A/N: This came to me in the shower while I was washing my hair. I have dreadlocks, so it took me a good hour to get thru, ha! And so, I'm trying my hand at a supernatural fic that has undertones of Twilight, Lost Girl and some Anne Rice mythology thrown in with my own creative nonsense. It's Finchel centric, Faberry /Quartie /Artchel friendships and appearances with everyone else. I predict some sexy times so I'm dropping this in the M bucket.

Disclaimer: Glee, isn't mine. (I've never been to OSU, so, creative license, okie?)

.: prologue

Midnight in Lima, Ohio was beautiful.

She loves this time of the day. Everyone else was fast asleep and the night was quiet, just the sound of the wind in the trees, crickets chirping and the other animals that came out at night. Back in New York, the city that never slept, she didn't have this. Usually it was honking car horns, blaring music, loud chatter and ever-present foot traffic. It's not that she minded the city - she lived there almost her entire life, but she needed a change: in pace, in smell, of scenery.

Somewhere where she could escape reality for a while.

She flits to the second level of the bleachers, her quiet solace from everything else. They were at Ohio State University this time around; Quinn and Artie were somewhere off entertaining themselves, waiting for daylight. The campus was gorgeous, huge in comparison to their last stint at Syracuse University and she finds that football was quickly becoming her favourite sport, well, next to hockey.

She's midway through Tolstoy's Anna Karenina (she's read it several times and still does not understand it) when the smell of sandalwood and man permeates the air. Raising her head to look around, she immediately spies him jogging slowly along the opposite side of the track.

Tall and broad-shouldered, his hair is dark brown and unruly, sticking to the back of his sweaty neck and forehead when he wipes his brow. His steps are sure and heavy as he pounds the dirt from one end of to the next, breath misting in the cool night air; his whiskey-coloured eyes are hurt and sad as he glares down the field turf track.

She's frozen in her seat as she watches him run, her brows creased in confusion because somehow, he's managed to surprise her. He had been on the track running for quite a while, his breathing was heavy and laboured.

She reaches out to him, curious as to why he was running alone in the cold, early hours of the morning, his face broken and pained.

The night is silent but for the crickets and birds chirping quietly in the trees behind her. She frowns, her eyes watching as he moves and up down the track.

He stops running and bends over in exhaustion. Stretching his arms over his head, he brushes his hair back and then freezes, finally seeming to notice the lone figure sitting in the stands. He looks around then back at her and she sees his pained expression morph into one of curiosity as to why there was someone sitting, in the bleachers, alone, this time in the morning.

Again, she reaches out to his mind and growls in frustration at the utter silence.

Dismissing her, he bows his head again, legs pumping, arms pistoning beside him as he sprints up and down the track. For someone that big, he was fast.

Colour her intrigued.

She moves silently to the bleachers nearer to him, hiding within the darkness. His scent was stronger here, clean and heady, his muskiness soaking the cool air around him. It was disarming, her mouth watering as it wraps around her, goosebumps licking up her skin. Standing this close to him, her eyes drink in his every detail: from the freckles along his jaw to the ugly pink scar on his right thigh.

She wants to know how he got it.

She doesn't quite understand her interest in this stranger, this pull she feels towards him. Transfixed, she watches him runs back and forth, his face melancholy.

See, when she decided to escape from New York, she was hoping for some peace and quiet until they had to move again. She wasn't expecting some tall, beautiful, broken stranger whose mind was silent to her and smelled better than ambrosia and heaven combined.

With one last look of longing, she disappears into the darkness towards home.

A/N: Well. Not strange at all. This is of course going to be a short multi-chap, but I really wanted to get it out of my head, so yea. I'm going to have fun with this though. Blue button? Click it.