There were many tucked away nooks and alcoves in the ornate apartment the Featherington’s called home, and youngest daughter Penelope knew them all. She knew which ones afforded her the most privacy outside of her own room, which ones were the most comfortable, and which ones offered her the best views of Grosvenor Square. The latter is where she was currently situated, a window seat tucked away in the corner of the main reception room. She’d managed to avoid her parents and sisters' likely reminders to go to bed at a reasonable hour simply by sitting down in that spot and pulling the curtains which encompassed the window seat. Not enough to block out the evening sun, but enough to obscure her from view.  They only really thought of Penelope when she was in their line of sight, or, in the case of her mother especially, when they needed someone to belittle. Penelope liked that she had the ability to become invisible like this, because there was nothing she wanted less, at times, than to be perceived by her family.

By its very definition, Glee is about opening yourself up to joy, and that is exactly what Eddie Diaz is trying to do. He’s been punishing himself for almost six months for pushing Chris into his parents’ waiting arms. But he’s shaved off his mustached disguise, he’s had a dance around his living room, and now he’s sitting next to his - unusually quiet - best friend, watching a cringey teen musical dramady and… Enjoying it?

Do you love him? …Do you care for him? …Could you see a future there? Josh’s words echoed in Buck’s mind as he drove, on autopilot, to Eddie’s.  Buck… hadn’t been lying when he’d told Josh yes. He really had seen a future with Tommy. Their relationship had been easy. Simple. Especially compared to his other relationships. He also hadn’t been lying to Tommy when he’d said it had been the most transformative of his relationships. He’d learnt so much about himself with Tommy like… Like… Like the fact that he was Bi, of course. Which was definitely a transformative thing in his life. Even if he didn’t feel all that different post-realization. It wasn’t that it wasn’t an important realization, because it definitely was, but he had sort of… always known, he guessed, just hadn’t always placed that label on himself. He’d always looked at other guys, hadn’t felt ashamed of that, he’d just… never acted on the feelings doing so had caused. Or, rather, hadn’t exactly internalized that they were the same feelings he had for girls. But kissing Tommy had unlocked that part of him, and he was so completely grateful for that.  Honestly looking back he was a little surprised it had never been unlocked back when he was Buck 1.0, the himbo . He’d had plenty of chances for it to have been, but… huh… he’d pushed those feelings down, turned down offers of threesomes with other guys, laughed during spin the bottle games when his spin hadn’t landed on one of the girls. Maybe Buck could see where Josh was coming from with that whole pre and post-Glee world thing. Because, yeah, hadn’t Buck sort of done the same as Tommy? Pushed down his thoughts and feelings for guys and swept them under the rug. But Tommy hadn’t had the feelings for girls he could push the feelings for guys behind like Buck did… But that didn’t matter. Not now. He may no longer be angry at Tommy for leading Abby along but… He was certainly angry at Tommy for leading him on.

“If it weren’t raining,” She said, “It wouldn’t be England.” Benedict hummed. “You know, whenever I’m away, on a holiday or what not, I do often find myself missing the rain.” Sophie chuckled, shaking her head. Her long hair fluttered around her shoulders at the movement and she smiled as she tucked a strand back behind her ear. “I feel like I spend half my life staring out the window and wishing the rain away.” “You’d miss it, if it were gone,” Benedict found himself saying, and, apparently, it had been the wrong thing. Or, at least, it had sent her into a pensive silence. He watched as a myriad of thoughts flittered across her face, and found his hand twitching once again for a pencil, a paint brush, a fucking biro and post-it note. There was something about the way she continued to absentmindedly hold her hand tucked behind her ear, her elbow resting against her other arm as it crossed over her chest. The way her mask sat against her nose, held on her face by a silver ribbon that tied around her head disappearing under her long inky black hair. The far off look she had in her eyes. “You’re very quiet,” He said softly, after several long seconds of committing the sight of her to his memory. He was glad she’d found her before he’d had more than a glass of Champagne, glad his memories of tonight were unlikely to be fuzzy around the edges from anything other than the intoxication he felt simply by being in her presence. “I was just thinking,” She said, dropping her hand and turning her face to him, then her whole body, her shoulder now leaning against the wall instead of her back. Benedict instinctively mirrored her. “About?” “About what I’d miss - and what I wouldn’t - should my life drastically change.” So she had been in rather deep thought then. Benedict forced his own to not follow a similar path. “And do you expect it to drastically change?” He asked. She sighed, smile turning wistful and ever so slightly sad. “No.” “But you wish it to,” He guessed. “Yes,” She breathed out seemingly unable to stop herself. It was a word full of hope, of sadness, of desire, of longing. Benedict took her hands, bringing them to his lips and kissing them in turn. “Then we shall begin right now,” He told her, “And tomorrow you shall be transformed.” She gave him an ironic smile that wrinkled her nose. “Tonight I am transformed,” She told him softly, “And tomorrow… the woman in front of you will disappear.” Benedict felt his heart clench in his chest at the pure sadness that filled her voice - in exact opposition to the joy of earlier in the night. He drew her into his chest and she fell into him willingly, he placed a fleeting kiss against her forehead. “Then we will pack a lifetime into a night,” He told her.

A modern rewrite of The Carriage Scene.   “Pen, wait!” Colin called as Penelope ran up the staircase, her curls flying behind her and the skirt of her dress fluttering around her legs. “Not now, Colin,” she responded, slowing slightly as she got to the landing, stopping and taking a heaving breath that turned into a sob she quickly swallowed back. “Penelope,” Colin whispered, slowly walking up the stairs towards her. “I don't want to talk, Colin,” She said, her back still to him, and he watched as she straightened, taking a deep stuttering breath and slowly letting it loose. Her sniffles filled the hall, mingling with the distant thump of bass coming from one of her neighbours, but otherwise they were both silent as Pen composed herself before turning to him. … “Please,” he said imploringly, nodding to the door of her flat, “Let me in?”