And I'm back! I know I said I was going to focus on oneshots, but this idea popped up in my head and I just couldn't let it go. :P Now, if some of you have me on author alerts, then you'll know I've actually posted a prologue & first of chapter of When it Comes before. I went on vacation for 2 weeks after that and everything sort of flew out of my head, so this is me starting over.

If you managed to read the previously posted (now deleted) chapters, then you'll notice some similarities in the prologue and first chapter that will be posted up now, in addition to the overall premise of the fic. Hopefully, you'll get the chance to leave me a second review though. :)

As for the other, please read and enjoy! Don't forget to click that little button at the bottom - would love to hear some feedback and thoughts. :)

Prologue.

The sun rose high above the skyscrapers, casting a warm glow over the city and causing the thick, muggy air to bury itself into every possible crevice it could find. In the deserted parking lot of a well-known studio network, a petite figure leaned against the cool concrete of the building behind her, lifting her face to the sun. She tapped at her small phone expertly, sending a quick message, before braving the heat to cross the empty lot and settle comfortably into her car. With the air-conditioning on full blast, she tied her long blonde hair back into a comically high ponytail and sunk herself into the leather interior of her beloved car, a disgruntled sigh escaping her mouth.

"Sorry! Sorry I'm late!" the passenger door flung open and the car bounced slightly, as a pretty Asian girl with jet-black hair folded herself into the seat, her arms full of overstuffed files and pieces of loose paper. "I went to print out the contracts that Santana sent me and the printer decided to stop working when it had already printed out half of the Target deal," she exhaled, reaching to dump all the papers in the backseat. "I'm sorry. Were you waiting long?"

"Don't worry about it," the blonde girl shrugged with a smile, before revving the engine and pulling out of the parking space. They weaved in and out of cars with the expertise one could only get from living in Los Angeles for so long, before pulling onto the freeway and finding themselves in complete gridlock.

Tina, the girl in the passenger seat, pulled her feet out of her flip-flops and curled them underneath herself, getting her cell phone out at the same time. Tapping it expertly, she turned to face the girl in the driver seat. "So, do you want to know what's on the schedule next week?"

Quinn Fabray, who was staring intensely at the unmoving vehicle in front of her, blinked out of her short daze and turned to face her friend. "What I want to know is why there's freaking traffic at this hour on a Friday," she grumbled.

"It's 7 AM, Quinn. Everybody's either going to work or coming home from a night out,"

"Well, I'm coming home from work and I just wanna lie down in my comfortable bed and sleep the next week away," she mumbled, letting a frustrated groan escape her mouth, before offering a half-hearted apology towards her friend. "I'm being bratty, I know,"

"It's okay, you worked through the night – if you weren't cranky, then we'd have some issues," Tina chuckled. "Speaking of next week, though…well, actually, you've got a full weekend too…"

"What? No break?" Quinn responded in mock horror, before a smile broke across her lips.

"Sorry, girlie. You've got the rest of today off, but you also have like, a million errands to run. There's a photo shoot lined up for tomorrow and you have that Alannah Hill launch event on Sunday night. Next week is your last week of filming and that wraps up the second season, but you've got promo almost every single night until next Saturday,"

"None of those are skippable?"

"I'm afraid not," Tina said apologetically. As Quinn's personal assistant, she knew it was necessary that Quinn go to all the events and keep up appearances. But as her best friend, Tina knew how tiring it had to be.

"Well, there goes my personal life. You know, I can't remember the last time I got a hike in," Quinn sighed, resting her elbow on the windowsill of her side of the car.

"Yeah, but…well, not to sound like a total bitch, but you did kind of ask for it,"

"I know, it's just…" Quinn paused, sucking in her lips before letting out a breath. "Tiring. It's tiring," she shrugged, reaching over the gearbox to fiddle with the radio. Unable to settle on a station, she plugged in her iPod and quickly, the soothing sound of Bon Iver's voice came through the speakers.

"Well, I could always ask Santana to set you up on one of those dates she's always offering,"

"Oh, please kill me before I ever agree to anything like that!" Quinn giggled. "I can't believe she's still throwing that out there,"

"To be fair, I've seen some of her clients and you could do a lot worse. You know she represents athletes, right?"

"Not interested," the blonde waved her hand dismissively, inching the car forward.

"Just a suggestion," Tina smiled, tilting her shoulder towards the window nonchalantly. "You never know..."

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes wearily, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and ambling down the staircase towards the kitchen. His stomach grumbled as the smell of freshly made pancakes wafted through the house, but an unusual sight caused him to stop dead in his tracks. Crowding around the kitchen island were his backup band members and a pretty, tall, brunette.

"Oh! Morning, sleepyhead!" she squealed, her voice crashing through his thoughts, as she set the spatula down and skipped across the room to fling her arms around him.

"Morning, Sammy. Have a fun night?" Noah Puckerman, the guitarist in the group and their resident bad boy, punched Sam in shoulder and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"So much fun," the brunette answered for him.

Sam Evans' bright green eyes widened as he struggled to remember where the girl had come from, what her name was, and exactly what they did last night. "What are you guys doing here?" he gestured to the rest of his band, grabbing himself a cup of coffee.

"Mike texted us about a morning meeting," Rory Flanagan, the youngest and newest addition to the group, explained in his thick Irish accent. "Katie was here when we got here," he shrugged and Sam quickly made a mental note to thank Rory later.

"Don't worry about a thing, this is the last batch of pancakes and then I'm out of here, I promise," the brunette – Katie – dropped another pancake onto the griddle and placed a fresh plate on the counter. Her hair tumbled sexily out of a messy updo and when she stepped away from the kitchen island, Sam's breath hitched in his throat when he noticed she was wearing his white v-neck shirt.

'Well, I guess I slept with her last night,' he thought, chuckling silently to himself.

Two hours later, after an awkward goodbye and one disorganized band meeting, Sam stretched back against his couch, his legs propped up on the coffee table in front of him and his fingers falling lazily over the acoustic guitar in his lap. Across the room, Mike Chang, his best friend and manager, was tapping away at his cell phone furiously. Every so often, a curse word would fall out of his mouth and Sam had to bite back from laughing at the intense, worried look on his friend's face. In Sam's opinion, Mike worked way too hard and was way too serious about everything.

"Not even 9 AM in the morning and I already have to do damage control," Mike muttered. "I swear, if we haven't been best friends since middle school, I would've let you answer all these messages yourself,"

"Oh, come on, what's the worst that they're going to say? That I'm dating Katie, so what? She's a model, after all," Sam raised his eyebrows knowingly.

"No, Sam, she's not a model. She's a waitress-slash-dancer at the club we went to last night…damn it, I knew I should've gone home with you!"

"No offense, but you're really not my type,"

Mike stopped typing on his phone and glared at Sam, his eyes growing narrower. "Look, if you want to sleep around, fine. I just don't get why you can't sleep around with people who are actually in your…you know, social circle," he gestured.

"What, like other celebrities?" Sam dropped his jaw in mock surprise. "Michael Chang, are you admitting to being a celebrity?"

"I am saying that you've had two number one albums, two sold out tours, and dude, you're kind of on top of the world right now, so I can see why you want to get around," Mike snorted. "But why don't you try the real thing for a change? You know, an actual relationship?"

"Because that worked out so well for you and Santana?" Sam shot back, his fingers tapping against his guitar. "You two dated and now that you've broken up, isn't it super awkward to work with each other now?"

"We don't work with each other, alright?" Mike ran a hand through his hair anxiously. "We just realized the only thing we had in common is trying to manage your ass," he chuckled.

"Look, I've tried the whole relationship thing. It was great, but it's like you said – I'm kind of on top of the world. Will you just let me enjoy it?"

"Well, if you ever need a date, I'm sure we can get Santana to set you up on one of those PR things," Mike shrugged, a laugh escaping his mouth when he saw Sam's reaction.

"Please kill me if I ever take you up on that offer,"

"You never know..."