Archive of Our Own ^beta

Quinn doesn't fit the pieces together until Mike walks out of her store.

If everything was normal and Quinn's world didn't feel flipped inside out, she'd call Angie. But she can't call to complain to Angie when it's Angie she wants to complain about. She texts Camille but knows not to expect an answer for two to three business days. She doesn't trust that Tye would be able to keep a secret and Quinn needs it to be one. She doesn't have anyone else. She lets the thought sink her lower into sadness. Mike doesn't deserve Angie, but she doesn't know anyone who does. It definitely isn’t her. She can offer Angie a lot — takeout money, a space room, a shoulder to cry on, but she isn’t capable of making Angie fall in love. She’s sure of that, but she can’t stop replaying their entire friendship for the rest of the day, all the moments when Angie pressed close to her and kept smiling, how she never wavered, how even when they fought Quinn was sure it was just a blip on the radar. It was different with her than anyone else, but Quinn chalked it up to being best friends, and assumed Camille and Tye felt the same way about each other. Now she isn’t sure and it’s eating her up inside, making her feel flayed open and obvious to anyone who looks at her. She closes up early and debates texting Angie, but she figures she’s probably having make-up sex with Mike, and decides not hearing back right away would make the image solidify in her head.

When she gets home, Angie is asleep on her couch. Quinn smiles at the sight of her and then feels guilt crawl up inside her chest. Angie is sad because of her and Quinn knows she could fix it — she will fix it — but she doesn't want Angie to leave her.

"Quinnie?" Angie asks. "Why are you home?"

"Why are you here?" Quinn asks. She sits down beside her and Angie automatically readjusts so her head is against Quinn's thigh. Quinn feels the guilt harden into something else and closes her eyes, "I'm really sorry."

"I already forgave you," Angie says. "Why are you sucking up to me?"

"Mike, I didn't — he makes you happy," Quinn says. "I don't want to ruin it."

"I'm not choosing anyone over you," Angie says. "It wasn't meant to be."

"But it's not —" Quinn frowns. "It isn't even about him. I talked to him for three hours and he sucks at golf. It just — I didn't want you to be in love with him, or with anyone else."

"You want me to be miserable all my life?" Angie asks. She's smiling now, bright and pleased and staring up at Quinn like this is a fun conversation instead of one where Quinn feels like she's about to shatter into pieces.

"No," Quinn scowls. "I just don't want you to leave me."

"Want to make me a kept woman, Quinn?" Angie grins. She sits up so they're eye to eye and Quinn can't stop looking at her. "Stay in your house, let you take care of me?"

"That isn't what I'm saying," Quinn says.

"Then what are you saying?" Angie asks.

"I was jealous of Mike, not you," Quinn rushes out. "I didn't care about him at all, but he loves you so, so much. He was so sweet when he showed up and begged me to let you love him and I want — you should be happy Angie. He's the only one who has ever made you think twice about vacation hook-ups and that means something, for you. So you should call him now and tell him you love him and you can both be happy and I'll be fine, okay? I'm used to it. But I want you to be happy."

"Quinnie," Angie says, so softly Quinn winces automatically. "Quinnie, look at me."

"You don't have to say anything," Quinn says. "I get it."

"What do you mean you were jealous of Mike?" Angie asks.

"I think I've been obvious, Angie, you don't have to double down on the embarrassment."

"You’re being really fucking opaque, Quinn!" Angie says. She’s so close. Quinn can see the peachy glitter smeared above her eye and the bright aureate of her eyes. She wants to kiss her. She would kiss her if she wasn’t paralyzed by fear and the image of Mike in her head, his sad face and surety when he talked about Angie. Quinn’s never felt about anything that way in her life except Angie, but she never thought it meant something more than friendship.

“What were you actually scared of?” Angie repeats. Her fingers are warm against Quinn’s cheek. Quinn is used to being touched by Angie who never seems to worry about boundaries or personal space when it comes to Quinn, who is able to read her so easily that Quinn thought she was obvious with what she needed. “Not spending as much time with me? Being lonely in this pink hellscape?”

“All of it,” Quinn says. She likes speaking in absolutes — things are either good or they’re bad, and right now they feel very bad. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Baby,” Angie laughs. “You’re not ever going to be able to get rid of me.”

“Good,” Quinn says then, “Why are you staring at me?”

“You’re staring at me,” Angie shrugs. “I’m trying to figure out what you want.”

“By looking into my eyes?” Quinn asks.

“You’re my favourite person, Quinnie,” Angie says. “In the entire world and I think — you don’t realize that, but I think I’d do anything for you, and do you know how terrifying that is for me? But I thought – you were straight, so, so fucking straight and then Isabela of all people made you realize you weren’t so I gave up a long time ago. But I hated her. And she treated you like shit and you deserve so much better than an annoying ass professional suck up and I —”

Quinn kisses her. She thinks she might be crying, that she can’t think through her emotions so they’re pouring out of her instead, but she kisses Angie and Angie kisses her back, nudges her backwards until Quinn is slumped into the cushions and Angie is a warm weight above her.

“Quinnie,” Angie breathes. She cuts herself off by kissing Quinn again, pulling back to see the look on her face. She drags her thumb across Quinn’s bottom lip, watches the way Quinn fights to stay still but her throat contracts with movement.

“I love you,” Quinn says. “And I don’t want you to be with Mike. I want you to be with me. And nobody else but me because I can’t handle that Angie.”

“Only you,” Angie promises. “You know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that?”

“No,” Quinn shakes her head. “You’re not – I didn’t even know you liked women.”

“I don’t brag about everyone I’ve fucked,” Angie says.

Quinn makes a face and Angie laughs, slides her thumb across the angle of her jaw, watches Quinn’s mouth drop open again.

“I thought it’d make it obvious,” Angie says. “That I wanted you.”

“Oh.” Quinn blinks. “Does Tye know?”

“Tye has a shit gaydar,” Angie shakes her head. “And never take sex advice from her.”

“You told me to!” Quinn protests. “And it was fine. I was fine – I mean, I think I was but Isabela did immediately dump me afterwards so maybe I wasn’t fine, so the jury is still out on my sex skills but —”

“Please don’t say sex skills,” Angie laughs. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m not – you’re going to have to teach me,” Quinn says, so seriously that Angie has to fight back the laugh she knows would make Quinn shrink back into herself.

“Do you want to go practice now?”

“That wasn’t smooth,” Quinn shakes her head.

“Yes it was,” Angie says. She drops her mouth lower, mouths down Quinn’s neck until she can feel her pulse under her lips. Quinn sighs, shaky and loud and ringing in Angie’s ears.

“Fine,” Quinn grins. “Take me to bed.”