Summary: "I'm Sam," you say, offering your free hand as your eyes get trapped by hazel once again, "I just moved in next door." / "Quinn," she says, shaking your hand gently. Her hands are soft like her voice, and you wonder what makes her seem like she's holding onto something fragile.—- AU, Faberry, Sam's POV, post-season 1
a/n: another fic i'm working on over in the Tumblr world (closetcasefabray).
Just Like The Movies
The first time you see her, you decide you need to read more books because there must be more words than beautiful to describe a girl like Quinn Fabray.
Your mom asked you to bring the neighbors some fresh brownies, and you quickly obliged when you saw Quinn walking out to her driveway.
"Hi," you say, approaching her from your yard as she grabs the newspaper at the end of the driveway. You try to recall some poetry you once read about the seasons, but nothing comes to mind when she looks at you with her hazel eyes.
She smiles - it's modest, the way her lips curve up slightly - and you will always remember how your heart swelled as she met you halfway between your yards.
"Hi," she says. Her voice is slightly husky, holding onto the quiet of the morning, and you glance at her lips to watch them move around a simple greeting.
"I'm Sam," you say, offering your free hand as your eyes get trapped by hazel once again, "I just moved in next door."
She looks at your lips too, but you're used to this. Your nickname was "guppy lips" at your previous school.
"Quinn," she says, shaking your hand gently. Her hands are soft like her voice, and you wonder what makes her seem like she's holding onto something fragile.
"My mom baked these and wanted to say hello to you and your family," you say, motioning to her house with the plate of brownies. "She's still in the middle of unpacking, though."
"Oh, this is actually my aunt's house," Quinn explains, "I'm house-sitting for the summer."
"Sweet deal," you say and internally cringe – Sweet deal? "But here, take these. My mom bakes great brownies."
She takes the plate, "I, uh, have to go run some errands for my mom, but I'm sure I'll see you later," she says politely.
"Yeah, it was nice meeting you, Quinn," you say, hoping your grin isn't too doofy as you give an awkward wave goodbye.
"Yeah, you too, Sam."
You'll also always remember the way she said your name, the way you looked for some hidden meaning behind the sound of her voice.
You're in your room, unpacking the small boxes that are left, when you notice Quinn's car pull back into the driveway. She gets out from the driver's side, carrying a brown bag of groceries, and you see two other girls – one brunette, one blonde – get out with a grocery bag each as well.
You discover that your room is across from Quinn's, at least the room she appears to be staying in. Your windows are slightly higher than hers, and there must be a glare on your window with the way the sun hits it because you thought she looked right at you, but she just carried on folding her laundry.
You move your desk over slightly, hoping to skew the view, but instead you have a view of her small above-ground pool in the back yard and can see through only one of her windows instead of two.
You hope she has blinds and that she uses them.
You read some poetry, but you keep getting caught up on the longer words that are really multiple words smashed together. You appreciate the aesthetics of e. e. cummings if anything – how the words seem carried by the wind across the page. Despite what people think of your relationship with words, you think they're beautiful. There is a certain kind of patience that poetry demands, and part of you is grateful that you read it at a similar pace to everyone else.
You spend almost an hour reading one of his poems, and the disjointed appearance of it all makes it rather incomprehensible. But some words stand out, and you think that maybe there are some things that are never really meant to be understood as a whole.
It's a hot day, too hot to go out and try and explore Lima, but you figure you got the gist of it from your drive into town to get snacks for your siblings.
You open every window in your room, but you're not sure if it is actually helping fight the heat when there is no hint of a breeze. You only have a fan, but this doesn't stop your brother from inviting himself in to watch Star Wars with you. (You only have the movies on VHS, and you have the only VCR player in the house.) You just ruffle his hair and move over on your bed to make room for him.
You're in the middle of Return of the Jedi, drinking root beer and eating Cheez-Its, when you hear a car engine pull up next door.
You peer out your window, after glancing at your brother whose eyes are glued to the screen, to see a different car in the driveway. You watch the same blonde and brunette get out of their car, carrying small bags (or big purses, you don't really know). They disappear into the house, and a minute passes before you see the three of them enter Quinn's room.
They drop their bags and flop onto the bed, immersed in conversation. The brunette starts filing her nails as the blonde dumps out a bag of nail polish. You wonder if the movies were right about how cliché girls could be. You're still trying to figure out what exactly girls do together.
Quinn disappears from the room and the blonde scoots closer to the brunette; she bumps her shoulder against the other girl's and smiles at her. You decide some movies were maybe a little right when the blonde leans in and kisses the other girl. It's soft and sweet, and they say a few words between kisses, laughing lightly. You can almost hear their whispers passing between their lips.
Quinn reenters and throws a pillow at her friends. You know it's good-natured because the brunette just laughs, throwing it back at Quinn. Your hopes for a pillow fight get squashed when she tucks it back into place before hopping onto the bed beside the other two.
"Whatcha lookin' at?" Your brother's head pops up in your line of sight, and you are grateful that the girls seem to be reading magazines and talking. Your brother turns to you, squinting his eyes, "Are you being a peeping Tim?"
"It's Peeping Tom, and no. I just… Stevie, this is an important part of the movie," you say, pointing to the screen.
He shrugs, and despite having seen it a hundred times in his nine years, he doesn't put up a fight.
Later on, you breathe a sigh of relief when you notice the blinds are drawn.
It's just past five when you hear the blonde and brunette calling goodbye from the driveway. The blonde waves to Quinn at the door before getting into the passenger seat.
You almost jump a minute later when Quinn's blinds fly open. You move away from the window, but you see her prop a small fan on the windowsill before pulling her hair back into a ponytail. A moment later, you see another car pull up to her house and a small brunette hops out of the driver's side. She pretty much bounces her way to the door.
You decide you've done enough peeping and open your very old and slow laptop as you lie on your bed. You're about to put in your headphones when you hear singing. You resist at first, but end up peering over your laptop to see Quinn's back to you as she holds a piece of paper. You don't recognize the song, nor can you really hear the lyrics, but you can hear the difference in their voices. The brunette might be small, but her voice isn't; it comes out strong and smooth, while there is a certain husky quality in Quinn's.
You watch as Quinn moves to take a seat next to the brunette on her bed, and there's something in the way that the smaller girl moves over an inch that makes their relationship unclear. The brunette continues to talk, and you notice that Quinn doesn't look away from her. Her mouth keeps moving, but Quinn sits there nodding, patient.
When the other girl looks up and smiles at Quinn, you watch the blonde's lips curve into a grin, but she looks unsure, like she's attempting to read the brunette.
You conclude that they must be good friends, especially since that girl seems to talk a lot, and Quinn appears completely content with listening to her.