treat it like a high school crush | q. hughes
inspired by johnny orlandos "you're just drunk."
prompt list
join my taglist !
prompt: #57 — "call me in the morning.. when you're sober."
summary: your friends on the team force you to have a much needed conversation with quinn. the catch; he's drunk.
tw: alcohol/drunk character
pairing: crush!quinn x reader
word count: 2.4k
taglist: @heatabovejakey @idfan21 @boeswhore @huggycelia @drei-mrssvechii @thescooby-gang
note: idk how i feel abt this one
it isn't a surprise they all realized it. it's partially your fault but you don't care. you blame it on the fact that you aren't very well at hiding things, your crush on quinn being one of them. even so, you have no shame in admitting you have a soft spot for a certain number 43.
it didn't take long for them to figure it out either, your liking towards him being so blatantly obvious that even a one eyed giraffe could see it.
you aren't spared by their teasings in the slightest, quinn included. he tells you he doesn't know how he feels about you yet but he likes making you happy and poking fun at you sometimes. he clearly doesn't have bad intentions and it thrills you to no end.
you just feel bad that he says he isn't sure about his feelings. are you doing something wrong? you don't feel good enough for him and you know you aren't. if you were good enough, he'd like you and he'd know it — which apparently he doesn't, and that's confirmation enough.
one day, you overhear quinn telling nils that he doesn't like you back. the lies you're being fed make you feel foolish and naïve, and you want nothing more than to hear the truth from him. he doesn't know you know about this but most of your friends on the team do and they feel for you.
since then, you've been trying to distance yourself from him. a reason why you find yourself here, hanging out with a bunch of five year olds.
"ahh how's miss. hughes doin' over here?"
you look up from the kids' colouring table and see brock hovering over you. you sit with some kids at jt miller's daughter's birthday party, colouring away and minding your business.
you don't drink and you aren't very good friends with the other girls so you decided to come to the kids instead. you felt more in your element, the plastic lavender table and chair set calling your name.
"i'm just colouring a bear," you say, continuing to shade in the nose with a crayon.
"how on brand," brock smirks.
you blush. "may or may not be why i chose it.."
"we gotta show huggy," he insists, crouching down to your level.
"no, we are not showing hugs. what are you doing here, anyway?" you ask, turning towards him and lowering your crayon.
"no one has seen you for hours. we were all wondering where you went, just didn't expect you to be here," he informs, ducking as a plushy is thrown his way.
"oh, i didn't think anyone would care," you frown, confused by his words.
you don't know how to reply so you simply shrug and go back to your bear. a couple footsteps enter the room but you keep your head down.
"she's heartbroken," you hear brock say, kneeling to your level.
you look up to see miller, petey and garly walking into the room, and you assume brock is talking about you.
your eyebrows crease. "what are you talking about?"
"you think we haven't noticed you moping around like a lost puppy because quinn doesn't like you back?" miller sighs, taking a seat on the chair across from you.
you ignore him and cover your mouth, laughing at how funny he looks — a 6 foot tall man trying to sit at a children's table for you.
"lost bear," petey corrects, resulting in a sharp hit in the stomach by conor's elbow.
"what kind of friends would we be if we didn't notice?" he adds right after, the guys taking a seat around the now empty table.
great, they scared the kids away, you think to yourself as you see them all run out of the room.
you dread having a conversation with the boys. you know exactly where this is going to go. they're going to say all the right things, soften the hard shell you're putting up and make you crack. by the end of the talk you're going to be crying into brock's shoulder after having told them about all the unfortunate emotions your mind's been forcing you to feel.
"what's wrong, kid? we're here for you, you know that," miller asks almost parentally.
"i'm not a kid," you grumble, staring back down at the bear on the table.
petey snorts, resulting in another blow to the stomach.
"says the 20 year old girl sitting at a children's table and colouring a teddy bear," he ignores conor and comments.
you huff and cross your arms. "why is he even here? he's hugs' best friend, he's not on my side!"
"there aren't sides to this, angel," conor shakes his head and you glare at him knowing he's right. "we're all still your friends, we want what's best for you."
"what's best for me is that you go away and leave me alone," you mutter, the coloured bear now starting to irritate you after petey's comment.
you don't want to break in front of them but you feel it coming. the blood in your body rushes and your heart begins to thump against your chest, slowly yet aggressively.
"tell us how you feel, we won't judge. we just wanna help," brock encourages from beside you.
you close your eyes and sigh, leaning on your elbows and putting your head in your hands. you don't just tell your friends you feel unloved and unlovable. you don't just tell them you think you're going to die alone and that you know you aren't even good enough for yourself, those aren't just things you pour out to someone because they ask.
tears well up in your eyes and you remove your hands from your face, leaning back in your seat and keeping your gaze set on the bear in front of you.
"everything that's wrong with me has nothing to do with quinn. just drop it and leave me alone, please," you beg shakily and pick up a pencil.
"if you think that's going to make us leave, you couldn't be more wrong," miller says concerned.
you chew on the skin of your bottom lip. "i hate you guys."
knowing you're about to confide in them, they let your comment slide and stay silent.
"i don't think i've ever felt more alone than i do now. i don't think i've ever hated myself than i do right now," you say slowly, holding the image of the bear in your hands.
"i feel like everyone— like you guys, are going to grow old with your happy families and i'm going to be here. i'm going to be here by myself, probably taking life day by day like i am now, with no one to care for me. not even myself," you confess finally. "is that what you wanted to hear?"
after hearing your words, they don't know what to say. you spoke without hesitation so you missed the silent tears streaming down your face and they see how broken really you are. feeling alone is something most people face, these boys being no exception. they understand how you feel and their hearts ache for you, harder than before.
"why didn't you tell us?" petey asks, breaking the silence.
"because that isn't just something you fucking tell people out of nowhere—" your voice cracks and you stop yourself.
frustration takes control of your mind and you snap, crushing the paper in your hands and throwing the stupid bear across the room. all your worries and doubts that had once been dancing on the edge of a cliff suddenly take the fall and you break down in front of the guys, like you knew you would.
you don't even have anything to say. you just cry, all your bottled up emotions reaching the brim and overflowing. brock pulls you into his chest and you sob, your trembling figure paining their sore eyes.
you don't hear the voice through your cries but the men around you turn to glare at the boy who just walked into the room — the boy you want to see the least.
if you'd known he's watching, you'd stop whatever's going on with you immediately — but you don't. you don't know he's standing in the middle of the room, looking at you in concern. you don't know petey's trying to get him to leave but he keeps refusing.
it's when your cries come to a halt and your tears turn into sniffles that you feel an unwanted presence in the room. hearing quinn's voice for a split second, you shy away and keep your head buried in brock's neck, not wanting to face the boy you know is here.
people say that a good cry, that letting your emotions out are supposed to make you feel good, but you don't feel good at all. you only feel worse. you feel stupid and innocent, upset that you're so easy to break.
"i think you both need to have a good conversation," miller puts on his dad voice, standing up and comedically pushing quinn into the short plastic seat in front of you.
brock pulls away and gives you a reassuring smile. you feel bad that he was on his knees that entire time, internally cringing as he stands up to his full height and winces. you reach up to grab his finger and utter a small 'thank you' to him, receiving a nod and another smile in response.
"i don't wanna see you both leave this room until you've fixed whatever's broken," conor tells you both.
"which is basically everything," petey adds smartly before they all rush out, leaving you and quinn in an uncomfortable silence.
you try not to look at him but he lets out a weird noise and you can't help but bring your gaze towards him. you notice his head hanging down and scrunch your nose.
"are y-you okay?" you ask quietly. his head jerks up and your mouth parts at his glossy eyes and open lips.
great, you think. they left you with a drunk quinn.
"wha.. 'm fine," he says quietly, rubbing his eyes. "you.. you're not."
your eyes crinkle and your wipe your wet cheeks. "huh?"
"you aren't.. fine. you aren't fine," he repeats.
"yes i am," you say coarsely, crossing your arms.
he shakes his head aggressively. "no you're not! you were jus'- jus' crying 'n your eyes are red."
"can we cuddle?" he cuts you off and you nearly pass out.
"what?" you ask in disbelief. how did he change the conversation that quickly? drunk people.
"cuddle, i wan' cuddle," he replies, grabbing one of the crayons in front of you and snapping it in half.
"hey! why'd you do that?" you shout, reaching over to grab the two pieces out of his hands.
he shrugs, leaning backwards and almost falling over in his seat. your eyes widen as he mutters a string of curses and holds his arms out for you. you use all your force to pull him back up and glare at him when he sits upright.
"stop lookin'.. at me like that," he murmurs, a hiccup slowing him down.
"i should have let you fall. we're only like a foot above the ground," you huff at him.
"fine," he says before leaning back again and falling to the ground. his head hits the back of the plastic chair and he groans, clutching his skull.
"oh, fuck!" he groans in pain. your eyes bulge and you stand up from your seat, walking towards him and crouching down by his figure.
"are you okay?" you ask, sitting on your knees. he maneuvers his head into your lap and looks up at you.
"if i don't make it.. tell y/n i love her," he says dramatically, eyelashes fluttering.
you want to laugh at his acting but your heart sinks to your stomach and your throat runs dry.
"what?" you pretend you didn't hear him.
"y/n, tell y/n i love her," he repeats a little softer, his eyes moving around your face and inspecting every inch. "you look a little like her."
you shake your head, not believing his words one bit.
"you're just drunk," you tell him and he doesn't reply. "y/n? you don't like her.."
he doesn't like you, let alone love you. you heard it yourself, he said it himself. you look down at him, replacing his hands on his head with your own.
he rests his hands on his diaphragm and sighs. "yes i do. she's pretty 'n funny 'n the shweetesht girl ever."
you find his slurred words and slow talking very amusing. you'd be laughing if you weren't so confused.
"no you don't," you tell him. he's drunk and confused. you don't know why you're wasting your time trying to tell him he doesn't like you but there really isn't anything else for you to say.
"why do you think that?" he asks as you rub his injury. he gives you a funny smile and tries leaning into your hand, a grin making its way onto your face as well.
"i don't think it, i know it. you've said it before, hugs," you inform him as you lift his head up and stretch your legs out in front of you, placing his head back on top of your thighs.
"i don't know who you are or where.. where you're getting that from but- but i love her, i know i do," he argues, his eyes trying to close on him.
you notice his movements slowing and so does his breathing. you play with his hair, and he hums in approval. you stay quiet as your heart thumps against your chest, a response to his words and his head in your lap. the closeness makes your stomach erupt with butterflies.
"you tired?" you ask quietly.
"mhm," he nods, a cute yawn escaping his lips.
"go to sleep, it's okay," you lull, mentally preparing yourself to sit in this position for hours.
"you'll be here when i wake up?" he asks quickly, fright taking over.
your face softens. "yes, i promise."
"good. i know it's you, y/n," he mumbles, turning onto his side.
your mouth parts and you don't know what to say. he probably won't remember any of this by sunrise.
"call me in the morning.. when you're sober," you whisper, his eyes finally shutting.
"i will," you hear him say sleepily.
you know he won't. he'll forget this even happened but still, you treat it like a high school crush and hope that he might just mean what he said, ignoring the fact that you know it's so far from the truth.
little do you realize, drunk words are sober thoughts, and he meant exactly what he said.