Faberry (We Might Fall Hard, We Might Fall Fast)

6

When Quinn woke up Tuesday morning all she could see was, well, darkness. She fumbled around on the nightstand to find her phone and looked at it bleary eyed. Five thirty A.M was not a civilized time to be awake, only crazy people woke up this early. She didn't know what time she'd fallen asleep last night, but it had been before eight. All that crying she'd done with Rachel in the choir room yesterday had completely drained her.

She picked up her pillow and screamed into it when the memory of her embarrassingly, over the top confession to the Diva as to why she'd been so different recently came back flooding back to her.

Seriously, she could curse these stupid baby hormones for making her stupid brain, tell her stupid mouth, say those stupid things. Okay, so they were true but that didn't mean she didn't want to just bury her head in a bucket of sand right now and wait for her own humiliation to be over with. It was lucky that Rachel Berry practically thrives off drama; if she'd said it to anyone else she'd probably have to move to the North Pole so she'd never had to face anyone ever again, except for the occasional explorer and maybe Santa.

When she thought she'd smothered herself sufficiently she went upstairs to get herself an orange and then went into the living room to put on the TV. Not that there was a great deal of watchable shows on, but it took away the boredom for a while, even if that meant channel surfing for an hour.

At six thirty she sent a text to Rachel because she knew the other girl would be up. Her phone rang ten seconds later and when she answered, all she could hear was a whirring noise and what sounded like panting; she pulled the phone away from her ear and frowned at the screen, making sure it really was Rachel calling.

"Rachel?"

"Yeah."

"What are you doing?"

"My morning work out routine."

"You know it's customary to say 'Hello' and not just breathe heavily down the phone. It makes you sound like a creepy stalker."

"Sorry, I hadn't realized that you'd answered. Are you, Brittany and Santana playing again today?"

Quinn tried to focus on the other girls' words, and not on the breathy way they were being said. "We are. You want to watch again?"

"I do."

"Will you dress up as a cheerleader?"

"No."

"Aww, why not? I want you to spell out my name with your arms and wave Pom Poms in the air like you just don't care." She smiled when the Diva laughed.

"I'm not a cheerleader and because of this I don't actually own a cheerleading uniform. That would be the main reason for not dressing up as one."

"So you'd do it if you had one?" That sounded way too eager.

"I don't think I could fully commit myself to a definite answer."

"That's a 'maybe' then."

"I'll neither confirm nor deny."

"Spoilsport." Quinn said as she got up to fetch herself another orange.

"That's me. I'm also a Killjoy and a Party Pooper."

The blonde chuckled as she threw the piece of fruit in the air, bounced it off her upper arm and caught it in her hand. She shouldn't be as impressed with that ability as she was. "You sure are."

The whirring stopped then she heard a rustle. "Okay, work out done. I'm all sweaty now and I need a shower. Shall I meet you in the gym?"

"Yeah. Eight o'clock?"