Casa Nova Sessions.

He’s whistling as he walks, swinging his keys around his finger. He slows to a stop as he sees the hunched form of a girl sitting on the steps, her shoulders shaking. He gets closer, and his suspicions are confirmed when he hears the sound of her sobs, but he’s surprised as he recognizes the blonde. Momentarily, he wonders if he should even bother her—she’s never paid a speck of attention to him, and she’s given him a dirty look the few seconds she has—but his heart was too big to just walk by without a care.

So he drops to a squat beside her, hesitating for a moment, before tapping her shoulder gently. “Hey,” he says softly; she’s startled, and looked over at him, looking almost scared. Her makeup is running down her cheeks, but it’s nothing a tissue couldn’t fix. “What’s wrong?”

He almost asked “Are you okay?” but he quickly realized that it’d be probably the dumbest question he could ever ask.

Quinn’s apprehensiveness to answer is blatant, but she finally spoke, her voice quivering as she tried to wipe away the smeared makeup. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” she replies, her eyes still watering.

He sighs at how weak her voice is, and takes a seat beside her, unsure of what to say. He sits, thinking for a moment, and then finds something to say. “It’s not,” he begins, agreeing with her statement, “but I do hate to see such a strong girl cry.”

Somehow, that gets to her. She absent-mindedly holds her breath for a moment, the words hitting home. She is strong—probably one of the strongest people at the school, with all she’s been through. She’s Quinn Fabray, the Head Bitch In Charge. But right now, she’s just a teenage girl, heart-broken for the umpteenth time, this time at homecoming.

Finally, she speaks again—although, this time is softer. “I came here with a date. He’s managed to hurt me again, and I’ve lost count a while ago how many times he’s done so,” she tells him, looking down at her heels.

He’s quiet for a few minutes, before offering some words. “I know you don’t know me,” he says, “but I think that if a guy doesn’t treat a girl properly, he doesn’t deserve her or anyone else. It might not be helpful, but clearly, he’s hurt you. No girl deserves that.”

She takes a deep, shaky breath, looking at him. It’s weird, for him to see her so vulnerable. She’s usually so strong, so steel-faced in the hallways of McKinley. It’s almost like seeing her softer twin.

“Who are you?” she asks.

He grins. “Frank.”

“Well,” she says, a weak, but tiny smile on. “Thank you. You didn’t totally help, but you gave me an idea of what to do.”

“Anytime.” Frank puts a hand on her shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. “Things will lighten up,” he assures her. “Just give it some time.”

She nods, trying to regain her composure. He stands, and holds a hand out for her. She hesitates, and then takes it, getting on her feet. “So what’re you doing out here?”

“I am supposed to be getting a tuner out of my car,” he answers, gesturing in the direction of the parking lot. “I’m playing with the band—hence the penguin suit,” he explains jokingly. “There’s a newbie with us, and his guitar’s a little out of whack.” He rolls his eyes, “Freshman.”

She giggles. “Well, break a leg,” she says. “I’m going to head back in.”

Nodding, he gives her a warm smile. “I hope your evening gets better,” he wishes her.

“Thank you—for everything,” she adds. “Goodnight, Frank.”

“’Night, Quinn.”

Inside, she looks to the mini-stage near the front of the large room in the middle of the band playing Flowers For A Ghost. He looks up from his guitar, looking over the mass of people. Somehow, she manages to catch his eye, on the edge of the mass of people, swaying with that one girl who shares a name with some car.

He smiles at her.