𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲, quinn fabray.

010: mistake prone under pressure.

There were many words one could use to describe Dylan Miller, and of all the bad ones, she had been called them right to her face or behind her back. One word, however, she would never use to describe herself was the word lucky. Whether it was in the family department, in terms of academic smarts or otherwise, she was basically screwed from the get-go.

Staring into a hat with crumpled up pieces of paper, with such power they would determine the fate of her week, she asked herself a question: "who would she even want to sing a ballad to?" In her head, her fingers were crossed and she chanted, "Tina, Tina, Tina," whilst simultaneously praying, "not Puck, not Finn, not Quinn, not. . ."

She pursed her lips, "Rachel."

There were a hint of amused chortles, mostly from Santana's corner of the room, but they went unheard, as Dylan was too troubled remembering the last interaction the pair shared the week before. Things since then had been. . . shaky to say the least. In Rachel's defence, it's difficult to remain light and breezy when you can't stop thinking about how being compared to you could offend someone so deeply into shock.

Dylan had no defence for herself. And yet she didn't know what to say. So she scrunched the paper into her pocket, and scuttered to her seat, conveniently next to Quinn, who, if Dylan weren't in such a state of uncertainty to notice, grew suddenly quiet and somber.

The only other pairing that had warranted such an amused reaction had been Finn and Kurt, but that was a given. It was abundantly clear that Kurt had a mega-crush on the quarterback. Even Finn himself grew aware, and that demonstrated the immensity of this crush, as Finn truly was clueless.

"Would you mind clarifying which songs you want us to sing?" Artie feebly raised his hand, and it was then Dylan reached a sort of crossroads.

In hindsight, she really should've ran out the door and never came back. But, as mentioned, her fate for the week had been already decided the second she chose the specific paper she had. And, like it was a given that Finn and Kurt's pairing warranted laughs, it was a given she would follow Rachel's every request.

Singing 'Endless love' with her was a risky move, one that would result in consequences that she would suffer for the rest of the week and so on. As they sang, eye locked in eye as Mr. Schue recommended, unrelated thoughts floated around the choir room. Kurt thought fleetingly about his and Finns impending duet, where Noah Puckerman scooted in his chair and pondered about his underwear (or lack thereof). If minds could be read, Dylan would be appalled to find that her and Finn were in similar wave-lengths, for Rachel did look. . .good the more Dylan studied her (though she wouldn't make such comments about Rachel's butt aloud).

"I want to share all my love with you. No one else will do," Dylan sang, but try as she might, she couldn't keep that casual nonchalance she had kept in every other performance she prepared for glee club. Hands twitched towards her hair, scratched her neck, rubbed her arms, flittered with the edges of her shirt.

Now it had been too long to tear her eyes away. She wasn't even incredibly sure she could, or if she would. Dylan wondered if she radiated a flustered energy, and believed surely she had been caught out. Self-defence kicked in: who could blame her for admiring Rachel's pretty eyes? There was nothing strange about it. Just two incredibly assured girls singing a love song. But there was no honesty in it. She didn't mean what she was singing, surely.

"I'd be that fool for you, I'm sure. No, you know I don't mind."

Dylan had grown to expect to live a life disheartened, but watching Rachel sing the song in her everyday manner, as if this were just routine and not something totally absurd (to sing a love song with a girl in such an intimate fashion—I mean, come on!), it made Dylan feel even more alien than she had become used to.