𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲, quinn fabray.

009: jellybean cupcakes

Every member of the glee club differed in opinion, but each was still bold in their own right. Since swearing her allegiance to the club (though still not outright embracing it), Dylan had learned that fact. Her assuring loyalty to the club seemingly meant she was also agreeing to be "friends" with each member, and with that came a list of absurd problems, which Dylan was apparently expected to assist in handling.

Her nostrils had been given time to breathe.

She was feeling immense relief now that her smelling senses weren't bombarded with the stench of sweaty socks and unwashed football equipment. All thanks to Sue Sylvester's newly improved, more intensely rigorous weekly training programme, following Quinn Fabray's shocking departure, the blocks of time in which she could show her face in the locker room without a formal complaint being delivered to the Principal by a snooty cheerleader (stating discomfort or something along those lines) stretched longer.

She huffed and winced, though said nothing (not that she had the option, for Rachel had eagerly jumped in before she had the chance). "What? Is it your shoulder?" The eager girl tugged once more at the hair of the less enthusiastic girl sitting crisscrossed on the bench before her.

"No! It's me regretting letting you maim me," she grumbled once more, her head twitching as Rachel, yelping in dramatic horror, snatched at Dylan's hair once more, before grumbling herself, "if you would stop moving around. You're so fidgety."

Dylan huffed, but obliged to Rachel's requests, sitting as still as one could when hairs were being yanked from their head. A moment of silence followed, as Rachel continued to dress Dylan's hair and she stared absentmindedly at the row of lockers before her. Her frown was small, and with her back facing her, Rachel couldn't even see it. Still, she noticed her quiet nature, and simply assumed.

"What are you upset about?" She asked, hardly expecting an answer (she had realised that Dylan was more than a closed book, she was a locked diary), but still asking could never hurt. When Dylan's head shook (though slightly, it was more like a twitch in uncertainty), she spoke again, "is it the boys on the football team?" She paused, then spoke, though with a softness she couldn't understand herself, "Quinn?"

Dylan's knee bounced anxiously, even despite her crisscrossed position, as she nibbled in her lip. Deciding between the hard truth and an easy lie was more difficult than it should've been. "I'm not upset, I just—" she paused and inhaled a deep breath as she glanced at the clock hung on the tiled wall beside them. "I'd really rather not be here when this locker room fills up with a bunch of snooty Cheerios, so can we wrap this up? Practice starts in ten."

Rachel nodded, though aware that Dylan would not see it. A brief period of silence followed, as words sat on the tip of Rachel's tongue. She gave into the temptation, unsure whether Dylan would appreciate her honesty but still offering it. There was always that risk with Dylan. Honesty was appreciated, but a little too much honesty was suffocating. "You and I actually have a lot in common."

Rachel still fiddled with Dylan's hair, even after she felt her shoulders tense at her words. Stiffly, Dylan only hummed as a weak reply. Any word that sprung to her mind couldn't be said in fear that she would upset Rachel, but she assumed her silence did that just fine. In the midst of rattling her brain for something (anything) to say, the door swung open, and a heard of giggles flooded in.

Dylan tensed and froze before finally stumbling to grab her things. With her mind on the quickest route to the door, she failed to recognise Rachel still tentatively taming her hair, so as she stood to leave, she was practically yanked back to where she began.

Eyes. Dylan knew what they felt like by now. And she'd developed a rather impressive ear as well, though she often wished she hadn't. Living in an ignorant bliss seemed rather easy. Flustered from Rachel's observation and flustered from "sneaky" stares and crude whispers, she stood once more.