A/N- Been having some Fabrasting feels and there are not enough stories about them so I came up with this little piece. Enjoy!

Disclaimer - I don't own the characters only their thoughts and actions.

Eight Months Ago

The following questions are in regards to your roommate preference for the upcoming academic year. If you already have a preferred roommate you may skip this section and continue on to part six. If you are being assigned a roommate, please fill out the following questions in order to ensure the best possible compatibility with your future roommate.

I look down at the back side of my dorm application mindlessly answering the questions. No, I don't like to stay up late during the week. Yes, I like to have a quiet room when I study. No, I don't smoke…well not anymore. I finish answering the questions and conclude the application by signing and dating at the bottom. I shove the paper into the return envelope that came with my acceptance package, already feeling anxious about my future at Yale even though it is months away. I've never shared a room with anyone before and the thought alone is uncomfortable, but I suppose that is just part of growing up; doing things that may be out of your comfort zone. I'm sure everything will be fine, as long as I don't end up with a crazy serial killer or stalker, though I doubt anyone like that would be accepted into Yale.

Six Weeks Ago

I wasn't too surprised when my mom didn't make the journey to New Haven with me that last week in August. Her reasoning was that it would have been financially impractical, though I'm sure she had other reasons that she didn't voice. Either way, I pull into the driveway nearest one of the old brick buildings that I am pretty positive is my dorm, completely alone with a ton of boxes and bags that I would have to get into my room by myself. As daunting as that task is, first I need to find a place to park, preferably as close to the dorm as possible. I see an empty spot about four car lengths away and began to cruise toward it. Excited that I am going to get a prime spot, I pump my fist in the air only to leave it hanging there uselessly as a black SUV cuts me off and slides smoothly into the parking space. I feel my arm fall limply back down as four girls jump out of the car and the tallest, a brunette with fair skin, opens the trunk to reveal a multitude of boxes and bags, similar to what I have crammed into my tiny beat up "previously owned" compact car. Finally getting control of my senses, I throw my car door open not caring that I left my car running in the middle of the road.

"What do you think you're doing?" I say loudly enough for the girls to hear and with plenty of conviction to let them know I am not a happy camper. All four girls turn to look at me, each with a level of confusion or indifference evident on their face.

"Moving in, obviously," the blonde one states aloofly, a slight annoyance in her body language as she rolls her eyes at me.

"You took my parking spot," I say as I walk towards them, pointing at the blonde assuming she was the one moving in since she answered. The nicely tanned girl, who reminds me of Santana, and the shorter brunette both look at the blonde before all three turn towards the tallest of the group as she takes a step forward.

"The space was empty," she replies coolly.

I take a step forward putting me within arm's reach of her, "I was just about to pull into the spot when your rich ass cut me off." I give her my patent bitch glare, but she does not back down. If anything, it eggs her on even more as she moves forward into my personal space.

"I didn't see a sign saying the space was reserved for a bitchy Barbie," she gives me the once over before continuing, "So why don't you stop complaining and find another spot."

"Spence…" the Santana look-a-like interjects, but the girl in front of me holds up her hand to cut her off.

"Better get a move on," she says as she nods towards something over my shoulder. I turn my head to see a few cars lined up behind my driverless vehicle. When I look back towards the girls, they are already unpacking the SUV, paying no attention to me. Seeing as it is four on one, I decide to give up on my attempts for that parking spot and come back later in the day once the area is less crowded. It has been a long time since I have been stood up to and bested, and while the thought of someone having the balls to do so was intriguing, I couldn't help but to be pissed at this "Spence" girl and her pretty little losers. At least Yale is a big campus; hopefully I won't have to see any of them again.

It took me nearly three hours to move all the stuff from my car to my tiny 12 by 12 shared dorm room, and I am sweating up a storm by the end of it. Luckily my roommate was not in during the entire process, so I didn't have to do my first introduction looking like a dirty mess. There are two name tags on the door: Q. Fabray and S. Hastings, but that really gives me nothing on who my potential roommate could be. Whoever it is must have had some help, because the majority of her boxes are unpacked and she already has a massive amount of clothes hanging in one half of the closet. I start to get hungry for dinner, but know I need to at least shower before I go anywhere and hope that my roommate might show up by the time I am clean so I won't have to go to the dining hall alone.

I am nearly finished rinsing the last of the soap off of my body when I hear the door to my room open and moments later shut. I can't tell if the nerves in my stomach are anxious-excited or anxious-afraid. Either way, the only thing standing between me and my roommate, potential future friend, is the bathroom door. I hurry to complete the rest of my shower routine and mere minutes later am staring at the doorknob, clean clothes and damp hair, plucking up the courage to meet the girl I would practically be sharing a life with for the next two semesters, if not more.

I turn the doorknob and open the door, entering into a quiet room except for the slight rustling of a girl bent over one of the boxes on the floor as she searches for something within it. I can't help but to let my gaze linger on her butt for a few moments as it is literally right in my line of vision. Not wanting to seem like a creep or perv, I speak up to alert the girl of my presence.

"Um hello?" I curse internally for letting the simple statement become a question. I wanted to seem confident and cool to my new roommate, not confused and scared. My voice has definitely registered with her because I see her spine stiffen and she slowly stands up straight before pivoting around. I can practically feel my jaw drop as I take in her recognizable facial features.

She looks me up and down giving me the same once over as she did in the parking lot before saying, "Great." I would have had to be an idiot not to hear the sarcasm dripping from her voice as she turns around and goes back to searching through the box.

"You- you're S. Hastings?" I ask in disbelief. Wasn't one run in with this cold-hearted, parking spot stealing, abrasive enigma enough? Apparently, Yale thought not.

She doesn't even look back at me when she replies, "And you must be Q. Fabray." She pulls a few picture frames out of the box, and I start to feel awkward just standing there staring at her.

"Awesome," I say reiterating her earlier sarcasm. I am starving for dinner, but there is no way I am going to ask her to eat with me since she already called me a bitch without me really even showing her how much of a bitch I can be. Eating in the dining hall alone would be better than sharing a meal with her.

5 Weeks Ago

It isn't until the first weekend of school that I find out what my roommate's real name is. I had pretty much guessed it from hearing one of her friends call her Spence during our first interaction, but since moving in day, we have had an unspoken agreement of not speaking to one another. I can't wait for classes to start next week, so I will have something to occupy my mind with instead of thoughts about the girl who I shared a room with. She is always on her computer or texting her friends and if I didn't know any better, I would say I am a bit jealous of how close she is to the girls she talks to all the time. I sent Rachel and Santana a few texts, but both girls seemed way too busy enjoying the bright city lights to carry on much of a conversation.

Two of her friends that had come to help her move in show up on Saturday morning knocking on our door. I hear one of them yell, "Spencer open the damn door," and my roommate is off her bed and at the door before I can even figure out what is going on. The blonde one and the shorter brunette, who I later learn go by Hanna and Aria, drove from Pennsylvania to spend the weekend in New Haven. I want to protest that even though it's Spencer's room, it is mine too, but that would be breaking our vow of silence. Plus I find out it is a surprise visit, so I don't feel too betrayed that Spencer would invite her friends without asking me first.

The three girls stay in our room for most of the afternoon. Hanna talks a lot about inconsequential matters and though she is pretty, I am much more intrigued by Aria. I suppose I've always had a thing for brunettes and with the way she speaks about the arts and literature classes she is taking at Hollis; I can't help but to form a small crush on her. That is until she updates Spencer on her long term boyfriend Ezra, meaning that she is not single and probably not into girls. I squander the forming feelings before they can go anywhere as I read Catcher in the Rye while eavesdropping. When dinnertime rolls around the girls make plans to go downtown to a Chinese restaurant.

"Would you like to join us?" Aria asks with a surprising amount of kindness, and it is the first time any of them have even addressed that I've been in the room the entire time.

"No," Spencer and I answer at the exact same time. I meet her gaze and she nods at me like we just shared some sort of understanding, but I have no clue what she means by it.

"But thank you for the offer," I add keeping up the manners that were instilled in all Fabrays at a young age. Just because Spencer and I don't talk, doesn't mean I can't be civil to her friends. Aria gives me a soft smile as Spencer raises an eyebrow at me and Hanna throws a wave over her shoulder, either as a dismal or goodbye, I'm not really sure.

On Sunday evening, Hanna and Aria head out giving Spencer one last group hug and promises to call as soon as they get back. The sight reminds me of a few glee club numbers in the auditorium when we all gathered close as the song ended. It makes me miss my old friends and increases my want for new ones. But currently all I have is a roommate that I am not all that fond of who probably hates my guts as well. After Spencer shuts the door signaling the end of her friends' impromptu visit, she sits down on her bed and facing me. Her gaze is unnerving, so I pause my iPod and look over at her.

"Sorry about that," she says with no inflection. I'm not sure if she is being serious or not, but her eyes are unwavering so I decide to believe her.

"No worries," I reply coiling the cord of my headphones around my iPod. "Your friends seem cool."

"They are," she responds. Spencer gives me one last look before grabbing the pajamas off her bed and heading into the bathroom to shower. I flop back on my bed thinking about how that was the longest conversation we've had since the tiff in the parking lot. I wonder if we will ever be able to move past that, I know I won't until she apologizes for calling me a bitch. And if she thinks I should be apologizing for arguing with her over a spot that was rightfully mine, well then we could be in for a long semester.

I'm nearly asleep when Spencer returns to the room. I can hear her get into her bed as it squeaks and the covers rustle. The room is in near silence for a few minutes before she speaks up.

"What does Q stand for?" The question takes me off guard and I immediately want to know why she is asking. The thought slips out before I can stop it.

"Why're you asking?"

"We've been guessing all weekend," she replies and I let out a short breath that under other circumstances would have turned into a laugh. "They want me to stop referring to you as my roommate." I guess that's better than having her call me Barbie or crazy parking lot chick. It's only fair that she knows my real name since I now know hers.

"Quinn," I answer soft yet confidently. I doubt she will judge me for my not very typical name as Spencer is not a very common name for girls either. She hums in response to let me know she heard me.

"Nice name," she says before rolling over and turning her back towards me.

"You too," I reply quietly though I doubt she heard me and half hope she didn't. I hate not being in control and Spencer is so far out of my control that I just can't seem to make sense of her.

4 Weeks Ago

Through a week of getting to know Spencer, I find out she is a double major in history and communications. Of course I obtain this information not through in-depth talks, but by paying attention. Some people may consider it stalking, but I call it observing at a close distance. She likes to be active; her daily runs at 6am and her tryout for the club field hockey team seem to support that. She reads her textbooks more than I do, which is an extraordinary amount for the first week of classes. Although I was initially cursing Yale for rooming me with her, I can see certain similarities in our work ethic and determination when it comes to excelling that may have led them to believe we would be a good match for roommates.

Now that we know each other's names, we are cordial enough to eat dinner together every night in the dining hall. We never talk, but at least I don't get any more pitiful glances from other students or hit on by idiot freshmen boys. I'm not sure how Spencer feels, but I find the silence comforting. It's only when we get back to our dorm room and I occasionally catch her eyes on me, that I feel a slight tension build. Maybe if we just talked about what happened on our first meeting we could forgive and forget. But I tend to sweep things under the rug and it seems Spencer is similar to me in that aspect as well because in the few sentences we share over the week, neither of us issue an apology for our past behavior.

Though we are both still standing on proverbial eggshells, when Rachel texts me saying she plans to visit that weekend, I feel comfortable enough bringing up the subject with Spencer.

"One of my friends wants to come up on Friday and spend the weekend," I say while I'm at my desk browsing the internet. Spencer is lying on her stomach with a textbook open and a yellow highlighter poised in her hand. She looks up at me with a facial expression I have yet to decipher. "Is it okay if she stays here?" I don't know why I'm asking because Rachel is already planning to make the trip, but I feel like it's the right thing to do. Spencer nods once before returning her attention to the book, and I let out a quiet sigh of relief.

"Cheaper than a hotel," she says not looking up from her reading. "Besides, my friends already barged in on our living space, so it's only fair yours get to as well." I can't help but to agree with her reasoning so I nod though I'm sure she doesn't see me as her head is buried in the book.

I take a minute to really look at her as she lies on her bed and try not to think about any of our previous interactions. The sun is coming through the window just enough to illuminate her face and neck that is exposed as her hair is in a sloppy bun on top of her head. If this was the first time I met her, I would undoubtedly have a crush on her. I mean she has always been aesthetically pleasing, but the way she looks right now with her eyebrows furrowed in concentration is absolutely adorable. She must feel my eyes on her though because she looks up and catches me staring, so I hastily turn back to my computer screen feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.

It's one thing to think my roommate is beautiful, but it is completely another to ogle at her for a long period of time when for all I know she could be engaged. I try to think if I've ever seen her wearing a ring on her left hand, but I'm completely drawing a blank. Not that it matters, having feelings for Spencer is completely out of the question. Whether or not it is even possible for her to return them, I refuse to have them in the first place and that is that.

Rachel's visit to New Haven is nice. It's not as wonderful as I had hoped for, but not as awful as it could have been. I find out that Finn has decided against joining the army and moved with Kurt into an apartment in New York. Due to their close proximity, the Rachel and Finn got back together, but thankfully the wedding plans have been put on hold indefinitely for the moment.

On Saturday evening, Rachel invites Spencer out to dinner with us, but she politely declines. I don't miss the way her eyes travel to my hand that is intertwined with Rachel's as we leave the room. I also see her when she not so subtly stares as Rachel and I hug for a longer-than-considered-friendly period of time before she leaves on Sunday morning. I'm not sure what Spencer's looks mean, but if she had been doing an ounce of eavesdropping as I had done the previous weekend, she would know that Rachel and I are just friends seeing as the former of the two is straight and taken.

Once I see Rachel out the door, I flop back onto my bed exhausted from showing Rachel around all weekend. Spencer looks over her laptop from where she is sitting on her bed and smirks at me. That's a first, and I immediately become uncomfortable and put my guard up.

"You like that girl," she says and it is not a question. I feel the knots begin to form in my stomach as my heart races. I haven't told anyone here about my preferences because honestly I'm really not quite 100% sure what they are. But apparently my roommate of two weeks can read me like a book.

"Used to," I reply with the truth and it feels relieving to admit that out loud to someone. As much as I wanted Rachel in high school, I learned to accept that she would never return my feelings. Once I admitted that to myself, it was a lot easier to move on and simply just be her friend. I realize Spencer hasn't responded yet and worry for a second that she is thrown off by the fact that I had feelings for a girl. I pull myself out of my daze and look at her, but she is simply staring at me with what I think is a mixture of shock and awe. Oh…maybe she had just been joking when she said that I liked Rachel. Before I can do any damage control, Spencer shakes her head and replies.

"Must have sucked having her be engaged to a guy and all," she says while returning her attention to her computer.

"You have no idea," I say while picking up my Intro to Theatre textbook, trying not to think about what happened after Regionals senior year.

"So you like girls huh?" Spencer asks and I can see her bite her lip. I don't know how to answer the question, but for some reason I want to be honest with her so I try my best.

"I like people who intrigue me," I say flipping my book open to the chapter I have to read by Monday, "More often than not it happens to be a girl." I swear I see Spencer's lips turn up just the slightest bit at my response, but she quickly composes her face and nods in response. I want to ask her what her preference is, but I'm about 99% sure that she is into boys so I don't even bother. Besides after basically coming out to her, that would have been a perfect opportunity for her to interject her two cents if she wanted to. But she stays silent, the occasional mouse click and page flip filling up the tiny space we are forced to share.

3 Weeks Ago

As if we have formed some sort of pattern, on the third weekend of the fall semester, one of Spencer's friends plans to visit. We have progressed in our roommate-ship to approximately one civil conversation a day. Oftentimes it is Spencer who starts it while I end it, though I doubt that is significant. The content of the discussions is extremely trivial, but I guess talking about the awful food in the dining hall is better than not talking at all. I am however surprised when she consults me about her friend staying in our dorm room.

"Do you mind if my friend Emily stays with us this weekend?" Spencer asks from her desk that is facing the wall, not even bothering to turn around and look at me as I lie on my bed reading Hamlet for my Shakespeare class.

"That's fine," I reply while looking over at some of the pictures she has hanging on her side of the room. I wonder if Emily is the girl who looks like Santana from move in day. I'm leaning towards probably as besides Hanna and Aria, Emily is the other name repeated most often during Spencer's phone conversations. I decide to be bold and just ask her, "Is she the other girl that helped you move in?"

Spencer turns her neck at my question and I point to the photo frame of the four of them that sits on her bedside end table. I see her eyes slowly travel down my arm and over to the picture before she answers, "Yeah, that's her." She looks back at me and opens her mouth as if she is going to elaborate, but decides against it as she turns around to focus on her homework. It's like we are a broken record, only signing the chorus and necessary words to get the point across while skipping over the bridge to connect our thoughts and verses to explain our meanings.

Emily arrives on Friday afternoon, but unlike Hanna and Aria she comes in a much more subtle fashion as she lightly knocks three times. Spencer is in the shower having just gotten back from field hockey practice, leaving me to answer the door so her friend doesn't have to be stranded in the hallway. I open the door and my first thought is that she doesn't look anything like Santana, mostly because Santana will never be a good two inches taller than me.

She is the first one to speak up, "Hi, you must be Quinn." She smiles and reaches out to shake my hand. Her hand is warm and soft in mine, and I like the contrast of tan on pale that align during the brief handshake. I know that proper manners would have me inviting her into our room and telling her that Spencer will be out shortly, but this girl is extremely pretty and I really hope that she isn't mad at me for my abrasive attitude during our first encounter, so instead my mouth blurts out its first apology since landing in New Haven.

"I'm really sorry about how I acted in the parking lot during move in day," the words spill out of my mouth quickly. We are both still standing in the doorway, as I have yet to move out of the way so she can enter into the room. The corners of her lips move slightly upward into a somewhat half-smile, but I'm not sure if it is because she's accepted the apology or she thinks I'm crazy and wants to appease me.

"Don't worry about it. You were probably just stressed from the pressures of starting college," Emily says and I nod dumbly in response. She looks over my shoulder to see Spencer's side of the room. "Mind if I come in?" She asks while gesturing towards the room with her hand. I shake my head and side step so there is plenty of room for her to pass, but our arms still graze as she walks by. I feel like an idiot with my inability to talk or be a polite host, but all I can think of is how much this girl is definitely not like Santana. She is taller, more athletically built, and clearly not nearly as much as a bitch as my best friend.

I try not to stare at her as Emily quietly takes in our tiny room before settling on Spencer's bed. For the first time, I wish Spencer and I talked more so I would be able to start a conversation with Emily instead of sitting silently on my bed adverting my eyes every time she looks at me. Finally, I'm brave enough to hold her gaze the one time she catches me staring. I'm about to ask her how her trip was when she speaks up.

"You have very pretty eyes," she says before looking down at her lap as a soft tint of pink colors her cheeks. For how confident Emily seemed at the doorway, she is anything but that right now.

"Thank you," I reply and know I should compliment her back, but there are so many things about her appearance I like, that I'm having difficult picking just one. And I like you probably isn't appropriate since I really know nothing about her.

"You have nice hair," I add on before internally cringing. That just sounds lame though her eyes do jump up to my face. "I mean I've always had a thing for long, dark hair," I say. Shit, that sounds even worse. What if she thinks I am hitting on her and then tells Spencer and my roommate flips out because I think one of her friends is cute? Emily bites her lip and bows her head to advert her gaze.

"Thank you," she says as she looks up at me with a smile playing on her lips. I can see her blushing slightly and oh….ooooooh. I smile genuinely at her with all my teeth showing as I realize what is going on here, but don't let my hopes get up in case I read the situation wrong. The door to the bathroom opens, and Emily is off the bed and in Spencer's arms without so much of a glance back in my direction.

It is about twenty three minutes later, not that I was counting, when I find out that my suspicions were true and I definitely read the subtext between Emily and I correctly. She and Spencer are talking about one of Emily's past relationships which happened to be with a girl, and I smile to myself as I pretend to write a paper about Macbeth.

When Emily tells Spencer about coming out to her swim team at the university I can't help but to look over at the two of them. Spencer catches my eye and gives me a cold glare before turning her attention back to Emily. I have no idea what she was trying to convey with her eyes nor do I understand why she never told me Emily is gay. I'm hoping that maybe Spencer just didn't think it was that big of deal, but I have the odd feeling that she kept the information from me for some other reason.

It's nearing dinnertime and I'm really hoping they invite me to come with them because I want to have a more significant conversation with Emily and inviting myself to join them would be rude. They settle on just eating in the dining hall as it will cost no money and Emily can use a guest pass to get in free. The two girls slip on some shoes and prepare to leave as I continue to write my paper. Spencer makes her way to the door, but Emily has stopped short looking over at me as I sit at my desk.

"Aren't you coming?" She asks. It's not an invitation, but an expectation, as if I should have known all along that I was eating dinner with them. I glance over to Spencer to find some indication of how I should respond, but her lips are drawn in a tight line and she makes no movement to influence my decision. I look back at Emily with the same smile on my face when I realized that she might like me.

"Of course." I hear the door slam shut and apparently Spencer didn't like my answer. Emily just shrugs at her friend's behavior and I shrug back before the two of us exit the room, Spencer's body already marching quickly down the hall ahead of us.

I can't tell if dinner with Spencer and Emily is awesome or awful. It is definitely different than just dinner with Spencer. I've lost my nervousness around Emily and am able to carry on an intelligent conversation with her. But with Spencer hardly inputting into the conversation and constantly throwing me cold looks of disdain, I am left confused and on edge. Usually Spencer and I don't talk much at dinner, but her face is always somewhat kind or at least set in an unmasked indifference. Again, I find myself losing control of the situation and instead of continually trying to include Spencer in the conversation, I decide to focus on her very beautiful, and very much into the ladies, friend.

Emily laughs at most of my stories about glee club and even touches my arm a few times as we casually flirt with each other. I've never been this open when Spencer has been present and I think it is that fact that causes my roommate to abruptly leave the table halfway through dinner. Emily politely excuses herself and follows Spencer out of the dining hall. Not wanting to be alone and always curious, I get up a few minutes later hoping to find them in my room.

I reach the door and press my ear against it. They are talking just loudly enough for me to make out bits of what they are saying, but I can't distinguish between their voices.

"…she apologized…nice girl…"

"…you would…try living with…never talks…always stares…"

"…her a chance…be friends…never know…"

"…not talk about…she still eating?" Their muffled voices stop and I back quietly away from the door so it looks like I am walking down the hallway when Emily pops her head out of the room and waves at me. I enter the room to see Spencer on her bed ignoring my eyes on her.

"Are you okay?" Even though I know she is fine physically, it seems like the proper thing to ask when someone storms off like that. Spencer nods and mumbles something about bad chicken, though I swear she was eating pasta at dinner. I let it slide and my roommate basically ignores both Emily and I as she slips under her covers and faces the wall. Emily shrugs at me, similar to her response to Spencer's actions before dinner, and she gets under the covers next to her friend. Spencer's actions before, during, and after dinner have me confused and a little bit upset that she is giving me the cold shoulder. I don't know when it happened, but we had fallen into some sort of comfortable truce which now seems to be completely broken.

I glance over at the two of them sharing a tiny twin size bed and know they must be very close if they don't mind sleeping next to one another like that. I immediately feel jealous of how close they are even though I know their relationship is platonic. I wish I had someone to share my tiny bed with. The jealousy bubbles inside me as the two girls cuddle in the bed, and I realize that I'm not sure which girl I'm more jealous of.

Saturday goes by in a blur as I work on homework while Spencer and Emily are out for most of the day. They come back in the evening, and Emily once again implies that I'll be eating dinner with them. We go to a quaint Italian place and this time I maintain my resolve to share my attention evenly between the two of them. Dinner goes much smoother- meaning Spencer doesn't walk out on us- and for the first time I find myself actually enjoying Spencer's company. I think having Emily as a buffer definitely lent a helping hand.

Emily leaves Sunday morning, but not before she writes down her phone number on a piece of blank paper lying on my desk. She doesn't even try to be discreet about it, and I can practically feel Spencer's eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. She must be really protective of her friends, but in my defense Spencer doesn't know me well enough to pass judgment as to whether or not I would be good to Emily if we were to ever date. I wave goodbye to Emily as Spencer practically pushes her out the door.

When Spencer walks back into the room, she crosses over to my side of the room and picks up the paper with Emily's number on it, ripping it four times before throwing it in the trash. I jump off my bed from where I had been lazily laying, suddenly very alert.

"What the hell was that for?" I ask annoyed.

"You're not calling her," Spencer snaps at me before walking over to her desk and flipping open her computer. If she thinks it's okay to touch my stuff then I have no problem doing the same to her. I cross the room and shut the lid on her laptop.

"You can't dictate what I do." My hand is planted firmly on her computer and Spencer pushes it off as she stands up from her chair. There is less than a foot between us and now that she is standing, Spencer has the height advantage over me which she tries to use as intimidation.

"I can when it's my friend that's involved," she retorts folding her arms across her chest. I hate the way she is looking down at me as if I am inferior to her.

"Seriously?" I can't believe Spencer thinks she has any sort of say in what I do or who I do it with, regardless of if the person is her friend. Then again maybe she worried about Emily and I's less than perfect first meeting. "Is this about the stupid parking lot incident? Because I apologized to her about that." Spencer scoffs at my statement.

"I heard that you did," she says in a fake sweet voice that I've used all too often. She glances at the ceiling quickly before leveling me with a hard glare. "Funny you've known her for less than three days while we've lived together for almost a month, and yet she's the one you apologize to."

"She didn't do anything wrong and I felt bad for how I acted," I state truthfully. "It was only right that I apologized for my behavior, at least I know how to take responsibility when I've done something wrong." Spencer is way too close for comfort so I take a few steps back putting me on my side of the room in hopes that some space will let us both cool down.

"Are you implying that I should be the one saying sorry?" She asks taking a step forward, clearly not getting my hint about the personal boundaries we should maintain. Her voice is clipped and I can almost feel the daggers her eyes are shooting at me. Not being one to back down, I fight fire with fire.

"You called me a bitchy Barbie," I accuse while pointing at her chest. My finger is only a few inches away from her with my arm full extended. Her teeth clench in her mouth and she takes another step forward, forcing my finger to press into her clavicle until I drop my hand to my side.

"I was just being honest." Spencer's voice drips with so much arrogance that I want to slap her across the face. But if I've learned anything from high school, it's that physical violence rarely solves anything.

"Well here's a dose of honesty for you, as hot as Emily may be she's not my type." Spencer's eyebrows lift slightly at my confession but I go on, "So awesome job on ripping up a phone number that I wasn't going to use anyway. But here's a question for you, why do you care so much?"

"I don't want her getting hurt," she answers staring pointedly at me as if she knows of all the people I've hurt in my lifetime. Spencer's eyes flicker to the left and I know that she isn't telling the whole truth, but I'm too upset that she would automatically assume I would hurt someone I care about.

"Then why is she friends with you?" I shoot back at her. Spencer opens her mouth to retort, but decides not to as she turns on her heel and leaves the room, not making a sound besides the slamming of the door.

When she comes back to the room, well after dark, I pretend to be asleep so I don't have to interact with her. Unfortunately, I can't pretend that I didn't feel bad all day about what I said or pretend that I hadn't worried all day about where she was.

2 Weeks Ago

After our first real fight of our roommate-ship, I don't count our first meeting since we didn't know we were roommates then, Spencer and I are back at square one with our unspoken agreement of silence. I'm still waiting for her to apologize for her words during our first interaction and for her to explain her rudeness during Emily's visit, but I highly doubt I will hear anything from her soon. I assume she is probably waiting for me to apologize to her instead of Emily for the parking lot thing and perhaps for my last comment during our fight. However stubborn we both are in not being the first person to break, we still eat dinner together every night of the week, even if it is in an uncomfortable silence.

The quiet is broken only once when I receive a text from Santana informing me of her weekend plans.

"My friend Santana is coming to stay with us this weekend," I tell Spencer and it is not a question, but a statement.

"Whatever," she responds gruffly, her face set into a pout as she re-reads a chapter of her textbook. I know she is re-reading it because she keeps flipping back the pages as if she is having difficulties concentrating. Her constant huffing and forehead scrunching would be cute if I wasn't so mad at her right now. She has a smudge of pink highlighter on her cheek that I'm pretty sure she is unaware of. I have to force myself to pull my gaze away from her before I give up my resolve and be the first one to break the stand-off we're currently in.

Santana walks in without even knocking on Saturday morning.

"What's up bitch?" She greets as she kicks off her shoes. "Where's your bathroom? I've gotta pee." I point to the door right next to her, and she hurries in. I can feel Spencer's eyes on me, and she is giving me an incredulous look.

"So it's okay for your friend to call you a bitch?" she asks, her tone somewhere between disbelieving and disapproving.

"She says it out of affection. You said it out of malice," I reply.

"Incorrect," she snaps back at me, "I used it as an adjective to describe your attitude, which for a first time interaction was accurately bitchy." I'm about to respond when the door to the bathroom opens up and Santana re-enters the room. She takes one slow look around the room before her eyes land on Spencer, who is sitting at the head of her bed working on something on her computer.

"So you must be the whore who cut my girl off during move in week even though you had three other girls to help you and she had to unload all her shit by herself, then you had the balls to call her a bitchy Barbie?" Santana shoots Spencer a cold glare full of malice that had all the students at McKinley running in fear. I want to scold her, but am interested to hear my roommate's response. She doesn't seem put-off by Santana's attitude as she takes in my friend's appearance.

"I guess," Spencer responds before returning to her attention to the computer. Santana squints her eyes for a moment, and I wonder if she is going to lash out at the girl with some Snix juice while defending my honor. Instead I hear her laugh, and I can feel the knife she stabs into my back.

"About damn time!" Santana says as she walks over to Spencer's bed holding up her hand for a high five. Spencer glances over to me, confusion probably evident on both of our faces as she reluctantly slaps hands with Santana. My friend, with no manners or respect for personal boundaries, sits on the edge of Spencer's bed. I see Spencer fold her legs up to either give Santana more room or put some distance between herself and my friend.

"Q, how come you didn't tell me your roommate was such a hottie?" Santana asks and I can immediately feel the heat rush to my face. Luckily Santana is studying Spencer and not me, but by the looks of it Spencer is just as uncomfortable as I am.

"You got a boyfriend?" my friend asks as she scoots all the way onto Spencer's bed until her back is resting against the wall.

"Um no," Spencer replies with a slight wobble in her voice. I'm unsure if its nerves or embarrassment, and I feel the need to get control of my friend so I get off my bed, but I'm not fast enough.

"Got a girlfriend?" Santana asks with a wink.

"Santana!" I shout to reprimand her. She just smirks at me before looking back to Spencer who definitely looks uncomfortable if the color rising on her neck and cheeks is anything to go by.

"What?" Santana remarks innocently. "She still hasn't answered the question, I might have a chance," she adds with a cocky grin towards my roommate. Spencer has moved as close to her headboard as possible in order to put the maximum amount of distance between herself and Santana. I pull my friend off the bed and force her to stand in front of me.

"Look I know you and Brittany are on a break, but you can't just go chasing after every hot girl," I point out rationally. I try not to think about the fact that I inadvertently called Spencer hot and she definitely heard me do so. To make up for it and hopefully not make my roommate uncomfortable that we are talking about her in that way I add, "Besides Spencer doesn't play for your team."

"Our team," Santana immediately corrects me before taking a step around me so she can see Spencer. "Is that true?" I'm waiting for Spencer to agree with me, but instead she simply shrugs.

"I don't care what team I'm on, as long as I win." I gape at my roommate, completely thrown off-guard by her answer as Santana just laughs and reaches over to give Spencer another high five.

"This one's a keeper Q," she says as she grabs my arm to pull me out of the room. I can't take my eyes off of Spencer who is following my backwards walking body, her eyes challenging me to question her response. I've got nothing, except I'm about 99% sure now that Spencer isn't totally straight.

After showing Santana around campus, we return to my room so I can get some money for dinner. I open the door to find Spencer in the middle of changing with no shirt on, just a pair of shorts and a bra. I quickly try to shut the door to give her some privacy as I feel my heart race from the sight I just witnessed, but Santana barges in as Spencer rushes to grab a shirt off the floor.

"Wanky," my friend says as Spencer throws her shirt on. I glare at Santana for her inappropriate comment. "What? We're all girls here. It's not like you haven't seen each other change before." Santana looks between my roommate and I as we actively avoid each other's eyes, the real truth evident in our awkwardness.

"Really?" She asks giving us both a look of disdain. "And I thought I had problems coming out of the closet," she mutters to herself but loudly enough for me to hear. Santana grabs my purse off of my desk as Spencer stares at us, still standing in the middle of the room, not having moved an inch since we walked in.

"Come on Spence," Santana says like they are old friends as she walks towards the door. "Time for dinner, chop chop." I don't know why Spencer is looking so lost because my mind is short circuiting from the image of her with a bare top except for the red with white polka dot bra.

Santana is extremely touchy-feely at dinner, and it is so out of character that I can't focus on anything she and Spencer are talking about. I'm surprised they are getting along so well, but I think Santana admired how Spencer stood up to me and Spencer probably just likes how blunt Santana is about everything. It unnerves me when Santana holds my hand as we enter the restaurant or alternates between resting her arm around the back of my chair and putting her hand on my thigh. She keeps leaning into my personal space to whisper her thoughts into my ear which she very well could have said out loud to the entire table.

It's not until Santana pays for my meal (but not Spencer's) and takes me by the hand to lead me out of the restaurant, that I am able to figure out what my best friend has been up to. I look back at Spencer who is following us through the exit, but her face is unreadable. I spent the entire evening too caught up in Santana's actions that I never noticed my roommate's reactions.

I try to pay more attention to Spencer for the rest of the night, but her face remains stoic as she and Santana discuss the merits of high school cheerleading over field hockey. I have to agree with Santana when she says that field hockey is more prone to lesbians, but with three girls from our squad being lady lovers, I don't really have the statistics to back that claim up.

"Move over fat ass," Santana says as she crawls into bed with me. She purposely mauls me as she maneuvers herself into the spot next to the wall before pulling me into her so she is spooning me from behind. I've shared a bed with Santana before, but usually Brittany is in between us and Santana isn't caressing my arm like she is now.

I look over to Spencer's bed on the opposite side of the room, and she is watching our movements, not even bothering to pretend that she hasn't been staring. I keep our eyes locked as I intertwine my fingers with the hand Santana has resting across my stomach. Spencer's eyes shoot down to our hands, and I see her jaw tighten slightly before she flips over, turning her back to us. I immediately let go of Santana's hand and she releases her grip on me so I can flip over onto my stomach, which she knows is my preferred sleeping position. We still have to cuddle as the bed is too small for us not to touch, but we both know that for now the charade is up.

When I wake up Sunday morning, Santana is no longer curled up next to me and there is no body in the bed across the room either. By the time I realize the room is empty, I hear the door open and the two brunettes walk into the room wearing workout clothes and a sheen of sweat. I didn't know Santana still ran on the weekends and when I raise an eyebrow at her questioningly, she smirks back which just adds on to the confusion I've been feeling this entire weekend. Within minutes Santana has her bag packed and waves goodbye to Spencer before kissing me soundly on the lips. I sit in complete shock on my bed until my brain finally registers to my feet and I'm bolting out the room to chase her down.

"What the hell was that for?" I'm referring to the kiss, but I could very well be talking about the entire weekend. Santana grins at me as she adjusts the bag on her shoulder.

"You can thank me later Fabray," she replies before turning her back on me and continuing down the hallway. I don't know how to respond to her not so informative answer, so I don't follow her and instead make my way back towards my room. Spencer is on the floor in a tiny pair of shorts and a tank top doing crunches, a thin layer of sweat still present on her skin. I don't look at her when I speak because I know the state of her body has a good chance of distracting me.

"I'm sorry about Santana," I say hoping that my words can excuse her behavior from the weekend. I think this may be the first time I've ever apologized to Spencer and it's not even over any of my actions. Spencer continues to work her abs as she replies.

"Is she your type?" The question throws me off guard and I'm not exactly sure what she is asking.

"What?" I ask with my head cocked to the side still trying to work out what she means.

"Is. She. Your. Type." Spencer grunts out each word as she finishes each crunch. She pulls herself into a sitting position and looks up at me as I am still standing in the entryway. "You said Emily wasn't your type, so is Santana the type of girl you are into?"

I can't help the laugh that comes out of my mouth. Sure Santana is sexy, but when she kissed me this morning it was like kissing my sister. I don't grace Spencer with a real answer, though I do shake my head to rid the thought of kissing Santana and mutter, "Gross."

"So she doesn't intrigue you?" Spencer asks as she picks herself off of the floor and sits down on her bed. I walk over to my desk and flip up the lid of my computer before answering.

"I haven't been intrigued by Santana since I walked in on her and Brittany in the locker room in ninth grade," I reply, leaning back in my desk chair so I can get a better view of my roommate. She seems to have her brow furrowed in thought as she processes what I said before nodding in acceptance. Spencer gets up and walks over to our shared dresser to grab some clean clothes.

Ever since I told her what kind of people I like, I've been dying to know who she is attracted to. And now that I know she doesn't care which team she plays for, my curiosity has reached a tipping point. Spencer has her hand on the bathroom doorknob when I finally blurt out the question that's been on my mind for the past two weeks.

"What's your type?" She pauses with her right arm still outstretched and turns her neck to stare at me. I can feel my pulse quicken in anticipation of her response, but I try to keep my face set in indifference as if I could care less about her answer.

"I like people who I can't quite figure out," she says keeping her eyes fixed on me. I fight the urge to break our eye contact, willing myself to bring back the boldness I had in high school that seemed to ebb away ever since I met Spencer Hastings.

"Have you figured me out?" I ask with a challenge in my voice. There's a glint in her eyes and I see her give a sly smile before responding.

"Not yet." And with that she slips into the bathroom to shower. I can feel the giddiness, or perhaps arousal, or maybe both, settle in my stomach. I can no longer deny that I have a more than platonic attraction to my roommate, but now I think that there might be a slight chance for her to feel the same way.

1 Week Ago

This is the first weekend that neither of us is expecting company. I can't decide whether I'm exciting for our first weekend alone or scared that it might be completely awkward without other people to act as our metaphorical communication bridge. We've fallen back into our comfortable weekly routine, but we don't really have a routine for our weekends so I don't know what will happen when I have no precedent to compare it to.

"Do you want to go to dinner?" Spencer asks me. It's almost 5 o'clock on Saturday, and I'm not really hungry but I probably will be soon.

"How about in an hour?" I hold up the book that's in my lap. "I've only got one more chapter to go." She nods and grins fully at me. It's the same smile that is on her face in nearly all the candid pictures of her and her friends she has hanging in our room, but it is the first time that grin has been directed at me. I shake the thought and go back to my reading.

After about a half an hour, I can sense that Spencer is getting restless as she has re-organized both her desk and bookcase and is now re-doing her already perfectly made bed. I guess she must be pretty hungry, so I shut my book even though I'm not quite done and get up to put on some shoes. Since I didn't have anywhere to go all day, I've been wearing a pair of rolled up sweatpants and an old Cheerios t-shirt. Spencer didn't complain when I wore them down to breakfast, so I doubt she will care now.

"Ready?" I ask once I have my shoes on and student ID in hand.

"Is that what you're wearing?" She responds, confusion evident in her tone. I take in her appearance- dark capris with a white button down shirt and grey vest- and see that I am clearly underdressed compared to her. Apparently she had changed sometime while I was reading.

"I guess I do look like quite the bum compared to you," I say playfully. I walk over to our dresser and grab a pair of nice shorts before moving to the closet and picking out a light green blouse. "One sec," I say as I step into the bathroom. I throw on the clothes and some deodorant before going back into the room. I toss my sweats into the hamper and pull my hair-tie out letting my hair fall in short waves just below my shoulders.

"Ready?" I ask again, though I know I'm the one that has kept us waiting. She's staring at me with the same look in her eyes whenever I do something weird like spout out a beautiful line from a Shakespeare play I'm reading or sing harmonies to a song on the radio because we had performed it in glee. I still don't know what that look means, but I'm more than willing to find out. Spencer nods and opens the door for me so I can exit the room first.

We leave the dorm and begin our walk through campus to the dining hall, but half way into our journey, Spencer veers right and heads towards the closest freshmen parking lot. Thinking that she must have left something in her car, I follow her without question until she gets into the car and stares pointedly at me causing me to join her in the vehicle. She has her seatbelt buckled and keys in the ignition.

"What are you doing?" I ask as she turns on the engine. The surprise on her face at my question makes me think that I should already know the answer. She puts the car in reverse and begins to back out.

"We're going to dinner."

We go to a Chinese restaurant downtown, the same one Aria invited me to the first weekend of the semester when both Spencer and I adamantly refused the offer. I was confused at first, but maybe this is our weekend routine- going out to dinner on Saturday nights. Once I've settled into that realization, I begin to really enjoy myself.

We have our first real conversation and Spencer says more than two sentences in a row to me. It's mostly insignificant topics, like how annoying her Media Communications professor is or how excited she is for her upcoming field hockey game, but the more she talks, the more I am intrigued by these seemingly unimportant things that annoy her or make her excited. It's all the little quirks and traits that make a person who she is, and I find myself wanting to know all of Spencer's quirks to see what makes her tick. With that in mind, I let her carry and lead most of the conversation, only adding my thoughts and opinions when asked.

It's not until the check comes that I realize I left my purse in our room, only brining my student ID since I thought we were eating in the dining hall. Spencer reaches for the bill as soon as the waitress sets it on the table, and I wonder if she already knows I don't have any money with me.

"I'll pay you back as soon as we get home," I mumble as Spencer slips her credit card into its holder. I've never referred to our dorm room as home before, but I suppose that's kind of what it is, and now that Spencer and I are on better terms it has definitely started to feel like home.

"Sorry?" Spencer says with her eyebrows scrunched. Maybe she didn't hear me.

"I um left my purse in the room, so I'll pay you when we get back," I state more clearly, but she still has a look of confusion on her face. She shakes her head before responding.

"Don't worry about it," she says while signing the receipt. I want to protest knowing that good manners state that I clearly owe her now.

"Well then, I'll just have to pay next time," I state with a finality to let her know there is no arguing with me on this. She glances up with her pen still poised in her face and there's that same look she was giving me in the room before we headed out to dinner.

"You want there to be a next time?" She asks with uncertainty in her voice. I don't know why she is questioning me; obviously it is part of our weekend routine to go out to dinner on Saturday, so of course I plan on us doing it again next weekend.

"Of course," I reply easily and she gives me that full grin that is quickly becoming me favorite facial feature of hers. I'm still not sure why she's so happy and perhaps relieved by my response, but I'll take it anyway.

When we get back to campus, Spencer asks me if I want to go for a walk and I accept her offer. We meander aimlessly past brick buildings as old fashioned lamps light up our path. I feel the back of her hand brush mine and when it happens a second time, I take the initiative and cup our hands together, but not interlocking our fingers. If my action bothers her, she doesn't voice it out loud.

"Are you still mad at me for calling you a bitchy Barbie?" She asks as if she is merely voicing the thoughts in her head. I wonder how long she has been thinking that. "Because you should know that I never apologize for stating the truth."

I think back over the month and a half we have shared together, all the silent dinners and stolen glances, and realize that I was never really mad at her for what she said. If anything, I was mad at her for all the things she didn't say. I was mad that she stood up to me, mad that she consequently ignored me, but most of all mad that no matter how much I wanted to dislike her I didn't dislike her at all.

"I'm not mad at you," I say slowly. We have never been open with our feelings, and I want to be sure she understands me clearly. "And I never really expected you to apologize for that," I add on with a playful shoulder nudge into her arm.

"Yeah, I don't think you will ever apologize for going crazy on me that day either?" She asks in a light tone, and I look over at her with my teeth biting my bottom lip while I shake my head. She laughs softly at me before continuing, "I thought you were about to call campus police on me when I told you to find another spot." I smile to myself at her comment.

"Definitely crossed my mind, but I doubt they have a proper fine for parking spot stealers," I retort.

She hums softly in response, and I feel her hand move in mine as she intertwines our fingers. This kind of hand holding is definitely above platonic friendship, and I feel the knot of anxious energy fill my chest. I quickly replay the entire evening in my mind wondering if I had missed any signs. Asking me to dinner, wearing nice-ish clothes, paying for dinner, seeming happy when I insinuated we would do it again, going for a walk after dinner, holding hands…holy shit! Was this a date? Did I just go on my first date with my roommate without even knowing until the night is practically over?

We have entered our dorm and I glance over at Spencer through the corner of my eyes. She seems completely oblivious to the frantic thoughts that are playing in my head which of course makes sense seeing as she can't hear them. We hold hands all the way up to our room, until she let's go to fish the keys out of her purse, and I instantly miss her warmth. We both make it into the room and take our shoes off before I finally spit out the question that's been plaguing my mind.

"Was this a date?" I ask, merely curious of her intentions to see if we are on the same page. For all I know, right now we could be in two different books. Spencer walks over to her bed and takes a seat on it, her eyes following me as I move to sit down on my bed across from her.

"Did you want it to be?" Yes, I instantly think. But I want to know if she thought it was a date. In my book, holding hands definitely meant that she is interested in me, but hell if I know what is ever going on in her head. Instead of answering directly, I try to beat around the bush to see what she thinks.

"Have you figured me out yet?" She looks up from the knuckles she had been cracking on her lap. A confident grin plays across her lips.

"It might take me a while," she replies. I let out a breath taking her response as a good sign. She scratches the back of her neck before asking, "Are you intrigued by me?" Her body posture is rigid and her tone is hesitant. Maybe Spencer is also wondering if we are on the same page, which would make sense seeing as I haven't ever told her my feeling outright.

"I have been for a while," I answer reassuring her. Spencer visibly relaxes and begins to take out her earrings.

"So then this was a date?" I think she intended for it to be a statement, but her inflection at the end made it come off as more of a question, this way I could reject her words if necessary.

"I guess it was," I say with a short nod of my head. Spencer nods her head as well with a small smile on her lips that she is trying to hide. I think back on our evening together and can't help but feel a grin start to form on my face as well.

It's only slightly awkward when Spencer grabs her pajamas and goes to the bathroom to change while I hurry to do the same in our room. I guess awkwardness can be expected when you go on your first date that you didn't know was a date with a person who you share a room with. There's no privacy to do a happy dance if it goes well or cry if it ends poorly, and there's certainly no doorstep to stand anxiously on wondering if the other person is going to make the first move.

When Spencer gets back into the room, she heads straight to her bed without sparing me a glance. I didn't really expect much, but I did hope after having such a nice evening with her she would have wished me goodnight. I have my beside lamp on to do some reading, but after fifteen minutes of Spencer tossing and turning, I think that maybe the light is keeping her awake so I turn off the lamp letting only the moonlight barely illuminate the room.

I set my book down and take my reading glasses off when I hear more rustling from Spencer's side of the room. I hear her bed creak and the sound of four footsteps as she crosses the room. Her eyes must be already adjusted to the darkness because I can barely see her until her face is inches away from mine as she bends over to be level with me as I sit on the edge of my bed. She puts her right hand under my chin tilting my head up slightly as she removes the distance between us and places a very soft, very chaste, and very perfect kiss on my lips.

"Goodnight Quinn," she whispers, her breath tickling my skin. Seconds later Spencer is back in her bed, but I am still in shock reminiscing in the feel of her lips against mine. I manage to gather my wits enough to crawl under my covers and respond.

"Goodnight Spencer."

Present Day

I hear Spencer's alarm go off at 6am, and I grumble in my state of half-asleep. I feel the body next to mine move slightly before the alarm is shut off and the room is silent. I snuggle my face deeper into the body and feel an arm pull me in even closer.

"Quinn," Spencer whispers before I feel her lips on my forehead, "I've got to get up."

"No," I murmur, tightening the grip I have around her waist.

"I need to go for a run," she replies but makes no effort to get out of my bed. We slept in hers two nights ago so it was only fair that my bed gets slept in as well. And by slept in, I mean cuddled with clothes on during the night, I don't move that fast. Her hand is running smoothly along my back in a way that is sure to put me back to sleep.

"No," I reply again with a little more clarity though lacking any true conviction. I feel her hand run through my hair, and I let out a sigh into her neck in response.

"You could run with me," Spencer suggests. Although I know I would have no problem keeping up with her, running at this time of day really isn't my thing. I'd much rather stay in bed, cuddling with the girl next to me.

"But then I would beat you and I know how much you hate to lose." I keep my grip around her waist, but lift my head off her chest so I can see her face. Her eyes are closed and I know I will easily be able to persuade her to see my way.

"I doubt you could beat me," she replies with a smirk on her face, eyes still closed to block on the first rays of the sunlight coming through our window.

"Does everything have to be a competition for you?" She squints her eyes looking up at me as I use my free hand to brush some of her stray hair out of her face.

"I like to win," she replies smugly. "Besides, look at where it's gotten me so far." She reaches up to push some of my bangs out of my eyes before grabbing the back of my neck and pulling me down into a kiss. "I got you," Spencer says smiling genuinely at me. I roll my eyes at her and rest my head in my hand so I am still slightly above her.

"It doesn't really count as winning if you don't have any competition," I state as I move my left hand from her waist to poke her accusingly in the stomach. She grabs my hand to deflect the poking and interlocks our fingers. She leans up to kiss the tip of my nose.

"Still counts as a win in my books." I shake my head at her, but stop with my verbal disagreement. Now that I am fully awake, I have a change of heart and wouldn't mind showing Spencer up in a quick morning run. I pull the sheets back and jump out of bed with energy I didn't know I ever had at this time of day. Spencer has a small frown on her face as I open one of my drawers and pull out a pair of running shorts.

"Where are you going?" She asks as I throw on a long sleeve shirt in anticipation of the chillier morning weather.

"One lap around campus. First one back to the room wins." Spencer practically falls out of my bed in a rush to put some appropriate clothes on as I quickly tie my running shoes. I actually don't know how fast Spencer is, but running every day and playing field hockey must keep her in great shape so I will take anything I can get, even if it just a few minutes head start.

I'm not even halfway around the loop when Spencer catches up to me, and I can tell by our differences in breathing patterns that this run is taking a lot more out of me than it is her. I keep her pace for the rest of the run, though I don't know if she is giving it her all. We are both sweating an unattractive amount when we get into our dorm and don't even care that we are breaking the rules as we sprint up two flights of stairs and down the hallway. Our elbows are flying as we playfully push each other into the walls trying to get ahead. Our door is no more than 20 yards away when I look over to Spencer. She glances at me with a glint of determination in her eyes, and I know she's not giving up. I think back to my Cheerios days and elongate my stride, pushing through the pain. We both reach our door and a resounding smack echoes the hallway as our hands slam the door at the same time.

I'm panting while Spencer is laughing at the outcome of our race. As much as we both like to win, I really don't mind not beating Spencer. I'd rather have someone who pushes and challenges me, not someone I can walk all over. Spencer gives me a sweaty high five and a kiss on the cheek, and I think that maybe she feels the same way about me. As she moves to unlock our room, I stare at the name tags of Q. Fabray and S. Hastings still stuck on our door since move in day. I guess Yale really does know how pick roommates in order to ensure the best possible compatibility. That's probably why tuition is so expensive, but feeling my roommate pull me by the hand into our room I know that it is definitely worth every penny.

End Scene.