Quinn's boots crunch against the fallen leaves as she cuts across the lawn in front of her dorm, her warm breath fogging in the cool autumn air. A gust of wind whips through the campus, so she tugs her coat a little tighter around herself and stuffs her hands into her pockets. Twilight is fading, and she's reminded of Friday nights and high school football games—of how she would smile and cheer and pretend to be what everyone else wanted her to be.

She remembers the quarterback's girlfriend cheering in the stands—a red beret atop chestnut locks, her face flushed from the cold and excitement, starry-eyed with a beaming smile. She remembers wishing Rachel would look at her like that, and in the next instant being terrified by the very thought of it happening.

A lot has changed since then, but the melancholia that clung to her throughout her adolescence still lingers.

It's a quiet, persistent ache in her heart—a longing she has never not known since she first laid eyes on Rachel.

She smiles ruefully. No matter how hard she tries, her thoughts inevitably come back to Rachel time and time again. She wonders silently if she'll ever find peace—if her heart will ever simply let her be.

A vibration from inside her coat pocket interrupts her thoughts, and she pulls out her phone as she ducks inside an alcove to protect herself from the elements. She quickly glances at the caller ID, and despite her previous musings, her face breaks into a genuine smile when she sees who it is.

"Hello?"

There's a sniffle on the other end, and Quinn's heart clenches at the sound as the smile falls from her face. "Can I stay with you for a few days?"

Quinn doesn't hesitate. "Of course."

"I'm already on the train," Rachel admits. "I'll be arriving in New Haven at 6:32."

"Okay, I'll meet you at the train station," Quinn says.

"Thank you," is whispered, and Quinn tells her it's no problem.

She selfishly doesn't ask Rachel what's wrong, because she has a good idea of what is at the source of her best friend's unhappiness. It's Finn.

It's always Finn.

Quinn closes her eyes and steels herself mentally before beginning a slow walk to Union Station.

When Rachel steps onto the platform, the first thing Quinn notices is the sadness shining in brown eyes. The second thing she notices is that her left hand is bare. The happiness she feels from that is tempered by the fact that Rachel looks so damn miserable, and she can't help but feel a little guilty.

She holds her arms out, and Rachel wordlessly falls into them. Quinn stumbles back a bit—her legs tired from so much exertion—but she holds fast to Rachel before regaining her footing. She inhales deeply, breathing Rachel in—she smells like raspberries, vanilla, and all the things Quinn wishes to call home. She pours all her love into the embrace and feels her heart swell and ache and settle all at once.

Rachel eventually pulls back, and Quinn reluctantly lets go. Rachel's head is lowered, her eyes not meeting Quinn's. Quinn watches her carefully, and, after a beat, she's finally met with a watery smile.

"Are you hungry?" she asks, deciding to keep things light, because old habits die hard and she's not broaching this subject unless Rachel decides to.

Rachel, thankfully, looks relieved. "Not really, but I should probably eat something."

She leads Rachel back to her dorm room to drop off her overnight bag and then takes her to Claire's Corner Copia, a vegan-friendly restaurant that she may or may not have looked up before ever stepping foot on Yale's campus.

Over dinner, they talk about inconsequential things—how classes are going, books they're reading, new people they've met, and all the places Rachel wants to take Quinn when she finally comes down to see her in New York City.

They don't talk about Finn.

They don't talk about why Rachel called her in tears.

Quinn's not stupid. The lack of an engagement ring is the biggest tip off that something big has happened—something different from their usual spats. But she is too afraid to ask, because she's been down this road before with Rachel, and it tears up her insides whenever they talk about Finn.

And she knows that Rachel won't listen to anything she says anyway. She never does. So for once, she'd like to spare herself some heartache. Having these unrequited feelings are hard enough. It's worse knowing that the girl she loves is emotionally tethered to a man-child who thinks only of himself.

So instead, Quinn channels her mother, sweeps every bad feeling under the rug, and does her best to show Rachel a good time.

She tries to ignore the fact that whenever Rachel smiles at her, it doesn't reach her eyes.

At Rachel's suggestion, they stop at a liquor store on the way back to Quinn's dorm, and Quinn picks up a bottle of wine. She purposefully ignores Rachel's request to get a bottle of vodka, knowing that will likely be a recipe for disaster.

Her roommate is thankfully out when they get back to her room.

Rachel drinks most of the wine, while Quinn slowly nurses a single glass. She at least has the sense to not lose more control than she normally does around Rachel. But watching her best friend finish off almost an entire bottle to herself worries Quinn a little.

This isn't like Rachel, but she doesn't know what to say to make her feel better.

And one thing that she's become aware of during the course of the evening is that neither of them seem intent on talking about Finn. Rachel is just as content to distract herself from her troubles as Quinn is to avoid talking about them.

Quinn places her empty glass down on her desk and flops onto her bed, exhaustion creeping up on her. Nine months removed from the accident, her stamina isn't anywhere close to what it used to be, and right now, her back and legs ache almost as much as her heart does.

She tries not to think of the circumstances that led to the crash—the engagement, pleas falling on deaf ears, silently begging Rachel with her eyes not to go through with it, and almost confessing her feelings before finally accepting the painful truth with as much grace as she could muster. But with Rachel so close and so unhappy, she fails.

Her heart still longs to find a home with Rachel even though she knows there's no place for her there.

Rachel quietly announces that she's going to change into her pajamas, and Quinn can't stop herself from watching out of the corner of her eye as Rachel turns and slips the straps of her navy blue dress off her shoulders, exposing expanses of smooth, tan skin. Quinn's fingers crave to touch her—to trail along the length of her spine and dip into the curve of her lower back.

She masochistically wonders how many times Rachel has undressed for Finn in their teenaged bedrooms and in her Manhattan apartment. She thinks of how he was allowed to appreciate her body freely with his eyes and fumbling hands, and how Rachel would treasure every moment of it because she loves him.

But Quinn knows her desire to give everything to and take everything from Rachel is unwanted. So she turns her head to stare at the ceiling and slams her eyes shut, feeling the sting of tears against her eyelids as the pressure builds inside her chest.

"Are you alright?" Rachel asks worriedly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, and Quinn feels her walls begin to crumble.

"Tired," she replies, keeping her eyes closed in an attempt to hide from Rachel just a little bit longer.

She feels Rachel shift and settle down to lay beside her, and Quinn is hyperaware of her sudden closeness. She can feel the heat of her body, mere inches from her, and warm breath cascading across her face. And then there's a hand—warm and soft—resting on her belly, and Quinn stills at the unexpected contact.

"Thank you for letting me stay with you," Rachel says gratefully, but her voice is tinged with sadness. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Quinn smiles wistfully. "I'm sure you'd manage just fine."

"No, I don't think I would," she murmurs, shifting closer to her and pressing against Quinn's arm. "You're the only one I can really count on."

Quinn swallows thickly before breathing out slowly through her nose. It's such sweet torture having Rachel so close but not close enough—speaking such heartfelt words that will never mean what Quinn wishes they would.

Nimble fingertips lightly play with the material of her blouse, and it sends a pleasant shiver through her. She wraps her arm around Rachel's shoulders then, drawing the smaller girl into her side. Rachel breathes out a contented sigh against her neck as she cuddles against her, causing a fluttering in her stomach.

Quinn imagines, just for a moment, that this means more—that she is the one who Rachel loves and is tethered to.

"Can I ask you something?" Rachel asks, stilling her hand and disrupting Quinn's threadbare fantasy.

Hazel eyes flutter open, staring up at the ceiling, as she braces herself for the question. "Sure."

"How do you get over someone you're in love with?"

"I wouldn't know," Quinn replies after a moment, her voice wavering ever so slightly.

Rachel shifts in her arms then, propping herself up on one arm to gaze down at Quinn. She brings her eyes to meet Rachel's, and her breath catches at the emotions she sees swirling in soulful brown eyes—heartache, guilt, longing. "I'm sorry," Rachel whispers before dipping her head and pressing a desperate kiss to Quinn's lips.

Quinn feels the remaining walls around her heart shatter and returns the kiss with all the love that she possesses, savoring the feel of soft lips moving insistently against hers.

Part of her wants to know just what Rachel is doing—why she is kissing her—but then a warm tongue slides into her mouth, and Quinn forgets what words are. She cups Rachel's face with her hands as the other girl settles on top of her.

Quinn's imagination never could have prepared her for this—how perfectly their mouths move against each other, how utterly complete she feels kissing her. The ache of her longing is momentarily gone, replaced by a sense of contentment.

Rachel's palm slides up her ribcage then, and Quinn sucks in a harsh breath through her nose as fingertips brush dangerously close to the underside of her bra. It's enough for a sliver of reason to creep up in Quinn's mind. She realizes this has the potential to spiral out of her control quickly, and she knows she can't afford to lose control like this.

Reluctantly, Quinn breaks their kiss and presses her forehead against Rachel's as their breath mingles together in the space between them. Glassy-eyed brown flutter open and look at her questioningly. "Rachel," she breathes out, searching the other girl's eyes. "What are we doing?"

"I don't know," she admits quietly, her eyes still shining with guilt and heartache as she slides her hand out from beneath Quinn's shirt. "I just wanted to stop feeling so awful—to stop thinking so much about everything. And I need you to stop being so sad, especially because it's all my fault."

Quinn smiles sadly as she realizes that Rachel isn't as oblivious to her feelings as she thought. "It's not your fault, Rachel," she says even though she feels her heart break just a little more. "We can't help how we feel."

"I know," Rachel replies regretfully. "But I wish I could. I wish I could love you the way I love Finn."

Quinn can't stop from tearing up—Rachel's words both destroying her and making her feel cherished. She wishes Rachel would love her like that too, but she thinks if she speaks now, she'll actually start crying.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says again, searching Quinn's eyes and looking positively contrite.

"It's okay," Quinn whispers before leaning up and kissing her once more. She closes her eyes, and a lone tear escapes as Rachel returns the kiss, much more slowly this time.

Quinn savors the moment—the feel of Rachel's lips moving against hers, the taste of her tongue, and the feeling of home—before finally drawing back and breaking their kiss.

Rachel looks at her questioningly—the air between them still heavy with emotion.

"I just wanted a taste of what it's like to be loved by you," Quinn explains, her eyes conveying all that she can't find the words for.

Rachel looks down at her with a mixture of wonder and guilt. Their position is still incredibly intimate, and Quinn doesn't know whether she wants to hold onto this moment for as long as possible or rip off the band aid once and for all.

"We should get some sleep," she finally says, bringing them both back to reality.

Rachel nods before slowly moving off of Quinn and allowing her to get up and get ready for bed. She opts to do so in the privacy of the bathroom, which is thankfully empty—allowing herself a few minutes to cry in a stall. Quinn knows they aren't meant to be anything more than friends, and even though she craves Rachel's touch, she knows that if she had let things continue, she would have been left even more broken. One night of passion won't take away the longing that permanently resides in her heart.

When Quinn returns to her room, the lights have already been turned off. She climbs into her bed where Rachel is waiting for her with open arms. Quinn offers her a small but pained smile that she hopes Rachel can't see before turning onto her side.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says again as she spoons Quinn from behind.

"It's okay," Quinn whispers into the dark.

She closes her eyes and focuses on the feeling of Rachel holding her and warm breath caressing the back of her neck as Rachel falls asleep. She's so close but not close enough. If only things were different. If only Rachel would hold her like she would the one she loves.