𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲, quinn fabray.

008: every edge of a pure boy

The glee club were struck in horror. Really, every member of the glee club knew where they stood on the social food chain. Or so they had thought. Now that Finn and Quinn had experienced their very first slushee facial, every member had questions regarding their own status, and dressed for rain just in case a slushee came their way.

Dylan's shoulders were tense, but that may be due to the stares being sent her way by a particular cheerleader. She wished they were glares. She's feel a whole lot better if they were. Quinn's anger was always a whole lot easier to deal with than her hurt.

The bleachers were chilly, especially with the idea of an icy facial in thought. But privacy took precedence. Dylan, like the glee club, knew what kind of person she was (or more accurately what kind of person people thought of her as). And a list of higher priorities, alongside the fact that her reputation (particularly amongst the showchoir lovers) had never been worse, left her feeling an indifference towards changing that fact. She will be what they thought.

Mike had warm hands and smooth lips, and unlike the boys Dylan had become used to, he smelled pure, though his intentions may not be so clean. His grip on her waist was firm, his awkward frame lingering below her. Dylan mistook his hesitancy for nerves, and she realised she was wrong when he stopped.

She lay on her back, elbows propped. A quirked eyebrow, perhaps a hint of irritation. "What's wrong?" She was breathless, air hot and stuffy.

He stuttered slightly. Hesitancy, she was certain this time. She recognised his struggle to order words in a way that didn't offend her. She braced for them to pierce her, eyes cold and face stoic. "I. . . I don't know, should we—" he paused, scratching his neck and tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. "Wouldn't you rather do this somewhere more. . ."

She shot him a dry look. When Mike suggested they get to know one another on a random Tuesday following football practice, she hadn't realised he'd be so picky. She'd assumed his wants were what most would want from her. She hardly expected a budding friendship to be formed, nor was she sure she wanted that. "Should I have bought you dinner first? I totally forgot that was the gentlemanly thing to do," her grin twitched, as she sat straighter, twirling the end of her hair.

Mike blinked, teetering on which move to make. "No, I, uh, just, when I said we should go out," he elaborated, "I meant, you know, out out. Like, for real."

Dylan quirked an eyebrow. Confused. Now she teetered. She considered asking Mike the question she truly wanted to know, 'did someone put you up to this?' But she decided not. Instead, she said, "look, man, I'm not really into that commitment thing, so. . .we can either get back to what we were doing before or. . ."

"Well, I'm not really into the making love in a public place thing so—" Mike inhaled a sharp air, sensing a misstep. Dylan cleared her throat, cheeks flushed, though not from before. Not anymore.

"What, is this the part where you shame me?" She was defensive, he noticed. And he stuttered for an apology, though he didn't know what to say. Had he been shaming her? Certainly, in his honest opinion, 'hanging out' under the bleachers was hardly an activity that should be honoured. She scoffed, shaking her head at his halfhearted attempts, "so, like, what? I can't make out with people without being ridiculed?"

"No. Well, I don't know," Mike spoke in a hushed voice, fingers skimming along the grass which he sat on, "maybe you should work on developing something more. . .meaningful."

He didn't know what to expect. An honest and open conversation was what he hoped for. His initial intrigue towards Dylan had stemmed into many delusions, and he wondered if maybe she was the type of person who was 'different once you talked to her'. Though clearly, she was as she always was.