Chapter Text
Santana Lopez is a lot of things. She is oblivious. She is unaware. She is heedless. She is unsuspecting. She is unmindful. And she is practically blind to how many women like her for her, not because of her sex appeal, or firm body, or irresistibly sultry voice.
Rachel tries to see it from Santana’s perspective. She tries to put herself into Santana’s shoes, which, mind you, is not an easy thing to do, especially considering Santana's tendency to shut down. It is maddening trying to figure her out; although Santana is not particularly abnormal, she can definitely be a struggle to understand.
Most of the time, Santana is like an open book. Her pages are easy to turn, her words are in plain English, and it’s usually a nice, easy read. But then, other times, Santana is...well, she’s a cardboard box. Rachel’s been—not creeping, per se—but observing from afar, and she’s written down a diagnosis in her music composition book (which Santana would never go through because of her loathing desire to ever be reminded of her days as a violinist) to help explain Santana’s thing.
Complex and lost, a prisoner to thought, honest and strong, yet lacking the ability to appropriately express true feelings and deep emotions. Intelligent to the point of boredom in regard to the people that surround her.
Constantly dwelling in a multi-contemplative state of mind whereas life passes by without a care, thus resembling an overflowing cup with the mindset of a glass half empty world. Refusing to react to change; all that remains is misunderstanding.
Rachel puts it down to her roommate’s intensity and this peculiar need to unveil hidden wonders about Santana that feed her infatuation. Yes, Santana makes her blush, and yes, Rachel forgets where she is sometimes when Santana smiles at her, but it's just a momentary lapse in emotional judgment.
Not love, just a mere crush. She's addicted to the thrill of it. Santana's different. Her words have two meanings; she speaks in a language where everything meaningful goes unsaid, and everything said is therefore bluntly offensive.
Santana shares her love via insults. Talking to Santana is like trying to solve a puzzle, unveil a secret, expose a lethal weapon used in a government operative.
The psychology of Rachel’s infatuation is just one of the many reasons she’s so enraptured by her roommate. Talking to Santana is like trying to read a map that’s been ripped in half. There are questions but no answers. There are places and destinations without instructions on how to even get there.
Santana can be so open and touchable, yet at the same time, so unattainable and hard to reach.
Rachel can’t help it. Whenever she gets a crush on someone, it becomes this obsession to discover what it is about this person that makes her tick. It’s been this way since high school, though this is the first time a girl has been the center of her affection.
It’s different, of course, but Rachel’s not going to lie and say she’s struggling with this new idea that she might be bisexual or something. Rachel’s attracted to organic green tea, so this newfound discovery of her fluidity is mostly no big deal. What is a big deal? Recognizing this fluidity at the same time she comes to terms with her attraction to Santana. Now that’s a big deal.
--
Throughout the last month, promises have somehow become their thing—which Rachel thinks is never a great way to start off a friendship; she already knows she's not exactly the best at keeping promises.
She was, after all, the person who convinced Finn over and over again that her going to New York wouldn't ruin them. She was the person who promised they'd always be together despite her dreams and ambitions. She was the one who told him that they would speak to each other every day without fail once she moved to the city, but obviously that was a lie too, considering two straight weeks once went by without either of them making an effort to call.
Promises have never been Rachel's strong suit, but Santana? That girl is made up of promises. Promises to Brittany, mostly, that she never once failed to come through with. Santana's promises are lock and key. They are bolted shut.
It actually means something to Santana when she takes somebody's pinky and squeezes tight, which should probably give Rachel hope when it comes to their friendship, but anything beyond that? Rachel's afraid most of Santana's affection still belongs to Brittany Pierce, or maybe even Cole now, considering the amount of time those two have been spending together ever since Cole got back from Europe.
Neither she nor Santana have spoken about the unspeakable kiss. They haven’t hinted at it, referred to it, or even attempted a reenactment. Basically, Santana sticking her tongue down Rachel’s throat is one of those taboo topics you just don't think about nor bring up or else all hell breaks loose.
It's been like walking on pins and needles ever since that night; for Rachel, at least. While Santana pretends to act as if nothing ever happened, Rachel can't erase the taste of Santana's lips from her mouth, and she's not entirely sure she wants to.
Santana obviously only kissed her because it was New Year’s Eve, and because she was drunk on wine. It meant nothing to her, because that exact morning after, Santana had left their apartment to pick up Cole from the airport, and she didn't come home until seven hours later with a very noticeable bruise on the front of her neck.
Either Santana got punched in the throat by a hobo, or she was out with Cole doing stuff Rachel would rather not think about.
It's gotten to the point where Rachel can only try her best to do what Santana's been doing since that night. She pretends as if it never happened (which is probably one of the hardest things she’s ever tried to do in her life).
It works for a while, too—pretending to forget by distracting herself with other things, like teaching herself how to cook and jogging around the city and cleaning out her closet—but then she goes and does something stupid like opening up the cupboards, and then she sees the half empty jar of peanut butter she and Santana shared that night, and then everything just comes flooding back to her memory like a...well, like a bitch.
It's only been a week since their kiss, and Rachel's already driving herself insane about it; whether or not it meant more, whether or not Santana regrets it, whether or not Santana even remembers it happened in the first place.
Or maybe the explanation to Rachel’s questions is a lot simpler than she thinks. Maybe Santana's just a big flirt who kisses whoever she wants because she’s a badass, because she’s allowed to, and it’s not like anyone sane would ever complain about it.
Really, it could be a myriad of things, but Rachel never asks. If it was no big deal to Santana, Rachel doesn't want to seem too needy or clingy about it. She's already crushing on her best friend, the last thing she wants is have Santana find out.
What would Santana even do if she ever learned of Rachel’s very conflicted feelings? Rachel doubts she ever wants to find out. It'd probably be weird at first, and then, knowing Santana, she'd make a joke about it and use it to her advantage.
Rachel doesn't want to assume Santana would be mean, but then there's what happened in high school. This Santana may not be as cruel as she was back then, but she's still Santana. She has no filter, and she can still be pretty hurtful at times without even realizing it, and Rachel knows she wouldn't be able to continue living in this apartment knowing Santana knows.
It's a mess, and Rachel just wishes she had better control of her emotions. She wishes she could approach Santana, be honest about how she feels, how that kiss made her feel, and then they could have a nice talk about it like two mature adults.
Except Rachel is only 18. She's barely an adult, and although Santana's five months older than her, Rachel doubts they'd be able to figure this out like normal, civilized humans.
She already knows what would happen. First, it'd be awkward; they'd tiptoe around each other, sharing fleeting glances and holding their breath whenever they'd get too close to touching each other.
Then, somehow, it would stem into some kind of irrelevant argument; Santana will continue to barge in on Rachel in the shower or in her room, and Rachel will come up with eloquent speeches about how they can't see each other naked anymore now that she has feelings and such. Santana will scoff and roll her eyes. Rachel will huff and stomp her foot. One of them will eventually end up storming off, and fin.
Rachel doesn't want any of that to happen, so she keeps her mouth shut, and she goes through the day to day motions of acting as civil as possible whenever Santana pretends as if she never randomly stuck her tongue down Rachel's throat.
It may not be the best, most productive plan, but it's a plan nonetheless.
--
Sometimes crushes hurt more than love, because not only are you unsure of where you stand with your feelings, but you also don't know how far they go. Where does it start? Where does it end? Will it ever end?
Rachel's come to the conclusion that her mind is not a safe place. Whenever she thinks about certain things, she tends to go overboard and rehash situations and circumstances until her thoughts are these jumbled up messes of confusion.
It's come to this; she can't even imagine what it'd be like without Santana in her life, and that can't be a good thing at all. It's only been five months, but she's already become so dependent upon Santana and her stupid smile and those dumb dark eyes of hers.
It's everything about the girl, and Rachel tells herself to cut it out. She tells herself she's crazy to ever develop feelings for Santana because she's Santana. She’s annoying and sarcastic and vulgar. But underneath all of that, she’s also honest and endearing and sensitive and her heart is so much bigger than what most people give her credit for.
She makes breakfast for Rachel in the morning (and it’s weird, because Santana always knows exactly what she’s in the mood for), and Santana always finds a way to make Rachel smile when she’s upset (and Rachel has been upset a lot lately, especially since starting dance classes again), and Santana never stops trying to get things right (even when she truly, truly sucks at it).
This shouldn't even be a problem. Rachel should like Daniel and his chiseled physique. She should be attracted to his charming smile and light eyes. His rosy cheeks whenever she makes him blush should have her heart beating irregularly, but all of that has been pushed aside and saved for Santana.
It should be so simple, except somewhere along the lines, someone changed the rules. Not only has her heart suffered, but all logical thought has been flushed down the toilet. The things Rachel’s always been sure of now make no sense at all. Her heart and mind aren't computing, syncing, or connecting, and it sucks.
"You're smiling."
"Huh?"
Santana smirks, cheeks puffed out as she tries to swallow. "You're smiling at me," she repeats, slowly setting down her sandwich. "What, do I have crumbs on my face or something?"
They're out to lunch at this Italian Bistro Santana discovered last week on her way back from Cole's place. There's a lot of things Rachel never knew about Santana, one of them being that her roommate loves food. She's almost like an amateur connoisseur when it comes to discovering new places and tasting different types of food, and it obviously doesn't hurt that Santana's a bottomless pit. She can literally eat whatever she wants without gaining a pound.
Had it been two years ago, Rachel would’ve been beyond envious of this knowledge, but now all she can do is secretly admire Santana's toned figure and unattainable beauty.
"Um," Rachel stalls, eyes darting sideways. "No, I was just thinking about something that happened earlier."
Santana hums under her breath as she takes another bite out of her sandwich. "What happened?"
"Oh, nothing really." Rachel finds herself staring at Santana's lips as she chews. "Angela made this joke, and yeah..." Her eyes remain glued to those perfect lips until a husky voice snaps her out of her thoughts.
Furrowed eyebrows rise slowly. "Well, I'm waiting," Santana drawls, smiling crookedly. "C'mon, I'd like to laugh too. What was so funny?"
What Rachel wants to happen:
"Knock, knock," she says.
"Who's there?"
"My heart."
"My heart who?"
"My heart is slowly breaking in half because of you."
What really happens:
"Knock, knock," she says.
"Who's there?"
"Interrupting cow."
"Interrupt—"
"MOO!"
The sad thing is Santana actually laughs.
The sadder thing is Rachel’s heart kind of melts spectacularly at the sound of her laughter.
--
Santana’s attention to detail is impeccable. She doesn't miss a thing (except for the obvious fact Rachel is crushing on her). The quick wit she utilizes to her advantage in situations of vulnerability continuously fortifies the immense amount of thought she encapsulates.
(Rachel pauses to take a breath. She’s getting exasperated, which apparently makes her verbose. That’s what Santana says, anyway. Apparently Rachel uses big words and speaks in long-winded, eloquent sentences whenever something frustrates her enough, and look, it’s happening right now.)
Brown eyes travel up to the night sky. In Lima, you can see the stars. In New York, all you can see are blinking lights that fly across a dark platform until they’re too far away to even exist. Rachel shivers in her turtleneck sweater, because she didn’t have the stomach to last a few more seconds in order to grab her coat before Santana and Cole were already going at each other behind Santana’s curtain.
Rachel breathes out again and tries not to think about what’s going on a couple floors beneath her. The thoughts are torture, but they keep her close to reality; the fact that she is not and probably won’t ever be what Santana wants.
Despite what most would presume, there’s not only a philosophical side to this attraction. The physical side is there and it’s apparent and it is waiting, and Rachel has long decided to stop fighting against how Santana makes her feel, but only physically. She’s read up more on those lesbian blog sites, seeking answers in a more private setting (her curtain-enclosed room whenever Santana’s out with Cole, or working at Cobblestones).
Rachel’s now made it a habit that whenever she enters those sapphic websites, she always leaves the shame out of her curtain, because it’s only natural to be curious about her body and what it wants, and lately it’s been wanting Santana, which should definitely mortify her.
It should scare the shit out of her, but instead of hyperventilating and pacing and calling her dads for help, Rachel’s accepted it. Thinking about Santana in that way kind of thrills her. It’s new and exciting and...titillating; the thought of what Santana can do, how she can touch, where she could lick and poke and stroke and…
It's no one's secret Santana is very good-looking. She's naturally beautiful, voluptuously attractive, wickedly and sinfully alluring, and it’s all real. Smooth skin, full lips, white teeth, slim figure. She's gorgeous, outwardly, which is an intoxicant all on its own. Add the perfect flaws of her personality into the mix and Santana is impossible not to adore.
A lot of people don't get the chance—or the fond opportunity—to get to know Santana, because sadly, so many of them are repelled by her wicked tongue and snide remarks before she can even win them over. But if they'd just look a little closer, open their eyes a little wider, listen a little longer, they'd meet someone so sincere and lovable they'd have no other choice but to fall for her, and fall hard.
--
There are many things Rachel hates about this situation, but the worst thing has to be how low her self-esteem as dropped since finally acknowledging said situation. If she’s not good enough for her own best friend—who usually has pretty okay taste in women—then what is Rachel to her? Chopped liver?
It’s been weeks since she’s owned up to how she feels, but this infatuation only becomes a problem when she finds herself spending most of her off time thinking about what it'd be like to touch those perfect lips again with her own, wondering if Santana's ever thought of her in that way, musing about the many times it seemed as if Santana was flirting with her or coming on to her.
Rachel thinks about it on the subway before vocal class. She thinks about it during vocal class. She thinks about it on her walk to Cobblestones after vocal class.
She makes Santana a priority when she herself is not even an option. Her roommate has suddenly invaded every part of her mind and thoughts, and Rachel knows that she's going to have to do something about it sooner rather than later. Something drastic.
She calls Angela.
--
"I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! Oh my god, I knew it!"
“Ssh, Angela!”
Maybe it would've been wiser to agree to meet Angela at a more private location. Rachel averts her eyes, embarrassed as a few students look their way with annoyed expressions. Even a librarian puts a finger to her lips to shush them, but Angela only rolls her eyes.
"I wish the people in here would just mind their own damn business and study," she complains in a loud, stage whisper. Rachel tries to hide behind her textbook, hoping to dodge the irritated looks being sent her way. Angela only laughs and says, "So, you're in love with Santana Lopez."
Rachel blanches. It's a bit disconcerting how Angela can say that as if it's a known fact or something. "Not love," she mutters lowly, eyeing their table with a thoughtful frown. "It's...it's an infatuation."
Angela looks at her like she wants to call bullshit. "Okay, so you don't love her, but you wanna have sex with her?"
"Angela," Rachel chokes, blushing from head to toe. "That's—I don't—I think you're confusing the word infatuation with lust."
"Okay, fine, but you still didn't answer my question. Do you wanna have sex with her or not?"
"I—" Honestly, Rachel hasn't really thought about whether or not she'd actually have sex with Santana if ever given the chance. She’s thought about sex as a whole, but with Santana? God. Her roommate is attractive and of course very knowledgeable when it comes to the female anatomy and how certain functions function, but would Rachel ever seriously go there with her if she had the opportunity? "I don't know," she mumbles, eyes downcast.
"Rachel."
"Maybe? I mean, I haven't really thought that far ahead yet.” She winces through her lie, feeling entirely inexperienced when it comes to talking about this stuff aloud. Somehow, whenever her mind goes there, it feels as if she's breaking Santana's trust by imagining such deeds taking place. Closing her eyes, Rachel shrugs a shoulder and ignores the heat rising to her cheeks. "Of course I've thought about sex with her, okay? But those are just stupid fantasies. What’s conflicting is how she makes me feel."
Pursing her lips, Angela nods thoughtfully. "Okay. Explain it to me."
It suddenly feels as if she's talking to a therapist rather than one of her friends, and perhaps that should set off a few alarms, but Rachel eventually convinces herself that pretending to talk to someone she barely knows could somehow make this easier to discuss.
Rachel rolls her tongue over her front teeth. "Well, when she looks at me, my throat gets all dry and it feels like I have to swallow, but I can't because my throat is dry," she reiterates needlessly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face with a dreamy smile. "Her touch makes my skin all warm and flushed, and when she laughs, I just...melt."
"Hm. Okay." Angela nods as if she understands, and maybe she does, but right now it feels as if Rachel's the only one in the world going through this shit.
Not only is she questioning her feelings for a very close friend of hers, but she's also questioning her sexuality, which is a whole other thing in itself.
Digging into her bag, Angela pulls out a paperback book and slides it across the table. "Here."
Skeptical, Rachel takes the book and stares at the cover. "What is this?"
"You know how to read, don't you?"
Rachel clamps her mouth shut to refrain from saying anything snide in response. It would only cause them to banter back and forth, and right now Rachel's more concerned with fixing her problem rather than arguing with Angela over nothing.
She looks at the book and resists the urge to roll her eyes at the title. Unlove by Spencer Wright. Rachel turns the book over to find a small passage; Love is patient. Love is kind. Love means slowly losing your mind.
She doesn't know how many times she's going to have to repeat this, but, "I told you I'm not in love with her."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Angela says, sounding way too amused. She smiles teasingly. "They didn't have a book on how to fall out of crush, so this is the best we've got."
Rachel sighs and continues to look over the book. There's nothing on the back about the author. It's impossible to tell whether a man or a woman wrote the book, and Rachel wonders if that should even matter, especially now that she has feelings for another woman.
Maybe it'd be easier to just find something online that would more directly deal with her circumstance, but Angela obviously went through a lot of trouble to find this book, so Rachel is grateful. Maybe not for the book, but definitely for such a good friend.
Rachel flips through the pages dubiously. "Do you really think this is going to work?"
"It's either this," Angela gestures to the book dismissively, "or a spell book I found that could erase every single memory you've ever had of San—"
"Okay," Rachel interrupts, eyes wide. Although this is a sticky situation, the last thing she wants is to have her brainwaves altered. "Let's just stick with this book."
"Good choice." Angela grins, and then juts her chin towards the book. "What's the first step?"
Brown eyes scan over the page dolefully. This is so stupid and a complete waste of time, but she goes along with it anyway. Angela's actually trying to help, so the least Rachel can do is cooperate and play along. "Accept that you are hurt," she sighs, reading the title of the first chapter.
Angela hums, tapping her nails against the table. "Well, have you accepted it yet?"
"I—I think so."
"Do you..." She waits a moment, blue eyes narrowly trained on Rachel, "feel any different?"
Rachel squints, and then shakes her head. "Not really."
"Does your heart feel any less heavy?"
"As opposed to what?"
Angela shrugs. "As opposed to three minutes ago."
"No, Angela." Rachel breathes out a sigh as she anxiously bends the corner of a page. "I feel exactly the same as I did before opening this book."
"Okay, fine," she mutters, raising her hands at Rachel's defensive tone. "What else does it say?"
Rachel continues to read, "It is important to know that what you are feeling is normal. Everyone has suffered from heartbreak once in their life, so know now that you are not alone."
Funny, because it sure feels like she is, considering Santana's always at Cole's place, and Kurt's always with Henry. Of course she has Angela and Daniel, and they've both made it pretty clear they care about her, but it still hurts that Santana and Kurt—the two people she considers her best friends—can so easily leave her behind for people they just met not even three months ago, while they've known Rachel for practically ever.
"That said," Rachel continues, hands gripping the edge of the book a little tighter than necessary, "Now that you've accepted the hurt, let it be known that it is okay to be sad for a while."
She peers up from under her eyelashes and takes a deep breath when Angela nods at her to continue. Furrowing her eyebrows, she keeps reading.
--
You are letting go of someone you love. Draining your heart is never a fun thing. When falling in love is so beautiful and blissful, falling out of love is obviously the opposite. Nursing your open wounds and accepting that you're going to have to emotionally move on is a significant step to this process.
Goodness, this book is depressing. She's still only on the first step and the words have already reduced her to tears. But she shouldn't be crying because this isn't even a big deal. Hurricane Sandy was a big deal. October’s city-wide blackout was a big deal. This—her incomprehensible emotions—is not what most would call a big deal or a dire emergency.
But it is. It is to her, anyway. There's just something about Santana that makes Rachel crazy in the best of ways and the worst of ways. She doesn't know when it started exactly, or even why it started, but it's there, and it's slowly driving Rachel insane.
Love is patient. Love is kind. Love means slowly losing your mind.
It's haunting her in her dreams and thoughts and nightmares, and Rachel would do anything at this point to just forget about it. Only, when Santana kissed her the other night, all that did was gratify her feelings, make them bigger, stronger, more prominent than they were before, and now all Rachel wants to do is kiss those lips again, tell Santana how she feels, tell her that every time they're together she can't help but stare, or whenever Santana talks—even if it's about something really stupid and irrational—Rachel can't help but be totally engaged in the conversation.
She thinks about Santana constantly now, and she's even beginning to wonder if maybe this is love. She claimed to be in love with Finn, and even that feeling wasn't as intense as this.
Maybe it's the mystery and timing in all of this. Rachel shouldn't have these feelings. Santana's her best friend. She's her fucking roommate. Santana's a girl, and Rachel isn't even attracted to other women. This has to be something else she's feeling, but every time she tries to tell herself that, Santana appears with that crooked smile, and everything around Rachel falls apart.
Nothing is real anymore. She's floating in a world of make-believe and now anything is possible. Loving Santana is possible. Being more than her friend is possible. Kissing Santana whenever she feels like it is possible. Anything is possible until Santana is gone again and Rachel has time to think about everything she's feeling, and goodness gracious, isn't this ridiculous?
This is the question Rachel always ends up asking herself. She doubts herself and her feelings and her own heart. She calls herself ridiculous, because that’s the only explanation as to why she’s acting this way, right?
Right?
A creak in the floorboards alerts Rachel to the footsteps approaching her curtain. She quickly shuts her book and tosses it under the covers when the shuffling starts to get closer. (Damn, she's even memorized the heaviness and pattern of Santana's stride. This is some kind of unbearable.)
"Okay, so Cole and I were thinking about going out to this sushi restaurant where you have to eat off of naked people.” Santana bursts right through Rachel's curtain, without so much as a warning (which, well, Rachel should probably be used to that by now). "Naked people!" Santana continues, eyes wide in excitement. "Which is just sick, like, this city is in-fucking-credible, and Rachel, you know I can't miss out on that, and I was thinking, you love sushi, so you have to—...what's wrong?"
Sniffling, Rachel wipes at her stinging eyes and tries to smile. "Nothing's wrong," she says weakly, and then grimaces, because that was probably the worst lie she’s told recently. Nothing’s not wrong when everything is wrong.
Rachel hates that beautifully alarmed look in Santana’s expression when her face drops. "Your eyes are all red and your cheeks are flushed," she points out, stepping cautiously into the room. Rachel turns her head toward her window and wills the rest of her unshed tears away. "Either you were just crying, or you're higher than the Empire State Building, but since I know you'd never do anything to jeopardize your health, you must've been crying. Who do I have to cut?"
Rachel smiles, tight-lipped. "Santana, it's okay. I just need a moment,” or a month, maybe, but despite her reassurances, Santana's eyes only narrow further. "I'm fine. I promise."
Santana’s eye soften at the word ‘promise’, because promises are sort of their thing, but she still looks unsure. "This isn't about Finn, is it?" she asks tiredly, cocking her hip to the side. "Because if he's still texting you, I swear to God I'll go down to Lima myself and cut off—"
Rachel sits up straight and wipes at the dry tears under her eyes. "It's not about Finn. It's..." about you, she fails to confess. Admitting her feelings would only result in more confusion and more embarrassment, so Rachel lets out a long sigh in order to calm her nerves and backtrack. "I suppose I'm just a little bit homesick. It's almost been five months since I've last seen my fathers, and I guess I took not seeing them over the holidays harder than I thought."
Santana's taut expression softens in fragments as a small smile quirks at the corner of her lips. She takes a step closer to the bed, because she thinks Rachel wants comfort and attention and a shoulder to cry on. She's being a good best friend by not writing Rachel's feelings off as stubborn ludicrousness, and she's also being a good person in general by offering a hand to hold, but what Rachel really needs is to be alone right now.
According to Unlove, it's the only way she'll ever be able to get over her roommate, but then Santana sits on the edge of the bed and wraps Rachel up in a tight hug.
Rachel instantly knows she can't do anything but slide her arms around Santana's waist and squeeze back, her face cradled in between Santana's neck and shoulder. Inhaling through her nose, Rachel closes her eyes at that familiar coffee bean scent.
It's kind of the last thing she wanted and the first thing she needed.
--
Rachel is many things right now. Cold is one of them, because Santana always fails to close the window to the fire escape whenever she comes back in from her smoke breaks. Confused is another one of the things. She's not even questioning her own feelings anymore, because there's no point in that. Not when it's quite obvious that she's crushing hard on her own roommate.
What she's confused about now is Santana's feelings. It's probably a stupid thing to wonder—whether or not Santana likes her back—but then there's that kiss that was never really explained. Not only that, but Santana's kind of made it a bad habit of doing things and saying things that have Rachel questioning whether or not Santana's coming onto her.
There's been all of these mixed signals and flirtatious smiles being directed at her, and Rachel can't for the life of her tell if Santana's actually flirting with her, or if it's just all in Rachel's mind.
Maybe she's just imagining it could be more when Santana compliments how nice her ass looks whenever she wears a certain pair of jeans. Maybe it's just a big misunderstanding when Santana stands really close behind Rachel and rests a chin on her shoulder as she bakes cookies in the kitchen for them. Maybe Rachel’s overthinking what it means whenever Santana plays with her hair and scratches at her scalp like a lover would while they're watching movies on the couch together. It must be Rachel’s mind playing tricks on her whenever Santana's touching her, opening doors for her, ordering her favorite Thai takeout, and buying her those perfectly succulent strawberries she loves every time it's Santana's turn to go grocery shopping.
Santana strokes Rachel's hand when painting her nails. Santana shares her food with Rachel whenever she's eating something she thinks Rachel would like. Santana plays with Rachel’s fingers and always looks deep within her eyes whenever they talk. She does all of these things, and while Rachel loves these things, she knows that Santana's doing them all unknowingly.
Santana's treating her like a girlfriend, because other than Quinn, she's never known anything else. She's used to catering to and caring for her best friend, and now that that person is Rachel, she's switched gears and is doing the same things she used to do with Brittany.
But that doesn't mean Santana likes her in that way, and it doesn't mean Santana thinks of her as more than a friend. Rachel knows that.
Which is why it's so hard for her to begin the next step in her stupid book.
--
2. Cut off as many ties with this person as possible.
She follows the step quite abruptly, because the quicker she reads through this book and lets go of her feelings for Santana, the faster they can go back to being normal friends who don't flirt with each other or kiss each other or hold hands in the street.
Obviously following this step isn’t going to play out exactly how the book intended since she can’t really cut off too many ties seeing as Santana’s her roommate, but Rachel does what she can, and it’s always the initiative that counts anyway, right?
First, Rachel stops going into the bathroom when Santana's in the shower. She also makes it a habit to lock the door whenever she's bathing. If Santana notices, she doesn't say so. The expression on her face says it all when Rachel comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body, and Santana’s scowling like a hawk.
Rolling her eyes, Santana eyes Rachel's towel before muttering something about having to pee as she slips through the threshold and slams the bathroom door closed.
After three more days of the same routine, Santana still must not get the hint. When Rachel's in the shower, she can hear pounding on the wooden door, but she ignores it until Santana starts yelling, "Let me in, Berry. My bladder is about to explode!"
Knowing Santana's only being her normal dramatic self, Rachel continues to take her time in the shower, and then once she's finally done with her bathroom routine, she opens the door to find Santana fuming on the other side.
"What the hell," she hisses, pushing past Rachel and into the bathroom, not even bothering to shut the door as she pulls down her pants and sits on the toilet. Wrapping her towel around her armpits tighter, Rachel tries to make a quick escape to her curtain, but then Santana's voice stops her. "Rach, get in here. What the fuck is your problem?"
She makes it a point to wait until Santana's wiped and washed her hands before re-entering the bathroom and leaning her bare shoulder against the doorframe.
Santana catches her eye at the sink. "So?"
Rachel clears her dry throat. "I just think we should have more boundaries. You know I've always liked my privacy and, well..."
"And what?" Santana quirks a perfect eyebrow, crossing her arms under her breasts. Braless breasts, Rachel can't help but notice. She swallows hard and tries to focus her eyes elsewhere, but Santana's still staring at the side of her face, trying to figure her out. "Look, if you're touching yourself in the shower, just say so, and I'll make sure to wake up earlier so I don't wet myself, okay?"
Blushing, Rachel sputters unattractively, and then frantically shakes her head. "I—what? No, I am not touching myself. I admit it's been awhile since...well, it's been awhile, but I would never—"
"Wait. Hold the fucking phone," Santana blurts, eyes sparkling with mischief. "You've never..."
She raises her eyebrows suggestively, and Rachel continues to shake her head, yet she's not sure why, because she has definitely touched herself before. "I—I don't want to have this discussion," she says instead, refusing to answer the unasked question.
Santana only grins wider before shrugging a shoulder and waving her hand dismissively. "Fine, whatever. It's none of my business anyway. Just remember, we only have one bathroom, and I'm not a freaking camel, so maybe try to rub faster." Santana barks out a laugh and then rushes to correct herself, saying, "Scrub! Sorry. I meant to say scrub faster."
Rachel can only roll her eyes as she turns away from the bathroom. "No you didn't," she calls over her shoulder.
"You're right," she hears from behind her. "I didn't."
That beautiful bitch.