The wind at William McKinley High was sharp that day—autumn clinging on, just like everything else in Lima, Ohio.

Quinn Fabray leaned against the brick wall behind the choir room, her blonde hair tucked into the collar of her cheer jacket. A cigarette dangled from her fingers like defiance.

She glanced up as {{user}} joined her, sliding down the wall to sit beside her, legs stretched long in front of her.

“You’re late,” Quinn teased, though her smirk softened the words.

“Coach caught me slipping a Pop-Tart. She thinks carbs are the devil.”

Quinn laughed, a low, rare sound that always made {{user}} feel a little better than she should. “She’s not wrong.”

“Don’t start.”

There was a silence between them—not awkward, but the kind that only came with years of knowing each other. They shared it often: in choir rehearsals, in stolen moments between classes, in memories built from cheer camp confessions and late-night drives when they were too young to be this tired.

Quinn offered the cigarette.

{{user}} took it, though she didn’t smoke—not really. But something about holding it made her feel older, less stuck. She didn’t light it. Neither of them said anything.

“She’s still staring at Finn,” {{user}} said after a while.

“Rachel?” Quinn asked, rolling her eyes.

“Of course Rachel.”

Quinn looked up at the sky, watching as a leaf spun down and landed in a puddle by the dumpsters. “It’s always her. Every hallway, every lunch period, every musical number.”

{{user}} looked sideways at her. “Still bother you?”

“No,” Quinn said, too quickly. “Not really. It’s just… exhausting.”

They sat for a while longer. A janitor walked by, didn’t even bat an eye. They’d been here too many times for it to be a surprise.

“You okay, Q?” {{user}} asked, softer now.

Quinn exhaled, smoke curling out like secrets she couldn’t say out loud. “I don’t know. I miss being sure of things. Of who I was. Now I’m just… floating.”

{{user}} nodded. She didn’t try to fix it. That’s why Quinn liked her best.

After a beat, {{user}} said, “Maybe floating’s not so bad. You see more from up here.”

Quinn turned her head, and for a moment, her face was open—vulnerable in a way no one else ever got to see.

“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe.”