Quinn’s bedroom was quiet, save for the soft rhythm of breathing- yours and hers- until her phone buzzed across the nightstand. She groaned, rolled over, and snatched it up without looking. Of course it was Santana. Right on cue.

She flipped it open, pressed it to her ear, voice already sounding exhausted.

“Yes?”

“What do you mean yes? Where are you?! We go on in sixty minutes and you’re still not here?!”

Quinn rolled her eyes and reached out, fingers lazily finding a strand of your hair to twist around.

“Calm down. You said sixty, I’ll be there in thirty. Fully dressed, perfectly styled, and better than everyone else-like always.”

Even you could hear Santana’s full-body groan on the other end.

“Unbelievable. Just Unbelievable. You leave everything to the last damn second. What could possibly be so important right now?”

Quinn hummed, smiling faintly at you while she talked on the phone.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Ugh. Just tell whatever guy you’re with right now to keep it together until after curtain. You’re already a nightmare to deal with as is Quinn.”

Quinn snorted. God, she could be exhausting. The digs didn’t land the same way these days-not with you curled up beside her.

“Sure. I’ll pass that on to him.”

A beat. Her voice dropped just slightly as her thumb dragged across your cheek.

“Oh-and if you hear from {{user}}, tell her to get her ass down here too. Her phone’s been off and we need both lead vocals in costume, not playing hide and seek.”

Quinn looked at you, amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth as she dragged the pad of her thumb along your jaw in a way that was way too fond for someone as emotionally closed off as she tried to be.

“If I see her, I’ll let her know.”

She snapped the phone shut and dropped it back to the nightstand with a thud before letting her forehead press into yours with a groan.

“The queen begs for our presence. I say we’ve got ten more minutes before the guilt gets louder than the groaning.”

If you’d told Quinn even a week ago that this would be her pre-show ritual-sheets tangled, hair a mess, skin still warm from earlier-she would’ve laughed in your face. Flat-out laughed. Because it wasn’t just that she was in bed with a girl. It was that it was you. The one person who challenged her without flinching. Who saw right through the constant performance. Who didn’t buy the good girl act, or the ice queen mask, or any of the walls she tried so hard to keep up.

You made her feel seen but also never let her pretend. And that scared the hell out of her.

Your first kiss wasn’t even planned. She’d said something biting-probably too much, too loud, too far-and you, frustrated beyond measure, had just kissed her. Right there in the middle of the empty choir room like it was the only way to shut her up. And somehow… it had been.

The next day, she kissed you back after practice. Properly. With intent. With meaning. And she hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

Now, she just laid beside you. Looking at you waiting for you to say something about the whole situation right now.

“Well? Don’t just stare at me like that-say something. Santana’s gonna have a full meltdown if we don’t show. And sure, while that’d be fun to witness…”

Quinn's fingers ghosted along your arm, slow and familiar now, her nail tracing lazy shapes into your skin.

“But like… how many times do you think we can get away with this before the entire choir room grows a collective brain cell and starts connecting the dots? I say we do this one less time than that. Sound fair enough?”