A/N: I can't apologize enough for the large delay! I really am sorry, I've just been distracted and lacking motivation lately. I started on chapters for my other two stories and I hope to have them up soon, but I don't want to make any promises just in case I can't follow through. Not entirely satisfied with this chapter, but it's necessary for what I have planned. Once again, I'm sorry and I hope that you enjoy! All mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any real places associated with this story.

Finn's POV

Why did everything seem to go wrong for him lately?

Spontaneously bumping into her at the club was one of those events that fell under the category of 'being in the wrong place at the wrong time'. It had made him…frustrated and caused him to momentarily snap, but it was only supposed to be a one-time event. A sick, twisted event. But no; the world revolved around making his life a living hell.

It wasn't her, necessarily. There were worse things than waking up from a shitty night to find Quinn Fabray at your doorstep – much, much worse things. He had never intended on being such an asshole to her. If it had been anyone else, then yeah, it probably would have been intentional. As he sat on his thousand-something dollar sofa, drowning his sorrows in alcohol, he could've sworn that what he was feeling was remorse. It was definitely a newer feeling for him. Lately, he'd been used to feeling nothing. Who would have thought that living a life of luxury could result in feeling so…empty?

There was a knock at the door, but he didn't have the energy to care. Though she had stormed out almost two hours ago, he never locked the door. His eyes continued to watch his now empty glass as he hollered out a greeting to come in.

"This is quite the party," Puck noted sarcastically once he was standing a few feet away from his friend.

Finn sighed and began pouring another drink. "What do you want?"

"Dude, it's almost two in the afternoon. I thought we were going to catch some waves in Malibu before Mike's party?"

Right, he'd almost forgotten. Mike Chang's birthday was today, a mutual friend he and Puck had met when they first moved out to the west coast. He was throwing a huge bash at his mansion in Beverly Hills and practically everyone who was anyone had been invited. Finn hadn't even bought him a gift yet. "I'm not in the mood."

The mohawked man cleared his throat and took a seat across from Finn. "What happened?"

It took a few seconds for him to respond, as he suddenly found his scotch much more fascinating than before. He fiddled with his glass before he finally murmured a quiet explanation of, "Quinn stopped by this morning."

"Did it go well?"

The eagerness in his voice caused Finn's head to rise and his eyes to narrow. "No, it didn't."

"That's too bad, bro," Puck replied, avoiding eye contact. "She's a really great girl."

"How would you know?" Finn snapped.

Puck stayed silent for a full minute before he said anything. "I, uh, I talked to her last night after you left. I was the one who gave her your address."

Finn's jaw clenched. "Why the fuck would you do that?"

"Because you've been miserable these past few years and I didn't want to continue to watch my best bro suffer." There was a slight quiver in his voice, causing Finn to really allow his words sink in.

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "I don't need your concern, but what does Quinn have anything to do with my situation?"

Puck shrugged. "Whenever you were completely hammered, you had a tendency of bringing her up. You didn't talk about her like you did other girls. A lot of times you would blabber on about memories when you two were kids. I just assumed that, way back when, she was the one person who made you happy. I had to try, dude."

"She…used to be that person." They were on the brink of breaching a territory that Finn hardly ever talked about, nor did he want to. "But you know the story of how I fucked that up."

"That wasn't your fault. You couldn't help that your dad–"

"Don't," Finn warned, his voice dropping a few octaves. "Don't bring that up. Please."

Puck ran a hand through his 'hawk and sighed. "Right, I'm sorry. What I was trying to say was that she could be that person again. You could really use someone like her right now."

"I have enough friends," stated Finn. "I don't need any more."

"But Quinn never was just a friend, was she?" Puck countered.

"Stop, alright? Look, she was a childhood friend. Nothing more." The lie caused a brief sensation of pain to vibrate within his chest.

Sighing, Puck stood up. He walked over to the small bar and grabbed a napkin, pulling out a pen.

"What's that?" Finn inquired as he warily eyed the item his friend was holding out to him seconds later.

"This is her number. I get that you might not want to fix things and let her in, but you could at least apologize for acting like a dick… twice now." He added the last part as an afterthought and shoved the napkin into Finn's hand. "Now, do I need to stay here and baby you, or will you be okay staying here by yourself?"

Finn only briefly glanced at the napkin before he shoved it into the pocket of his jeans and stood up, reaching for the leather jacket draped over the back of the sofa. There was only so much of the past that he could deal with for one day.

"Actually, surfing does sound pretty good right now. And you know how I'm always up for a party."

Puck stayed quiet for a few seconds, studying the taller man intently. "There's no way in hell I'm going to let you ride the waves while you're drunk. I don't need you drowning on my watch."

"I'm just a little buzzed," Finn corrected, sliding his arms through the sleeves. "I'm fine."

"You aren't fine. Look, we can go grab a bite and I'll help you get sobered up before the party. Sound good?"

"Sure, whatever," Finn replied with a shrug, following his friend out the door. As he locked the door, he couldn't help but think about the crinkled napkin buried within the confines of his jean pocket. Maybe it would be for the best if he just called and apologized. She probably wouldn't believe him, but at least he'd have a clean conscience. Then again, he hadn't done the morally right thing in a long time.

Quinn's POV

"Do you know where the utensils are?" Quinn heaved a sigh of frustration and picked another cardboard box to rustle through.

Santana eyed the blonde curiously as she leaned against the kitchen doorway. "I've never seen someone so eager to unpack."

"Well, maybe if I had some help," Quinn huffed with a pointed look.

"I've helped," Santana stated defensively. "All of the eating equipment can be found in the top drawer next to the refrigerator."

"So you actually did something?"

"Hey now," the Latina chastised as she walked into the living room and began absentmindedly pawing through a box, "the bitch act is strictly reserved for me; it just doesn't work on you. Now, tell me where you really went this afternoon."

'Damn,' Quinn thought. Being that she didn't even want to remember the earlier event, she especially did not want to share the unpleasant memory with Santana. The only reason why she was so determined to make the apartment homey in the first place was because it gave her something else to think about.

She pulled out a vase from one of the boxes and pretended to observe it. "I told you, San. I went to get us coffees."

"Cut the crap, Q." Santana scoffed, folding her arms and placing them against her chest. "It doesn't take an hour to get coffee in LA. There are hundreds of coffee shops here."

"It does if you're new to the city."

At that, Santana couldn't find an immediate reply and Quinn smiled victoriously.

"If you're done with the interrogation, I could use your help, Satan."

The raven-haired woman gave her an adamant glare before releasing an exasperated sigh and walking toward a stack of unopened boxes.

Finn's POV

Finn awoke with a jolt, the remnants of the nightmare still not yet gone from his mind. At first, he had no idea where he was, other than the fact that he was on a bed. The room was shrouded in darkness and his vision was already hazy enough as it was. Slowly, he pushed himself into a sitting position. Moving at a glacier pace, he gingerly rested a hand against the side of his throbbing head. He glanced to his right and could just barely make out the silhouette of a woman lying on her side.

'Oh,' he thought blankly. 'So that's what happened.'

Just to verify his assumption, he peeked beneath the comforter. Sure enough, he was correct.

He let out a loud sigh, which only caused his head to pound in response. Though this wasn't exactly an unusual situation to wake up to for him, he felt unsettled by the fact that he couldn't recall the events leading up to it. The last thing he could remember was arriving at Mike's party.

It was clear that some heavy alcohol had been involved, perhaps even some drugs. Drugs had to have been involved, strictly due to the fact that he hadn't had that particular…dream in a few years.

Shocking as it may have seemed, he was usually successful when it came to avoiding narcotics. He had a tendency of committing stupid acts when he was high and preferred not be hounded by Puck the next day. However, he wasn't exactly surprised that he had given in. All he ever needed was a decent reason.

Finn never had been the type who stayed for breakfast after a one-night stand, even in his current condition. Though his body was screaming in protest, he forced his legs to hold him up as he searched the room for his clothes.

The process was slow and took about five minutes, but eventually he stumbled out of the door and headed down the long hallway. He and Mike weren't extremely close, but he'd been to his house enough times to know how to navigate through the maze of hallways.

"Yo," Puck greeted, patting Finn roughly on the shoulder. He looked him over once and said, "You look like shit."

"Could you keep your voice down?" Finn demanded. As if he didn't already know that he looked bad – he felt like shit.

The two men walked down the stairs in silence until they arrived in the kitchen. The tall brunette immediately poured himself a glass of water while Puck watched him in silence.

"Rough night?" Puck asked with a small chuckle.

"You could say that," Finn said flatly. "I don't remember a single fucking thing."

Puck scrunched his face up in confusion. "Seriously?"

With a single nod in response, Finn set the glass on the counter and turned around, heading for the door.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"I need to get out of here," Finn said without looking back. "I'll talk to you later, just…just leave me alone for a bit."

He didn't wait for a reply and was soon out the door, high-tailing it for his car. The reason for his sudden urge to get the hell away from his best friend was based more off of impulse than anything else. Now that it didn't feel like a hammer was beating away at his head, thoughts were finally forming in his mind–mainly about the dream he had.

Out of the blue, a wave of nausea passed through him and he managed to stumble a few feet off of the sleek pathway before he hunched over and emptied the contents of his stomach behind some oddly–and, frankly, ugly–shaped bush.

"Fuck," he groaned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. There had never been a time when he felt so weak. So what if his dad happened to appear in his dream? That was all in the past. It was not important–not anymore.

Then why did it bother him so much?

Suddenly feeling a prickling in the back of his eyes, Finn quickly stood up and hurried back toward the direction of his car. It only just occurred to him how early it was–the sun was just beginning to rise.

He huffed out a sigh and shoved his hands into the pocket of his jeans, searching for a stray piece of gum or something to get the vile taste out of his mouth. Instead, his hand landed on a soft, smooth surface. His steps faltered and he held his breath as he pulled the napkin from his pocket.

As he looked down at the scrawled numbers, he couldn't deny that there was an unbearable temptation to call her. If anything, he could just use it as an excuse to apologize. He acted like a complete asshole to Quinn Fabray of all people. Aside from her beauty, she was the type of person who had a big heart and an infectious smile. Just being around her had a positive affect on people–even him, though he was capable of hiding that quite well.

Without another thought on the matter, he pulled out his iPhone and punched in Quinn's number. Yeah it was only, like, seven in the morning on a Sunday and basically nobody in their right mind would be awake this early, but he needed to try. Who knew when–no, if–he would ever be able to muster the courage to do this again.

There was a total of three rings before she picked up, sounding annoyed and drowsy, and said, "Hello?"

He sucked in a breath and let it out quickly. "Hi…it's, uh, Finn. Would you be willing to meet me somewhere?"

She didn't reply, so he added, his voice unintentionally cracking, "Please?"

A/N: Review please? If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to PM me. Thanks for reading!