Not One For Love

In Quinn's left hand is her notebook clutched tightly, as if she was afraid to lose it. In her right was Rachel's hand, her grip firm but loose enough for Rachel to be able to release her hold whenever she wished. When she would let go of Quinn, it was only to tuck a lock of her blonde hair back, or to play with her slender fingers.

It was poetry night, and Quinn was nervous. Not of the stage—she'd been on it far too many times to count. She was over her stage fright years and years ago. Not of the crowds—half of them were her friends and acquaintances. Brittany and Santana were probably making out in one of the many dark corners of the bar. Quinn was nervous because she wrote a poem for a girl, and she was as real as the pounding of her heart against her ribcage. That girl was Rachel, and Quinn was performing a poem for her tonight.

"You ready?" Taylor approached her with a tankard filled with the local brew. "They're done setting up out back."

"Ready for what?" Rachel asked, eyes bright and staring at Quinn. She kept it a secret from Rachel that this was their date night—the night that would hopefully kick off their relationship into the stars.

Quinn shook her head and kissed her nose. "You'll see. Brittany and Santana are around somewhere. Just relax, Rachel." She grinned and smoothed out her blazer before following Taylor, casting a wink towards Rachel as she disappeared in the crowd.

"That her? The woman you mentioned?" Taylor asked as they entered backstage. Quinn greeted a few of her friends and nodded to Taylor. "

"I thought about your offer." Quinn said as she rolled her shoulders, tension dissipating in her body with each passing second. "And I want the position, if you haven't given it out already."

Taylor chuckled. "I knew you'd say yes somehow, Quinn. Of course it's all yours."

"Oh, good." Quinn grinned. "I quit my day job for this even though I can probably do both, you know? But I have money saved up, and not all of my clients are asking for refunds. None of them are suing me either, so that's a relief." She peeked through the curtains and caught a sight of Rachel who was chatting with Brittany. The announcer stepped center stage and began to entertain the patrons of the bar.

"Everyone missed you, Quinn." Taylor said, hand clapping against her back. "You'll be great."

Quinn smiled. "I hope so. But more than that, I hope I'll be great for Rachel."

The host declared her name and Quinn stepped through the curtains, the black fabric flourishing around her. She smiled through the bright lights and the familiar faces of the crowd. Catching Rachel's eyes, Quinn winked and gripped the microphone stand. "Hello, everyone. To those who are not familiar with this scene, I've been MIA for the past year or so." Quinn chuckled.

"You could say I've been busy. I haven't been writing." The crowd booed playfully and Quinn laughed. "I know, I know. But you see, the first time I wrote a poem about a girl whose eyes are comparable to New York City's lights was last night when the moon hung low," Quinn held up her hand, cupping it as if she was grasping the moon in her palm. "Like false hope amidst these dying, fading stars burning bright and blinding me. I haven't touched a pen to write a poem in months and I try to think that this would make me see; that maybe this isn't all there is to me."

The pub was silent now, eyes trained on Quinn. She relished it. She savoured their awed stares, but most of all, she was drawn to Rachel's eyes. "The last time I wrote a poem was two hundred and fifty seven days ago but it was crap. It was a poem about how my lungs are just lungs, and my stomach is just a stomach." She patted her abdomen. "It's unromantic and I burned the words in my mind until all is left is charcoal and the alphabet crumbling in my fingertips."