at a time, because of Quinn.
The pot on the stove starts boiling over but you don’t pay attention to it until you hear Brittany’s voice on the other end of the phone.
--
nbsp; You accompany Quinn to her father’s funeral your second year of college. It involves taking a train down to Boston, because that’s where Quinn’s dad relocated apparently, and an awkward weekend surrounded by a bunch of white people. Quinn’s mom doesn’t go but her sister does and you feel almost uncomfortable meeting her eyes. But you do, tell her sorry for her loss with a shrug, and she stares blankly at you.(Later, at the wake, she’ll tell you that she wishes people would stop telling her that. Quinn will chime in, saying that they’re wasting their breath) She had to plan the funeral since she was the oldest and actually lived in the state already (not that she knew her father lived in Massachusetts). The priest goes off on some tangent in the middle of the sermon (or maybe this is the sermon? It’s been too long since you’ve stepped inside a church) and Quinn leans into you, holding your hand in public for the first time.
Once the crowd clears from the cemetery, you stand by Quinn and watch her sister push all of the flowers and trinkets off their father’s coffin. Paige’s husband tries to calm her down but she pushes him too before throwing dirt at the shiny white casket. Paige breaks and cries but Quinn stays strong, her back straight and face emotionless. You never would have known she was angry if you didn’t know her (well, and if she never spit on the coffin). “That’s it then,” she exhales, her body deflating just so.
The next day you’re dragged along with Paige’s husband over to the Fabray residence. Neither of you are sure why you’re there because the girls are just trying to find any personal items they’ll want before there’s an estate sale and you don’t know what’s important.
You two discover soon enough that you are the two who will be going through things and asking the girls, who sit like ghosts, if it’s anything they want to keep.
When Derek (or Eric… You’re not too sure what the hell his name is) takes Paige downstairs to start going through the basement, you continue through Mr. Fabray’s bedroom. There’s nothing really in the bedside table: a book of matches next to a smoking pipe, a small tub of Tums, reading glasses, and a bible. You hold up the bible for Quinn to see and pictures flutter out just as Quinn pales. You try not to look at them. You see Quinn’s blonde hair and skin and tears in the polaroids, near identical poses in other polaroids of a different girl in a different room. “That was my bible.” You look up at Quinn who is staring at the pictures scattered on the floor instead of the bible that you still hold.
You pull the drawer out of the bedside table and throw the pictures back in, along with the bible Mr. Fabray’s tainted. You light match after match, throwing them into the drawer until all of the pictures sizzle and snap and disappear.
--
“I want to be an adult,” you calmly explain to Quinn as she sits at her vanity, drying her hair with a towel.
“Aren’t you anyway,” Quinn counters and you find yourself simultaneously annoyed and adoring.
“I’d like a straight answer, just this once please.” Quinn’s back straightens, tips her head just enough for you to understand that she’s giving you permission to continue. “Brittany and I broke up. And I’ve loved you since I first met you. Can you just love me now?”
Quinn stays silent. She throws her wet towel over the back of her chair and then picks up her hair brush. “Do you honestly think that I don’t?” You open your mouth but Quinn raises her hand. “I’ve told you things that I never thought I’d share with anyone. I’ve already let you into my heart Santana, you’ve just never taken it.”
You blink and fall back against the wall next to the closet. Quinn finishes combing her hair and then curls her finger at you. Wordlessly, you French braid her hair. Quinn grabs your hand when you go to take the hair tie, bringing the inside of your wrist to her lips. “Why did you or Brittany never tell me I was an idiot?”
“We both love you too much to.” Quinn turns when she stands, kneeling on the chair you stand behind. “Though I was beginning to think that I’d always be your other woman.”
“Everyone else is the other,” you admit. “Because I have always been yours.”