Work Text:
Wisps of snow fell onto Quinn Fabray’s dirty blonde tresses as she hurried to the nearest Starbucks down the wet and slippery road at exactly 7:00 am. Listen, she loves Yale, and their dinners are amazing, but their coffee sucks.
Welcome To New York by Taylor Swift was cutting in and out of her headphones as she cursed to herself about how she needs new ones. She’s been thinking a lot about moving to New York lately. The lights, the people, the liveliness and drunk nights with…Rachel and Kurt. Totally. Okay, fine, so what if she’s been dreaming a little too much nowadays?
Lucy did it all the time. But Quinn can’t think like that, because she’s been that girl, and she’s never, ever , going back. She doesn’t want to be doomed to perpetually stepping on a brake for the rest of her life, stuck on Dreaming Street.
The man in front of her finished paying for his hot chocolate and hurried out the door as she twisted her headphones cord so she could experience the full effect of Taylor Swift’s music. Quinn put on the smile she ever-so-easily perfected in freshman year of high school, and asked the barista for a Grande cappuccino with raspberry syrup and mocha sauce. It was about time she treated herself. He left the counter to go make it.
Welcome To New York slowly started fading out as her phone vibrated.
Who the hell is calling me at this hour, she begrudgingly thought to herself.
Most of her friends sleep until 10:00 am at the earliest, unless they had classes, and even then, they’re still rather groggy. Well, except Rachel, but they’re more like awkward acquaintances.
No, this can’t be real, she panicked as she realized who this certain blocked caller was. She would recognize the number anywhere. It was her lifeline on so many dark nights. Whether they were slapping each other, or huddling together with Brittany on cold nights of Cheerios camp, they were always there for each other.
Until Valentine’s Day.
Until the day where Quinn’s flirting went too far.
Until the day where Quinn was screaming Brittany’s ex-girfriend’s name, both literally and figuratively.
Her thumb unconsciously traced over the Accept Call button, and of course she had to put a little extra pressure on her thumb and answer the call.
I can't hang up now, she excused to herself as if she didn’t know a part of her wanted to accept the call.
“Hey, Q. I-, uh, how are you doing?”
Well, that totally wasn’t awkward at all. Great goin’, Lopez, Santana thought to herself.
“I’m good. You?”
“I’m doing well, but, um, I need to tell you something. And it’s kept me up all night, as you can tell, because only fucking Jesus wakes up this early. Did you know Gay Berry literally does vocal warm ups as soon as she wakes u-”
“Brittany’s ex-gir- S-Santana, can you get to it?”
Shit. I couldn’t bring myself to say Brittan- Santana’s name these past two weeks since… well you know. And now Santana knows that. I’m completely fucked. God, is that barista done yet, she thought as she borderline paced around the fucking Starbucks .
If Santana was perturbed in the slightest, she didn’t show it.
“Look, Q, I guess I owe you an apology or more like an explanation? That’s what Br- people call it.”
Oh.
Santana continued, “I’m struggling with Brittany.”
No.
Because if Santana is struggling with Brittany, she wants her because they were just fine and dandy as friends. And that means Quinn fell back into being Lucy.
For a girl .
Who doesn’t even like her like… that.
And suddenly Quinn’s getting a lump in her throat, and she can practically feel her stomach acid being prepared to be thrown up and then she’s…
crying.
In a Starbucks, where the barista with a fucking mohawk is holding out her cappuccino with a look that exudes “I don’t get paid enough for this” and Quinn takes the cappuccino and runs.
Tomorrow, I’ll go back and pay for my regular coffee with a $5 tip , she construes in her mind as if that isn’t still stealing.
Santana hung up sometime when she was running, so of course Welcome To New York faded back into her ears.
And, of course, that part is the part where she left off.
And you can want
who you want
Boys and boys
and girls and girls.
Taylor Swift, 2014