𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲, quinn fabray.

007: girls got rhythm

When someone abandons you, they're never completely gone. Little fragments of them are left behind. In items of clothing, in places you went together, in songs and in memories. Sometimes you can hear them talk, repeating things they told you when they were around. Sometimes you can even hear them laugh.

Dylan thinks about her father a lot. Things he said to her are forever plaguing her brain like a virus, and, in times where she forgets about him entirely, the mess of a body he left her in reminds her that he may forever torment her, even if he's nowhere to be seen.

Dylan always loathed her father for walking out, yet here she was, doing the exact same thing.

It was Monday morning. Dylan had arrived to school two hours and 27 minutes late, and had yet to meet eyes with any of the girls from glee club. The waiting left her wrestling with dread and anxiety, though she masked it with the stone cold expression she wore regularly.

It would falter occasionally. She would spot a blonde ponytail or a red cheer uniform and immediately fall into a small, silent state of panic. Only to then see that the ponytail belonged to a stranger, not who she had assumed it was.

So when she finally came face-to-face with her, she thought she had mistaken someone for her once more. But it was her, looking as perfect as ever. "I didn't think you'd be here today."

"I kind of have to. . .you know, attend school," she mumbled, her gaze flickering down to her shabby sneakers, her pale cheeks darkening to a shade similar to crimson much due to Quinn's concentrated gaze.

"The girls aren't happy with you," Quinn stated bluntly, nodding her head at her own words. Her eyes scanned Dylan's face, so attentively she caught sight of her lips pulling into a frown ever so slightly at her confession. "I don't really blame them. Why did you leave?"

Taking a deep breath at Quinn's question, Dylan only silently shook her head, before she continued on her walk to class, not expecting the blonde to follow her footsteps. "Look, I get that you don't like being vulnerable and you have this whole tough girl thing going on, but—"

At the sound of Quinn's abrupt silence, Dylan slowed down and, in curiosity, asked, "but what?"

Quinn sighed, a twinkle in her eye revealing that she had things she aspired to get off her chest, but at the last minute, decided against it. "You can't do what you did, okay? You can't just walk out when people are relying on you."

Dylan lightly shook her head, "I'm not talking about this here."

"Then we'll talk about it somewhere else," Quinn's voice was stern enough that even Dylan felt a little intimidated. Or it could be because of the confusion Quinn's words had caused her. Quinn wants to talk to her?

For a moment she struggled to respond, her mouth flapping open and closed as she nervously ran a hand through her tangled hair. Evidently uncomfortable, she shook her head. "I-uh. . .don't think that's necessary."

"And why not?" Quinn quirked an eyebrow in question, her lips pursed in that typical Fabray manner.

Dylan crossed her arms, hoping that that familiar armour across her chest would make her seem less disheveled and more put together and careless, like she felt she should've been. "Because there's nothing to talk about! I just. . .I got a stage fright."

It wasn't necessarily the truth, but it was close enough that it sounded believable. Even to Quinn, who seemed to be able to read Dylan like a book, even with the little knowledge she truly had of the troubled girl before her.

"Oh," was all she said. And for a moment it was silent. The two shared eye contact for a second too long, until Dylan realised Quinn's eyes were really pretty, and suddenly she felt like someone like her looking into them was a crime worth a great deal of punishment. "Well, really if you think about it, stage fright is an easy fix."