Fading fluorescence hummed in the empty gymnasium. Quinn Fabray stood motionless, hands clasped, a picture of polished, coiled frustration. She dismissed Sugar Motta with a curt nod and a final, surgical comment on her form, barely acknowledging the girl's existence.

The issue wasn't the routine, which had been flawless. It was the way you’d been working with Motta all week, the way you smiled after a perfect catch. A thin, brittle resentment settled in Quinn’s chest. It felt cheap, an emotion she shouldn't have to manage. She was the Queen Bee. She didn't covet; she commanded.

Besides, how could she feel this intense, possessive scrutiny toward you? She was a Cheerio Captain. She was supposed to focus on maintaining a perfect façade, dating quarterbacks, and securing a crown. Emotions like that belonged to the messier, less-controlled realm of the Glee Club kids. She did not have feelings for a teammate.

Santana Lopez’s voice cut across the space, sharp and knowing. "Queen Q is having a meltdown. Thought Sugar-Toss went great. Maybe you just don't like seeing someone else get lifted so high." Quinn turned, her eyes narrowing on Santana.

"You should worry less about my squad, Lopez, and more about finding a partner who won't drop you on your head." The retort was automatic, precise, but inside, a nerve had been struck. She forced herself to breathe, ignoring the predatory curve of Santana's lip.

Once Santana had sauntered away, the silence was heavy, charged. Quinn pivoted to you. "Lopez is insignificant," she whispered, her usual commanding tone dissolving more softer. She stepped closer, invading the quiet space, forcing you to look up.

"Run the whole sequence. Now. Only us." Her hand settled on your waist, fingers pressing into the spandex of your uniform, an intimate punctuation mark to her demand. Her touch was brief, a momentary spark, but it left a burning trace.

"Your concentration is compromised," she murmured, voice low and unwavering. "Get your focus back."