Quinn Fabray & Open
After figuring out that Santana had disappeared, presumably back to civilization, Quinn found herself feeling very alone. As much as the two of them fought at times, traded verbal and physical blows in Lima, Santana was one of her best friends, a member of their unholy trinity, and with her here, she felt more confident in her ability to survive this island. Despite not knowing her presence to exist in the first place here, seeing Santana here, gave Quinn courage. A familiar face, variety aside, was all that mattered and sometimes all one needed was that familiar face to gather strength. When Yale granted her this opportunity, she'd taken it, but with the hopes of starting over. It was a spur of the moment thing, but Quinn felt it was right. Santana's presence was a bonus, but it meant everything to Quinn.
Despite the pain, Quinn made herself venture to the weekly bonfire and found a seat close enough to watch the flames. Santana and her were supposed to sing here, but they never did. Maybe, eventually, the thought of potentially singing with her best friend would not hurt. The times the blond had tried to belt out a few words, she found her voice stifled, cracked, and broken. Deep down, she wasn't sure if she could again. If people could just go home here, why would she ever get attached? Why would she ever try to form bonds? No, this place was not about bonds, not permanent ones anyway.
Closing her eyes, the blond pulled her knees to her chest, securing them tight with her arms. Her hair was growing back, the long, luscious blond locks from high school returning rapidly, but Quinn couldn't bring herself to ask another to cut it. For one, there would be no layers and for another, it was comforting. It was something from home and Quinn found herself grasping for it. Spirit of adventure? No, not really, but she was determined to make it even if all she could muster up was a tune once in awhile.