fic: Kingdom Up For Sale (3/9)
Title: Kingdom Up For Sale (3/9)
Author: professor_spork
Beta: beingfacetious
Character/Pairing: Quinn-centric gen, featuring Quinn/Sam friendship, canon!Fuinn, and vague hintings at potential Faberry if you squint, with guest appearances by the rest of the gleeks.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: She owes him, and he needs her. And if it turns out that maybe she needs him, too… well. Sam and Quinn, from Comeback to Rumours.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them.
( 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 )
So, rejoining the Celibacy Club, maybe not the best idea Quinn’s ever had.
Apparently in her absence, Celibacy Club has become a fun afternoon way for Miss Pillsbury and Rachel to fuel each other’s crazy-which is how she finds herself stared down across two tables whilst getting grilled about her relationship with Finn.
(You know, that relationship that totally doesn’t exist, because Rachel is fragile and Finn doesn’t want to hurt her feelings.)
She remembers in elementary school, they learned about how in Congress-or maybe Parliament, she isn’t sure-traditionally, the two parties stayed on different sides of the room with a space two sword-lengths apart between them to keep anyone from attacking the opposition. Though she doesn’t make a habit of bringing swords to school (one very vivid dream from last year notwithstanding), she still seats herself as far away from Rachel as possible, just in case.
“Are you sleeping with him?”
“Rachel,” Miss Pillbury says, “I’m sure that Quinn wouldn’t be here if that were the case. And besides, Quinn’s learned her lesson about that, haven’t you Quinn?”
“Absolutely,” she mutters through the gritted teeth of her fake smile.
Kill her now.
-
Of course, clearly she hasn’t suffered enough, because on top of everything, Miss Holliday comes back as the new Health sub-and if that’s not the cherry of cruelty to top the sundae of despair that this week is shaping up to be, Quinn doesn’t know what is.
… Until Rachel sits next to her right before glee starts, leaving her no means of escape, and she learns to stop wondering.
Mr. Schue manages to babble out some nonsense about the intricacies of adult relationships, and then Miss Holliday is in front of the class in her ridiculous leather jacket asking Finn if it’s true that he believed he got his girlfriend pregnant via hot tub, and just… in what world should she be expected to deal with this?
“What about those of us who choose to remain celibate?” Rachel asks, gesturing at herself and Quinn like they’re friends or something.
“Oh, well. I admire you. Although I think you’re naive and… possibly frigid, I do admire your choice.”
Frigid.
It’s an interesting word. Accurate, actually, because she’s been aiming for it since the summer before freshman year. That was the goal-Quinn Fabray: Ice Queen. Look but don’t touch, all teasing and no pleasing.
Here’s a fun fact: when she was younger, she masturbated, like, constantly.
She doesn’t even remember when she started-it just feels like she’s always known that a hand between her legs made her feel really good, and that she had to do it in her room and be quiet because Mom and Dad really didn’t like it.
They’d called it The Thing. As in, “Russell, she’s doing the thing again,” or “Lucy, stop doing the thing.” They told her that it wasn’t right, that God didn’t approve, that it was bad for her. She tried to stop, and she did, mostly, but some nights she just couldn’t sleep, and… well.
She hadn’t even realized what she’d been doing until a mortifying unit of eighth grade health class. (Masturbation was something boys did. She didn’t even know there was a way for girls to… to…)
Anyway. It’s not something Quinn does. Never has been.
And if Holly Holliday takes offense to that, it’s really not Quinn’s problem.
(But yes, she and Rachel join in the dance, or whatever. She never actually had a choice. And she’s not going to let her distaste for… all of this, really, make her into a social pariah. Because when you’re so uptight that even the glee club is too wild for you… well, she just really doesn’t want to be that person.)
-
“You okay?” a voice asks in her ear, and she jumps so abruptly she almost slams her hand into her locker.
“Sam, what are you doing?”
“Checking on you.”
“I don’t need checking on; I’m not five.”
“No, you just look like you’re about to, like, kill something.”
“Well that’s wonderful, and I really appreciate the sentiment, but you need to get out of here.” She moves to close her locker and catches sight of a very unwelcome face coming down the hallway in the reflection of her makeup mirror. “Sam. Now.”
“I’m getting a little tired of your stupid rules for when and where we’re allowed to be friends-”
“Sam, Santana’s going to be here in about seven seconds. Be offended later; now move.”
He manages to make himself scarce just in time for Quinn to feel a firm hand on her shoulder, whirling her around.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Just standing here, S. Is that a crime?”
“Fine-what the hell do you think you’re doing with Sam?”
“He wanted to borrow my Chemistry homework; I said no. Again: is that a crime?”
Santana narrows her eyes. “I know how you work, Fabray. Just do us both a favor and stay away from my man.”
Quinn bristles, feeling the last of her self-control slip away. If that’s how Santana wants to play it, fine. She needs this conversation to be over, like, now, and going for the throat is as natural as breathing. “He’s not your man, he’s my sloppy seconds. Just like always with you.”
“Excuse you?”
“You heard me. Come on, Santana, get real. The Cheerios captaincy? Finn? Puck? Sam? Planning on going out for prom queen, too? Face facts, Lopez-you’re always going to be chasing my leftovers, and you’re always going to be the second choice.”
For one legitimately terrifying moment, Quinn is sure Santana’s going to slam her up against the lockers again, but then something in Santana’s eyes flickers and goes out.
“What-fucking-ever,” she mutters, and stalks off.
If nothing else, it was a really shitty thing to say about Sam, but considering everything that’s going on with Brittany and with Artie (Quinn knows; of course she knows, how could she not know?), she’s aware that she crossed a line, even for her and Santana.
Knowing it and being able to do something about it are two very different things, though, and… well, she’s never been very good at apologies.
-
Here’s the thing she loves about Finn-it’s easy.
She can make out with him and turn off the world for a little while, and when she pulls back, disheveled and dizzy, and says something stupid like “divorce rules,” he doesn’t doubt her or ask probing questions, wondering if she’s fucking okay.
(She’s not.)
Here’s the truth: she really, really likes him. Even when he’s being a complete imbecile, which is most of the time, she’s legitimately fond of Finn Hudson in a way that she doesn’t feel for anyone else.
It’s not love, though.
She knows she’s not in love with him. She never has been.
It’s just that… she doesn’t think she knows how. And maybe she’s not capable of it at all. So if this is as close as she’s ever going to get, she may as well hold onto it, right?
-
Once she gets over the complete mental disconnect between Mr. Schue saying Santana has something she’d like to share and the fact that there’s some guy plucking at a freaking steel guitar in the corner next to a banjo player, she has to admit that Landslide is… kind of beautiful.
So yes, she smiles. She’s not completely heartless. And if one of her petty little digs ended up being the push Santana needed to finally go after what she wants, then… well. Maybe she doesn’t have to be sorry after all.
That peace of mind lasts about thirty seconds.
She wishes she hadn’t been paying attention, but as the number ends, she sees Sam lean over to Artie and whisper, “Pretty cool that our girlfriends are such good friends, right? I wish you and I were that close,” and it’s like the floor drops out from beneath her. She may not like the fact that they’re together, but Sam deserves to be happy, and Quinn should have remembered where he stood. He’s been a better friend to her than Santana ever was, and it just-
God. Why does every nice thing she does for anyone have to be balanced by ruining someone else?
-
She’s not stupid; she knows exactly what Afternoon Delight is about. But she also knows that it will be Miss Pillsbury who takes the fall for it, not her, and… revenge is a really hard habit to break, when someone deserves it.
(No unwanted pregnancies in almost a year.
Funny joke.
Funny, funny joke.)
-
Brittany finds her after school the next day.
“Hey. I liked your song,” she says, holding onto the straps of her backpack like a life preserver and staring resolutely at her shoes.
“I could tell; you were the only one clapping. I really liked yours, too.” Quinn can’t even remember the last time she had a one-on-one conversation with Brittany, but it’s surprisingly easy to be in her company. “Is there… something I can help you with?”
“It’s about that, actually.”
“Your song?”
“Santana.”
“Ah. Look, why don’t we sit down?” Quinn juts her chin towards the front steps, and Brittany follows obediently. “So?”
“I don’t know. I’m just really confused right now, and you’re really good at this stuff, so. I was hoping you could explain it to me.”
Quinn has no idea what this stuff is, and knowing Brittany, this conversation could go any one of a thousand ways, so she prepares herself for anything. “Okay. Shoot.”
“Santana said she’s in love with me.”
… That, she wasn’t prepared for. (Since when is that something she’s good at?)
“I… B, how is that confusing for you?”
“Because I’m with Artie, and I can’t just dump him to be with her, that wouldn’t be fair. And I told her that, and she got really upset and wouldn’t let me hug her and now I don’t know what to do. She made it seem like this was important, but I don’t know what’s changed.”
“Britt-”
“Do you think you can love two people at the same time?” she asks, and Quinn feels a sudden stabbing pain in her chest. Because that was her, not too long ago. Her, justifying cheating to Finn, and she’s been doing damage control for that moment of weakness ever since.
She still isn’t sure if she made the right choice.
“I… I don’t know. Do you think you can?”
“I love everyone at the same time,” Brittany says simply. “But Santana doesn’t think I’m allowed to, and I don’t want to mess her up. I don’t want to mess anyone up. And I’m with Artie.”
“I know. I… You’re doing the right thing, by protecting your heart.”
“But Santana-”
“If Santana loves you the way she says she does, then she’ll wait. And if she doesn’t… well, it’s better if you know that now, don’t you think?” Her phone buzzes, and she reaches into her pocket to pull it out. “Sorry, hold on.”
Message from: Sam Evans
Im w S. need u 2 pick up sibs + bbsit
Crap. Crap, crap, crap.
“Who is it?” Britt asks, leaning over to try and look at the screen. Quinn flinches away.
“Nothing. It… I have somewhere I need to be, but-call me later. Okay?”
“Okay.” To her complete surprise, Brittany leans in and wraps her in a tight hug. “You’re a good friend, Q.”
“Yeah, that’s the rumor,” Quinn mutters quietly into Britt’s shoulder.
She’s still having a pretty hard time believing it.
-
It’s not like he’d really had much choice in the matter. One second he’d been putting stuff away in his locker, the next second Santana had him back to the wall, kissing him everywhere, purring “Your place or mine?” against his lips. He’d barely had time to squeak “yours” before she was pulling him out to the parking lot as he desperately tried to text Quinn to let her know what was happening.
Next thing he knows, Santana’s opening up the backseat of her car and unceremoniously shoving him inside, climbing in on top of him and basically attacking him with her mouth.
“What-mmmph-what about your place?” he stutters, and he can practically feel her rolling her eyes.
“Can’t wait.”
It may be sexy, but nothing about it is very romantic, and for the life of him he just can’t get his mother’s voice out of his head. Be a gentleman, Sammy. It’s your job to make your girl feel special.
He blurts out the first thing he thinks of. “I, uh, I really liked your song yesterday. In glee.”
“Shut up,” she says hotly, mouth against his throat.
“No, I mean it. You and Brittany sound really pretty toget-ow! Shit, did you just bite me?”
“Seriously,” she growls, “if you want this to happen, you’re gonna have to shut up.”
Before he can get himself together enough to ask ‘want what to happen’ she’s going for his belt buckle, and-oh.
Though they’ve gone pretty far, they haven’t done… this. He’s not a virgin, but only barely-and somehow, any experience he gained during the break room quickie he had with Kelsie Keppler the summer after ninth grade working at the comic book store when she’d called herself the Ultimate Kitty Pryde to his Ultimate Spidey just doesn’t seem like it’s going to be of much use with Santana Lopez.
“Do you have a-a-”
“Condom? God, who the fuck do you think I am, Quinn Fabray?”
Using Quinn’s name at a moment like this is about a thousand times more off-putting than Coach Beiste’s ever was, but before he can do anything about it, she’s kissing him again.
After that, they really don’t do much talking.
-
At long last, the week from hell ends.
Quinn doesn’t relax until she’s back in bed with Finn, and it’s maddening, how one person can make her feel so safe and so completely vulnerable at the same time. She tries to get mad about the hickey, but she can’t-it feels good, to have some kind of solid proof that she’s with someone. That he wants her enough to mark her. And if that bothers Rachel fucking Berry, all the better.
“This is where I belong,” she whispers, running her palm up his arm and cupping his jaw, because her hands are cold and Finn is always, always warm. “With you. Kay?”
It doesn’t quite feel like the truth, but it’s not a lie, either.
She hopes it will be enough to hold them together.
( 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 )
Author: professor_spork
Beta: beingfacetious
Character/Pairing: Quinn-centric gen, featuring Quinn/Sam friendship, canon!Fuinn, and vague hintings at potential Faberry if you squint, with guest appearances by the rest of the gleeks.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: She owes him, and he needs her. And if it turns out that maybe she needs him, too… well. Sam and Quinn, from Comeback to Rumours.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them.
( 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 )
So, rejoining the Celibacy Club, maybe not the best idea Quinn’s ever had.
Apparently in her absence, Celibacy Club has become a fun afternoon way for Miss Pillsbury and Rachel to fuel each other’s crazy-which is how she finds herself stared down across two tables whilst getting grilled about her relationship with Finn.
(You know, that relationship that totally doesn’t exist, because Rachel is fragile and Finn doesn’t want to hurt her feelings.)
She remembers in elementary school, they learned about how in Congress-or maybe Parliament, she isn’t sure-traditionally, the two parties stayed on different sides of the room with a space two sword-lengths apart between them to keep anyone from attacking the opposition. Though she doesn’t make a habit of bringing swords to school (one very vivid dream from last year notwithstanding), she still seats herself as far away from Rachel as possible, just in case.
“Are you sleeping with him?”
“Rachel,” Miss Pillbury says, “I’m sure that Quinn wouldn’t be here if that were the case. And besides, Quinn’s learned her lesson about that, haven’t you Quinn?”
“Absolutely,” she mutters through the gritted teeth of her fake smile.
Kill her now.
-
Of course, clearly she hasn’t suffered enough, because on top of everything, Miss Holliday comes back as the new Health sub-and if that’s not the cherry of cruelty to top the sundae of despair that this week is shaping up to be, Quinn doesn’t know what is.
… Until Rachel sits next to her right before glee starts, leaving her no means of escape, and she learns to stop wondering.
Mr. Schue manages to babble out some nonsense about the intricacies of adult relationships, and then Miss Holliday is in front of the class in her ridiculous leather jacket asking Finn if it’s true that he believed he got his girlfriend pregnant via hot tub, and just… in what world should she be expected to deal with this?
“What about those of us who choose to remain celibate?” Rachel asks, gesturing at herself and Quinn like they’re friends or something.
“Oh, well. I admire you. Although I think you’re naive and… possibly frigid, I do admire your choice.”
Frigid.
It’s an interesting word. Accurate, actually, because she’s been aiming for it since the summer before freshman year. That was the goal-Quinn Fabray: Ice Queen. Look but don’t touch, all teasing and no pleasing.
Here’s a fun fact: when she was younger, she masturbated, like, constantly.
She doesn’t even remember when she started-it just feels like she’s always known that a hand between her legs made her feel really good, and that she had to do it in her room and be quiet because Mom and Dad really didn’t like it.
They’d called it The Thing. As in, “Russell, she’s doing the thing again,” or “Lucy, stop doing the thing.” They told her that it wasn’t right, that God didn’t approve, that it was bad for her. She tried to stop, and she did, mostly, but some nights she just couldn’t sleep, and… well.
She hadn’t even realized what she’d been doing until a mortifying unit of eighth grade health class. (Masturbation was something boys did. She didn’t even know there was a way for girls to… to…)
Anyway. It’s not something Quinn does. Never has been.
And if Holly Holliday takes offense to that, it’s really not Quinn’s problem.
(But yes, she and Rachel join in the dance, or whatever. She never actually had a choice. And she’s not going to let her distaste for… all of this, really, make her into a social pariah. Because when you’re so uptight that even the glee club is too wild for you… well, she just really doesn’t want to be that person.)
-
“You okay?” a voice asks in her ear, and she jumps so abruptly she almost slams her hand into her locker.
“Sam, what are you doing?”
“Checking on you.”
“I don’t need checking on; I’m not five.”
“No, you just look like you’re about to, like, kill something.”
“Well that’s wonderful, and I really appreciate the sentiment, but you need to get out of here.” She moves to close her locker and catches sight of a very unwelcome face coming down the hallway in the reflection of her makeup mirror. “Sam. Now.”
“I’m getting a little tired of your stupid rules for when and where we’re allowed to be friends-”
“Sam, Santana’s going to be here in about seven seconds. Be offended later; now move.”
He manages to make himself scarce just in time for Quinn to feel a firm hand on her shoulder, whirling her around.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Just standing here, S. Is that a crime?”
“Fine-what the hell do you think you’re doing with Sam?”
“He wanted to borrow my Chemistry homework; I said no. Again: is that a crime?”
Santana narrows her eyes. “I know how you work, Fabray. Just do us both a favor and stay away from my man.”
Quinn bristles, feeling the last of her self-control slip away. If that’s how Santana wants to play it, fine. She needs this conversation to be over, like, now, and going for the throat is as natural as breathing. “He’s not your man, he’s my sloppy seconds. Just like always with you.”
“Excuse you?”
“You heard me. Come on, Santana, get real. The Cheerios captaincy? Finn? Puck? Sam? Planning on going out for prom queen, too? Face facts, Lopez-you’re always going to be chasing my leftovers, and you’re always going to be the second choice.”
For one legitimately terrifying moment, Quinn is sure Santana’s going to slam her up against the lockers again, but then something in Santana’s eyes flickers and goes out.
“What-fucking-ever,” she mutters, and stalks off.
If nothing else, it was a really shitty thing to say about Sam, but considering everything that’s going on with Brittany and with Artie (Quinn knows; of course she knows, how could she not know?), she’s aware that she crossed a line, even for her and Santana.
Knowing it and being able to do something about it are two very different things, though, and… well, she’s never been very good at apologies.
-
Here’s the thing she loves about Finn-it’s easy.
She can make out with him and turn off the world for a little while, and when she pulls back, disheveled and dizzy, and says something stupid like “divorce rules,” he doesn’t doubt her or ask probing questions, wondering if she’s fucking okay.
(She’s not.)
Here’s the truth: she really, really likes him. Even when he’s being a complete imbecile, which is most of the time, she’s legitimately fond of Finn Hudson in a way that she doesn’t feel for anyone else.
It’s not love, though.
She knows she’s not in love with him. She never has been.
It’s just that… she doesn’t think she knows how. And maybe she’s not capable of it at all. So if this is as close as she’s ever going to get, she may as well hold onto it, right?
-
Once she gets over the complete mental disconnect between Mr. Schue saying Santana has something she’d like to share and the fact that there’s some guy plucking at a freaking steel guitar in the corner next to a banjo player, she has to admit that Landslide is… kind of beautiful.
So yes, she smiles. She’s not completely heartless. And if one of her petty little digs ended up being the push Santana needed to finally go after what she wants, then… well. Maybe she doesn’t have to be sorry after all.
That peace of mind lasts about thirty seconds.
She wishes she hadn’t been paying attention, but as the number ends, she sees Sam lean over to Artie and whisper, “Pretty cool that our girlfriends are such good friends, right? I wish you and I were that close,” and it’s like the floor drops out from beneath her. She may not like the fact that they’re together, but Sam deserves to be happy, and Quinn should have remembered where he stood. He’s been a better friend to her than Santana ever was, and it just-
God. Why does every nice thing she does for anyone have to be balanced by ruining someone else?
-
She’s not stupid; she knows exactly what Afternoon Delight is about. But she also knows that it will be Miss Pillsbury who takes the fall for it, not her, and… revenge is a really hard habit to break, when someone deserves it.
(No unwanted pregnancies in almost a year.
Funny joke.
Funny, funny joke.)
-
Brittany finds her after school the next day.
“Hey. I liked your song,” she says, holding onto the straps of her backpack like a life preserver and staring resolutely at her shoes.
“I could tell; you were the only one clapping. I really liked yours, too.” Quinn can’t even remember the last time she had a one-on-one conversation with Brittany, but it’s surprisingly easy to be in her company. “Is there… something I can help you with?”
“It’s about that, actually.”
“Your song?”
“Santana.”
“Ah. Look, why don’t we sit down?” Quinn juts her chin towards the front steps, and Brittany follows obediently. “So?”
“I don’t know. I’m just really confused right now, and you’re really good at this stuff, so. I was hoping you could explain it to me.”
Quinn has no idea what this stuff is, and knowing Brittany, this conversation could go any one of a thousand ways, so she prepares herself for anything. “Okay. Shoot.”
“Santana said she’s in love with me.”
… That, she wasn’t prepared for. (Since when is that something she’s good at?)
“I… B, how is that confusing for you?”
“Because I’m with Artie, and I can’t just dump him to be with her, that wouldn’t be fair. And I told her that, and she got really upset and wouldn’t let me hug her and now I don’t know what to do. She made it seem like this was important, but I don’t know what’s changed.”
“Britt-”
“Do you think you can love two people at the same time?” she asks, and Quinn feels a sudden stabbing pain in her chest. Because that was her, not too long ago. Her, justifying cheating to Finn, and she’s been doing damage control for that moment of weakness ever since.
She still isn’t sure if she made the right choice.
“I… I don’t know. Do you think you can?”
“I love everyone at the same time,” Brittany says simply. “But Santana doesn’t think I’m allowed to, and I don’t want to mess her up. I don’t want to mess anyone up. And I’m with Artie.”
“I know. I… You’re doing the right thing, by protecting your heart.”
“But Santana-”
“If Santana loves you the way she says she does, then she’ll wait. And if she doesn’t… well, it’s better if you know that now, don’t you think?” Her phone buzzes, and she reaches into her pocket to pull it out. “Sorry, hold on.”
Message from: Sam Evans
Im w S. need u 2 pick up sibs + bbsit
Crap. Crap, crap, crap.
“Who is it?” Britt asks, leaning over to try and look at the screen. Quinn flinches away.
“Nothing. It… I have somewhere I need to be, but-call me later. Okay?”
“Okay.” To her complete surprise, Brittany leans in and wraps her in a tight hug. “You’re a good friend, Q.”
“Yeah, that’s the rumor,” Quinn mutters quietly into Britt’s shoulder.
She’s still having a pretty hard time believing it.
-
It’s not like he’d really had much choice in the matter. One second he’d been putting stuff away in his locker, the next second Santana had him back to the wall, kissing him everywhere, purring “Your place or mine?” against his lips. He’d barely had time to squeak “yours” before she was pulling him out to the parking lot as he desperately tried to text Quinn to let her know what was happening.
Next thing he knows, Santana’s opening up the backseat of her car and unceremoniously shoving him inside, climbing in on top of him and basically attacking him with her mouth.
“What-mmmph-what about your place?” he stutters, and he can practically feel her rolling her eyes.
“Can’t wait.”
It may be sexy, but nothing about it is very romantic, and for the life of him he just can’t get his mother’s voice out of his head. Be a gentleman, Sammy. It’s your job to make your girl feel special.
He blurts out the first thing he thinks of. “I, uh, I really liked your song yesterday. In glee.”
“Shut up,” she says hotly, mouth against his throat.
“No, I mean it. You and Brittany sound really pretty toget-ow! Shit, did you just bite me?”
“Seriously,” she growls, “if you want this to happen, you’re gonna have to shut up.”
Before he can get himself together enough to ask ‘want what to happen’ she’s going for his belt buckle, and-oh.
Though they’ve gone pretty far, they haven’t done… this. He’s not a virgin, but only barely-and somehow, any experience he gained during the break room quickie he had with Kelsie Keppler the summer after ninth grade working at the comic book store when she’d called herself the Ultimate Kitty Pryde to his Ultimate Spidey just doesn’t seem like it’s going to be of much use with Santana Lopez.
“Do you have a-a-”
“Condom? God, who the fuck do you think I am, Quinn Fabray?”
Using Quinn’s name at a moment like this is about a thousand times more off-putting than Coach Beiste’s ever was, but before he can do anything about it, she’s kissing him again.
After that, they really don’t do much talking.
-
At long last, the week from hell ends.
Quinn doesn’t relax until she’s back in bed with Finn, and it’s maddening, how one person can make her feel so safe and so completely vulnerable at the same time. She tries to get mad about the hickey, but she can’t-it feels good, to have some kind of solid proof that she’s with someone. That he wants her enough to mark her. And if that bothers Rachel fucking Berry, all the better.
“This is where I belong,” she whispers, running her palm up his arm and cupping his jaw, because her hands are cold and Finn is always, always warm. “With you. Kay?”
It doesn’t quite feel like the truth, but it’s not a lie, either.
She hopes it will be enough to hold them together.
( 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 )