Chapter Text
Waking up in the morning is like peering through the bottom of a long crystal glass—blurry, wavering, unclear—and she blinks once, twice, three times before her vision finally comes into focus. Sunlight streams in between the slits of her curtains, and Rachel uses her hand to cover her eyes as it shines directly on her.
She rolls over with a grunt and then stuffs her face into a pillow to escape the painful gleam of sun shining at her face. The left side of her bed is cold and empty, but Rachel doesn't really know what she expected. She and Santana share a bed on some nights, mostly when Santana can't sleep and wakes up in the middle of the night.
There's always wine on her breath, and Rachel stupidly wishes for a reenactment of New Years, but Santana only falls into the mattress, mumbles something along the lines of sleep tight and then drifts off to sleep. It's been happening more and more ever since they've made up, and Rachel doesn't know what to make of it.
As Rachel tries to hide from the sunlight peeking into her room, she curls up into a ball and then shivers underneath the blankets. Though chilly, it's going to be a nice day. Sure, there's still snow on the ground, and more than likely there'll be another blizzard before springtime, but at least it's finally stopped raining.
Rachel doesn't mind a few showers every now and then, but last week it had rained every single day; cold, pouring rain that falls without mercy, soaking you to the bone until shivers and shudders are the only thing vibrating through your body. That kind of rain.
One of the perks of living the city is that she can easily save money by avoiding transportation and walking everywhere, but when the weather is cruel and fierce, she has no other choice but to either put up with the storms or pay for a taxi to take her to her destination.
Since Rachel doesn't have much time in her busy schedule to find a job and actually work, her fathers have been very generous with keeping her account full to pay for all of her necessities. But she doesn't want to take her parents for granted, so she makes sure to huddle next to Santana underneath one of their umbrellas on the way to Cobblestones whenever the rain comes out to play.
Rachel rubs at her forehead groggily just thinking about it. Thank goodness that hellish week is over. Today is a new day, and she sighs in relief as she scoots out of bed and looks out the window to find no clouds in the sky. She squints through the brightness of the sunlight reflecting off the snow in the middle of the alleyway. It's just starting to turn a muddy black and brown, so Rachel admires the whiteness of the snow before the city seeps into its purity.
The pipes in the walls creak. Somebody's in the shower. It must be Santana, because Kurt stayed over at Henry's last night. He stays over there a lot on the weeknights, because Henry’s place is closer to campus than the loft is.
Rachel knows that Kurt's been a bit wary of their relationship, even though he refuses to say so, but at least he's making an effort by meeting Henry halfway. Henry might be a little jumpy and impulsive, but he cares about Kurt and really loves him, and that's all Rachel wishes for her best friend. Kurt's lucky to have somebody who cares about him so much, someone who's been here to mend his broken heart after what happened between him and Blaine, so it would be stupid for Kurt to take advantage of his boyfriend.
Rachel only hopes Kurt didn't rush into this relationship, thinking it would be a good rebound and distraction from his thoughts of Blaine. Rachel's not going to lie and say she hasn't considered doing the same thing. She'd had more than one naughty request to help get over Finn when they first broke up, but none of them were who she really wanted. She's moved on from Finn, faster and easier than she originally thought she would, honestly, but now the real challenge is trying to get over Santana.
It was probably easier getting over Finn because she hasn't even seen him in over four months, but her feelings for Santana, however, are going to be a struggle to get rid of.
They see each other every day, one way or another. In the bathroom, in the kitchen, on the street to Cobblestones, at Cobblestones, in the living area, on the couch, in front of the television, in bed. They talk every day, about aimless things, like what's on TV tonight, or what they're having for dinner, or whose turn it is to take out the trash, or when was the last time somebody cleaned the bathtub. There's not a day they don't touch in some manner, whether it's a quick hug, a long embrace, a silly high-five, or a love tap on the ass.
It's always something, and Rachel will probably never get over that as long as she lives in this loft, but she's just going to have to learn to deal with it. This was her loft first, so she's not moving out, and there's really no way of telling Santana that she has to leave without explaining everything, which then means she'd have to tell Kurt, and Henry will find out by extension, and Henry knows everyone, so surely the whole city would know all about how she's crushing on Santana Lopez in less than a day or two.
It doesn't really matter anyway. Rachel doesn't want Santana to leave. The apartment would be awfully lonely without her random dance parties in the kitchen, or her desire to watch programs on TV about aliens and historical figures, or her lengthy diatribes on why Woody Allen is completely overrated as both a director and screenwriter. At this point—and as embarrassing as it is to admit—Rachel needs Santana. She's almost become a second skin, which might be considered unhealthy, perhaps.
Whenever Santana crashes at Cole's place, it feels as if something's missing from the apartment, and Rachel's tried to brush off the feeling—she's tried to tell herself she's acting delirious, because there just has to be something mentally wrong with her—but it won’t go away. What she's feeling is real. She's in way over her head, and it's much too late to break out of it now.
Nothing much has changed, and Santana is still Santana, meaning she has no clue about anything, but for the first time in a while, Rachel thinks she can be okay with that. Obviously it’s not in her nature to keep things concealed, such as her sexuality and emotions and desires, but this is about principle and holding together a friendship that practically just started. Rachel likes being Santana’s friend. Despite everything that happened in high school, they actually make quite the duo, and it’s fun when they can hang out together, just the two of them.
She hates to exclude Kurt, but even though he's gay there are just certain things that only girls can talk about with their girls. It’s not something Rachel truly understood until she became friends with Santana. Girl talk used to sound like a bunch of gossip and whiny noises to Rachel—although that's kind of what girl talk is—but when Santana girl talks, she puts her entire personality into it, with hand gestures and expletives and reenactments and, yeah…
Rachel makes toast for breakfast, because there's nothing else to eat in the kitchen other than cheese and bacon. It's Santana's turn to go grocery shopping, but she's been putting it off until she gets paid at the end of the week, which is in about two days, so that's another reason why Rachel's so grumpy this morning.
She rubs at her tired eyes and thinks of her assignments that are due in a few weeks to withhold from thinking about other things that should not be on her mind this early in the morning. After about five minutes, the water stops running and the pipes stop creaking. Rachel's just about to push the prongs down on the toaster when Santana comes out of the bathroom in only a towel wrapped around her body, her wet hair pinned up into a tight bun.
Rachel averts her eyes, staring blankly at the toaster as she pulls a hand through her unruly hair. This happens almost every day—because Santana has no shame in her naked state, and she certainly shouldn't, seeing as her body is amazing, well-deserved, and simply gorgeous—but Rachel blushes anyway, more out of shyness than actual embarrassment, and makes sure to keep her eyes focused on the tiled countertop.
"Shower's all yours," Santana says, coming up from behind her and resting a chin on Rachel's shoulder.
Rachel can feel the dampness of Santana's towel against her back, and she closes her eyes as she tries to step away, but Santana just forces all of her weight into Rachel, pushing her further into the counter as she sneakily plucks a piece of toast out of one of the prongs. Santana jumps away with a laugh as she waves the toast in front of her face and then smiles through a bite.
(Rachel could raise an argument about it, but her dance class starts soon, and she really should be getting into the shower. Miss July has been giving her a break from the cruel mocking and relentless judging as of late, so Rachel's not about to ruin all of that just because she likes how Santana tends to get flirty when they argue over needless things like stealing each other's food. And besides, she'll see her roommate later, so there's always time for innocent flirting when they meet up again.)
Rachel rolls her eyes and tries not to smile, but it's hard sometimes. It's not easy pretending to be bothered by someone you like so much. The unbalance between caring too much and not caring at all is a tricky one to figure out. She can't be too standoffish, because then Santana will accuse her of falling back into their old cycle, the one they just broke free of. But then, she can't be too amorous either, or Santana might figure out that Rachel likes her way more than she should.
"Any hot water left?" Rachel inquires, taking a hearty bite out of her dry toast, and Santana feigns hurt.
"Rach, you should know me better than that by now," she drawls mischievously, eyebrow quirked up, and yeah, that statement could mean practically anything.
(Rachel knows Santana. They get each other. They basically read each other's minds. It's like that missing puzzle piece you've been looking for finally reappearing again without any explanation as to where it's been the entire time. But then, Santana can do something so out of the blue and out of character that Rachel finds herself completely puzzled. Like, how Santana's suddenly started typing up pages and pages of who-knows-what on her laptop, refusing to show or tell anyone what she's writing except for Henry, who also refuses to tell Rachel, albeit reluctantly.)
"You ready for later?" Santana asks her, and Rachel glances up with an odd smile and shrugs her shoulders.
"As ready as I'll ever be," she says honestly, and then asks, "How about you? Are you prepared?"
"To face those assholes? Not really." Santana twists her lips into a deep frown. A wrinkle appears between her eyebrows as she tightens her grip on her towel and then slowly rounds the counter. "But I'll have to sooner or later, so why not today, right?"
Nodding, Rachel discreetly watches Santana as she shuffles through a pile of magazines and mail on the countertop. She really wishes Santana would put on some clothes; firstly because there's a chilly draft in the apartment, and secondly because Rachel can't stop looking at the defined muscle of Santana's shoulder blades, or the way her calves clench when she strolls around on her bare tiptoes, or the drops of water that skate out of her damp hair and all the way down the smooth expanse of her back.
Rachel clears her throat and forces herself to snap out of it, because those are not thoughts she should be entertaining, ever, and so she swivels around to face the opposite counter. She turns on the radio to drown out the odd mixture of stifling silence and the aggressive sound of traffic seeping up from the noisy streets below.
As soon as the music's on, Santana starts to move her hips back and forth to the beat as she flips through the newspaper, and Rachel is not nearly awake enough for this. She sneaks out of the kitchen unseen, for the most part, and it's actually a pleasant surprise when the water from the showerhead doesn't completely scald nor freeze her to death.
--
Not much has changed since the beginning of the semester. For instance; things are still awkward between Rachel and Daniel, Angela remains in the middle of their thing, and Gwen tries to ignore the thing and impress Daniel, but he never pays her any mind.
Dance class is an uncomfortable experience, never mind the fact Cassandra July is still a bitch. She might have stopped bitching at Rachel, but that doesn't mean she's stopped bitching entirely.
Not only is her maniacal dance instructor putting her on edge, but as Daniel tries to focus his eyes elsewhere, Rachel still manages to catch his longing gaze in the reflection of the mirror. Despite everything, she still feels bad for leading him on. It's exhausting, to say the least, because although she and Daniel weren't super close friends, they were still cool despite the odd tension Daniel's presence would sometimes bring their outings.
And poor Angela; it's obviously an inconvenience for her to have to split her time between friends now that Daniel refuses to hang out with Rachel under any circumstances. She feels bad about it, of course, because he's a nice guy, but this experience has also been extremely frustrating. Who says that just because a guy is nice, a girl has to automatically like him? That's not how the world works, and Rachel should know that better than anyone.
It's one of the many reasons she hasn't yet told Santana how she feels. It wouldn't be done purposefully, of course, but there's no way Rachel wants to guilt trip her roommate the way Daniel has with Rachel. It's unfair and totally out of line, so if Daniel's going to act like a baby over this and ignore her, Rachel will do the same.
"Hey, you coming to Big Lenny's after class?" Angela offers, dropping her bookbag against the wall as she unravels her earphones.
Gwen grimaces, because she can't stomach the food they serve there, and Rachel shakes her head, pleased to not have to come up with an excuse this time. Tying her hair up into a messy bun, Rachel tells them, "Santana's coming by to pick me up today."
Gwen and Angela share an amused look, and then Angela says, "Well, isn't that cute and not at all couple-ish like."
Rachel resists the urge to roll her eyes as she begins stretching and warming up for class. Okay, so maybe it is couple-ish like—whatever that means, exactly—but she and Santana tend to do a lot of couple-ish things together, like rubbing each other's feet after exhausting days in the city, or like playing footsie under the table, or like finishing each other's sentences, or like eating off the same plate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
We're just close is Santana's reasoning for their sudden domesticity, and Rachel agrees, but Gwen has other theories. She's only been in their dance class since the beginning of the new semester, having transferred from the Manhattan School of Music because they wouldn't give her the necessary amount of financial aid she needed in order to continue her education.
Gwen is probably one of the nicest people Rachel's ever met. She's soft spoken and tiny—tinier than Rachel even, which she didn't even know was possible—and she's full of more optimism than her small body can probably handle. Rachel doesn't think she's ever had this many friends ever in her life, and they all like her for being herself, which is definitely a fresh breath of air compared to the Quinn Fabrays of high school.
"Is Santana hot?" Gwen asks, rifling through her backpack before pulling out a roll of tape to wrap her ankles with.
"So hot," Angela breathes out through a smirk, and Rachel nods, because yeah.
Gwen purses her lips as she slides to the floor in a split and then sits down with her legs stretched out. "And gay?"
Rachel wonders how much flexibility it would take to accomplish that amount of bending as Angela laughs into her chest. "Super gay," she says, like she knows for a fact, and okay, she does know for a fact because that's just common knowledge by now, but Rachel still gets a little bit jealous of Angela every now and then.
It might be dumb and unreasonable, but there's no mistaking Angela holds a close resemblance to Brittany Pierce, the ex-love of Santana's life, and there's also no mistaking that Santana planned on doing something legit with Angela until she realized she was only projecting her leftover feelings for Brittany onto her.
Nobody holds any hard feelings over it, obviously, because Angela might like to attract girls' attention and admire them from afar, but she's as straight as they come, and Rachel's just glad she and Santana never slept together. That would've made things awkward and very hard for her to still be Angela's friend. That horrid green monster is a nasty little thing.
Gwen reaches forward until her stomach is touching her knees and then peeks up at Rachel in confusion. "But she doesn't like you?"
Rachel stretches her arm across her torso and then shrugs the best she can. "We've known each other since high school, and I doubt she sees me as anything oth—"
"Basically, Santana's hot, gay, and extremely blind," Angela says, cutting her off.
"Angela."
"But she's gay, and you're gorgeous, Rachel. How can she not be into you?"
"Not exactly how it works, G," Angela says, from where she's sitting on the floor, stretching forward to touch her toes with a hitched groan.
"How do you know she's not into you if you never asked?" Gwen wants to know.
"Santana's the type of person who goes after what she wants. If she really wanted me, I would've been hers by now."
Gwen scratches at her eyebrow. "Well, you'll never know unless you tell her. She could have a crush on you and just be ignoring her feelings because she thinks you don't like her back," she suggests, lifting her leg to the barre, and oh how Rachel wishes that were true, but other than the fleeting looks and the innocent flirting, Santana's given no other signs as to how she feels about Rachel. "I once spent three years crushing on a guy who felt the same way about me, but we were too busy worrying about labels and the friendzone to stop being stupid and just be together."
Rachel grips on to the barre tightly and then sighs, "This isn't the same thing. I don't mean to sound pessimistic, but I am certainly the last person Santana would ever consider." Angela gives her a look through the mirror, lower lip poking out pathetically, but Rachel can only shrug her shoulders, because it is what it is, and she's basically accepted that Santana will never feel the same way. "I doubt Santana wants, never mind needs me right now. She's still hung up on her ex-girlfriend from high school, and she's casually sleeping with Cole LeBlanc, so..."
Gwen winces. "So, baggage?"
"Loads of it," Angela says, shaking her head. Blue eyes roll up to the ceiling for a moment before narrowing back down on Rachel. There's that sympathy again, and Rachel tries to ignore it, but Angela's eyes are so clear and piercing that it's kind of difficult. "Santana needs a zip code for the amount of women she's leading on. The girl she wants doesn't want her, and Santana never gives the girls who want her the time of day. The annoying cycle never ends, Rachel." Angela stretches her calf back and then leans on the barre for balance. Her eyes cut to Rachel seriously. "You deserve someone more stable and aware of their emotions."
"But that's—no, Santana's..."
"I swear, if you say complicated."
Gwen clicks her tongue. "Don't be so mean, Angie. She's a smitten kitten, and I can empathize. It sucks seeing somebody you like in such a bright light, when realistically they're kinda damaged," she mumbles, biting down on the corner of her lip apologetically. "That definitely makes it harder to see all of their faults and flaws when you paint them as your picture of perfection."
Rachel covers her face with her hands. "You guys are ridiculous. I'm not blinded by this...this—"
"Love?" Angela guesses.
"Lust?" Gwen tries.
"Big boobs?"
"Angela, shut up." Rachel shakes her head and then laughs humorlessly at her friends' suggestions. "No, this is none other than a small, innocent crush."
"You're still calling it that?" Angela groans, flexing her biceps as she stretches her arms up toward the ceiling. "C'mon, Rachel, grow up. You're hot for your hot roommate. Super fucking hot," she sing songs, teasingly. "Suck it up and admit that you love her."
Rachel grimaces at the finality in Angela's words and then pouts. "Fine, okay," she mumbles, blushing profusely, "It is quite possible that I might love her on some inconceivable level. Happy?"
Angela grunts in annoyance as she pops a knot in her back and then rolls her neck around her shoulders. "Only if you are. This is your problem."
"But is this really a problem?" Gwen wonders, raising an eyebrow as she smiles up at Rachel. "I think it's kind of sweet."
Rachel catches Angela rolling her eyes in the reflection of the mirror. "Yeah, well, not if you're caught in the middle of it."
Both she and Gwen follow Angela's line of vision, and Daniel is looking right at Rachel from where he's warming up in the corner of the studio. He quickly glances away when Rachel catches his eye, pretending as if he was never even looking, and Gwen lowers her head, sighing despondently, because if this was A Midsummer Night's Dream, Rachel would be cast as Hermia, Daniel as Demetrius, Gwen as Helena, Angela as Puck, and Santana as Lysander, because everybody likes somebody else, and chaos is bound to ensue sooner rather than later.
--
After a fresh shower, Rachel's packing up her duffle bag in the back of the studio when Santana slinks into the room, hands tucked deep into her pockets. She's never been here before, so Rachel supposes Santana probably thinks she's lost. Rachel calls out her name, and when Santana's eyes find her, a lopsided smile pulls across her cheeks.
Angela nudges Rachel in the shoulder and gives her a look as she heads out with Daniel, who looks like he really wants to say something to Santana but thankfully thinks better of it before trailing after Angela with a slow shuffle of his feet.
Santana saunters up to her and together they watch Cassandra July bitch out a student. Rachel would stay and do damage control, but she's more excited about going home for the weekend. When she first left Lima, she didn’t think she'd ever want to go back, but it's been five months since then, and she misses her parents and her room and her old mattress like crazy. There are just certain things about home that she can't live without—not for too long, at least—and it's also a plus that she's going home for a very special occasion, so there's that too.
"Your teacher is hot, but what a fucking bitch."
Santana's words snap Rachel out of her head, and she glances over at the poor sophomore getting chewed out for jumping a beat and a half too early. "You have no idea," Rachel says, ignoring the fact Santana thinks Cassandra is hot.
And of course Rachel's noticed that her instructor has taut abs and a pretty face, but it makes her a little insecure sometimes to find out Santana could basically find any woman hot if they have the right assets, so what does that make Rachel? Just another hot girl with a fine ass when she wears the right pair of jeans? It's a stupid and trivial question, but Rachel can't help but feel inferior to every girl surrounding them whenever she's with Santana.
Rachel's hair is still damp from her shower, so she steals Santana's beanie and tugs it over her ears, and Santana doesn't seem to mind as she shoulders Rachel's duffle bag with a grunt. "We better get going if we don't want to miss our flight," Santana says, wrapping an arm around Rachel's shoulders as they make their way out of the studio. "Kurt's waiting with the cab downstairs, and he'll throw a hissy fit if we don't make like a tree."
--
There's hustle and bustle everywhere, travelers pushing and squeezing through crowds and throngs of people with giant suitcases and luggage, cell phones pressed against their ears as they rush off towards their flights and gates.
Rachel breathes steadily and tries to remind herself that this is the reason she wanted to live in New York.
There is always movement, beautifully chaotic masses of action and the unpredictable. She watches a man in a business suit shouting at no one in particular, but then he turns his head and there’s a bluetooth in his ear. There's a woman pushing a stroller, and as she passes by, Rachel cranes her neck to peek inside only to find a cat dressed in a bonnet and bib.
But that’s the unexpected for you. She can’t even begin to tell of all the crazy she’s seen since coming to New York, and yes, it can definitely get overwhelming at times—trying to juggle the excitement of the city with the stress of her schoolwork—but Rachel’s making it happen. She has so far, at least, and as long as she keeps her head above the roaring rapids of insanity, she’ll be able to do it.
Santana tells her almost every day that if anyone can defeat the odds, it’s her. Now, Rachel’s not the type of girl who needs encouragement and ass-kissing—she’d like to consider herself a self-motivated individual, and she had no choice but to be that way in high school with all of the crap her peers put her through—but she has to admit it is sometimes nice to hear such kind words travel from Santana’s lips to her ears.
Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, and Mr. Schuester is finally getting married. When they’d first received the invitation, Santana had rolled her eyes, muttering on about how a Valentine’s Day wedding is the corniest thing ever, and maybe it’s the romantic in her, but Rachel think it’s kind of sweet.
They’re going to remember this day for the rest of their lives, so they might as well do it in style on one of the most romantic days of the year. Santana’s a cynic, so she thinks it’s really stupid, but Rachel presumes her detachment of the holiday has something to do with seeing Brittany again, for the first time since their breakup.
It’ll also be the first time Rachel's seeing Finn again since...well, since before their breakup. He was originally planning on going into the military, but then changed his mind at the last minute. Then he was going to follow Puck out to Los Angeles, but he didn’t have enough money to afford a flight, never mind living arrangements. Or food.
Eventually, he enrolled into Lima Community College, which is really only fifteen minutes away from their high school. Rachel was proud of him, of course, because at least it was something, but then he dropped out after only a month, because apparently he forgot college involved studying and actually going to class, unlike their high school. So, now he’s teaching the glee club while Mr. Schuester’s been away at some conference, which Rachel doesn’t really get, because how can Finn even do that without a degree? Regardless, soon after he landed that job is when the breakup occurred, and Rachel hasn’t spoken to him since, so who knows what that boy is up to now.
Santana fishes out her fake ID on their way to the bar near the waiting area, and Rachel almost forgets what they were just talking about, too distracted by the movement of Santana’s lips to remain completely attentive, so Rachel asks her to repeat.
"Do you like to sing?" Santana asks again, leaning up against the counter.
Rachel blinks. "Of course," she says, because that sentence shouldn’t even be formed into an inquisition.
Smirking, Santana snaps her fingers to get the bartender’s attention. "Do you think you're a good singer?"
Oh.
Now she remembers what they were talking about. A shudder runs down Rachel’s back. Unthinkingly, she had asked a very personal question of Santana when the taxi dropped them off at the airport, but now she’s kind of regretting it. Santana takes things at face value, and she likes it when people see her side of things.
Rachel is very opinionated herself, which is why she’s so inquisitive in the first place, but suddenly she’s wishing her stubborn need to know anything and everything would just cease to exist for a little while. It’s been getting her into a lot of trouble lately, and it appears curiosity killed the appetite, because now Rachel can’t even hold down the bag of pretzels she was just snacking on.
She pushes the bag aside and then glances away with a terse nod. "Yes," she mutters lowly.
"Do you sing a lot because of those two factors?" Santana asks, grinning, and Rachel rolls her eyes.
"Santana, I don't see how—"
"Just answer the question,” Santana instructs, quirking her top lip, and Rachel manages to keep from staring. Barely. Her eyes flit to the side, but she can still see Santana's amused smile out of the corner of her eye.
Rachel presses her lips together and sighs through her nose. Reluctantly, she pries her mouth open to mutter, "...yeah."
Santana lifts her shoulder into a quick shrug. "It's the same thing with me and sex."
"I doubt singing and—"
"I like sex,” Santana says, winking at the bartender as he hands her a margarita. “I'm good at sex. So, I have a lot of it. And that, Rachel, is why singing and sex are the fucking same.”
Rachel considers herself a fairly good actress. Even though she’s never taken any professional classes until this year, her theatre arts professor says she’s one of the best in class and has even commemorated her performance in their last in-class showing of In The Woods.
She’ll admit, reluctantly, that her acting chops aren’t exactly up to par with the likes of Angelina Jolie or Sandra Bullock, but she’s working her way up there, and that’s how she’s able to keep an impartial expression on her face as Santana continues to stomp on her heart without even realizing it.
There’s not much a person can say to an argument like that, but Rachel tries anyway. Well, that’s until a man carrying a satchel comes up to them. He’s tall and thin, has a nice head of hair and a full beard, and he also looks a little bit gay by the way he’s swaying his hips so enthusiastically, but that’s a stereotypical thought, and Rachel hates thinking that way, so she pushes it aside and burns the assumption to the ground.
But then he opens his mouth and starts talking, and Santana rolls her eyes and sips from her margarita as a tiny smile creeps across her lips. Rachel smirks too, because random men flirting with them tends to happen whenever they’re out together in the city, but never has a man so out of their league ever attempted a go at it. Rachel kind of admires him for that, but then it turns out the guy is a total douche—Santana’s words, not hers—when he doesn’t back off after Santana tells him she’s not interested.
He laughs, leaning into her further, and Santana grimaces as she shifts sideways in her seat. “What are you, a lesbian or something?” he asks.
“Yeah, actually,” Santana says, arching an eyebrow, just waiting for the guy to say something dumb. Rachel’s kind of waiting for it too.
But the guy’s eyes just widen comically as he looks between Santana and Rachel. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” he says, directing the apology at Rachel. “I didn’t mean to flirt with your girlfriend right in front of you.”
Santana balks, and then squeaks quite unattractively as she bites back a snort. "Wha—fuck, no,” she says adamantly, waving him off as she tries not to smile too wide. “No. No way. Rachel's like my little sister. I’d never—we’d never, ever date. Not in a million fucking years."
Remember what she said earlier about acting? Well, an actress can only play a part for so long. Rachel’s never been stabbed in the chest, of course, but if it feels anything like what she’s feeling now, Rachel greatly admires the survivors of those who have recovered from this pain.
Oh, dear God, is that how Santana sees her? As her little sister? Is that how she perceives their relationship? Santana's only five months older, so Rachel's not that much younger than her. Somehow, the claim makes Rachel’s crush on Santana seem incestuous in some regard. If Santana looks at Rachel as if she’s her little sister, what the hell is Rachel supposed to do with that?
She tries to clear the sudden knot in her throat with an awkward cough as the guy looks between them with scoping eyes. His eyes land on Rachel, and even though the guy’s a douche, he does seem astoundingly perceptive.
“Well, I think you’d make a nice couple,” he says warmly, casting one more gentle glance at Rachel before walking off, and then without further ado, Santana literally bursts out laughing. Like, she laughs so hard that tears come out of her eyes and she has to cover her mouth with her hand to refrain from drawing too much attention.
Rachel blushes deeply, rolling her eyes away from Santana as her roommate actually doubles over and grabs her stomach. Rachel’s stomach is aching too, suddenly, but definitely not because of the same reasons.
“I don’t see what’s so funny, Santana,” she mutters.
“Are you fucking serious? That guy thought we were together," Santana says through a chuckle. "He totally thought you were my girlfriend or something.”
“And?”
“And what?” Santana wipes away a tear as she tries to catch her breath. “Oh my God, that is fucking hilarious."
Rachel knows it’s unwarranted, but it still hurts anyway. It’s not like she spends much time entertaining the thought of actually being Santana’s girlfriend, because those thoughts are a waste of time—it's ridiculous to even imagine Santana ever feeling the same way, so she tries to push those ideas away as much as possible—but sometimes she does slip up and wonder what it would be like to be able to kiss Santana whenever she felt like it, or tell other people that Santana's her girlfriend.
Rachel gets butterflies in her stomach just thinking about it now, but Santana’s still laughing at the idea of them ever being a thing, which just about manages to crush Rachel’s very tiny hopes to smithereens.
She feels like crying, but Santana would probably laugh at that too, so Rachel does the next best thing. She walks away. She just leaves Santana over by the bar and sits down next to Kurt, who peeks up from his iPad to give her a concerned look. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” she says prissily, folding her arms over her chest.
Kurt obviously isn’t buying her bullshit by the look on his face. “Heavens, what’d I miss now?”
To be honest, she’s been wanting to tell Kurt about this for forever. He’s been her best friend since junior year, and they used to be able to talk about everything together, but ever since they’ve come to the city, things have been different. They don’t spend as much time together anymore, and because of that, the two of them have kind of grown apart, despite living about only a yard away from each other.
He’s always been her go-to person whenever she had to complain about something Finn did, or gush over how much Finn spoils her on their dates, but this is also different because it’s not about Finn anymore.
Rachel’s a confident girl, sure, but no one can outrun insecurity, and Rachel just doesn’t have it in her at the moment to tell Kurt about how she’s falling for Santana Lopez, of all people. He’d probably be so surprised—and don’t forget mortified—that she’d fall for someone who helped Quinn Fabray torture her for most of high school. Talk about masochism.
Kurt nudges her in the shoulder, and he sounds tired when he says, “Rachel? What happened?”
"Apparently I stuck my foot in my mouth without even realizing it." Santana appears in front of them, and Rachel can clearly see the other girl’s sneakers, but she refuses to lift her head.
She hears a loud sigh, and then Santana plops down next to her and tries to get into her face, because it’s what she always does whenever Rachel’s feeling down, but she's still upset with Santana, so Rachel only pushes her away.
“Rachel, c’mon. What’d I say?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing my ass,” she mumbles, eyes focused on Rachel’s profile. Rachel can feel Santana's gaze on her, but she ignores it in favor of listening to Santana’s words. “Rach, will you at least look at me?” When Rachel fails to comply, Santana sighs and says, “Fine, be a bitch and go back to ignoring me, because that's obviously the only way you know to deal with shit."
Rachel flares her nostrils. "I'm not ignoring you. I just need a moment alone."
"Is this about what I said to that guy? It is, isn't it?" Santana sighs and then leans back into Rachel's personal space. "He was being an ass, and what he thought was funny, wasn't it?" But Rachel's not laughing, and after a moment Santana rolls her eyes up the ceiling in irritation. "If this is about your massive ego, then fine, Rach, I'll be your girlfriend. What the fuck ever."
Clearly eavesdropping, Kurt peeks up from his iPad with an arched eyebrow. "Did I just hear that correctly?"
They both ignore him, and Rachel can't help but scoff. She's imagined hearing those words a million times over, but never in that tone of voice before. "I'm honored," she says dryly, averting her eyes into the opposite direction.
"Look, I don't know what the fuck I did, but since it doesn't look like you'll be telling me anytime soon," Santana trails off, lifting her shoulders into a shrug, "For whatever it is I did wrong, I'm sorry, okay?"
“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for,” and probably never will, Rachel muses sourly.
“I’m apologizing for not knowing what’s wrong, Rachel,” Santana says, sounding incredibly agitated.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she lies, pushing herself up and out of the chair to get away from the waiting area. She gets on line at a juice stand and tries her best not to look back over. Santana might be watching her, and the last thing she wants to do is to make eye contact.
Santana has the kind of eyes that just suck you in. They’re dark and beautifully large whenever she’s concerned, and Rachel really doesn’t need to see that right now, so she waits a few minutes, orders her drink, and then looks over a bit later, because she has resolve, but she’s not a freaking expert at repression.
It turns out Santana's not even watching her. She and Kurt are talking, and Rachel would try to read their lips if she knew how to read lips. Rachel watches, eyes narrowed on them as Santana rolls her eyes at something Kurt tells her, and then mutters something back with a nod of her head and a soft look in Rachel's direction.
As soon as their eyes meet, Rachel looks away and bites down hard on her lower lip. It bleeds.
--
She gets stuck sitting next to Santana on the plane, which usually wouldn’t be all that bad, but she’s still kind of mad at her roommate after what happened earlier. It’s probably stupid, and she should just get over it, but the realization that Santana will never like her—not in that way, at least—is a very large pill to swallow.
Rachel looks over and Santana’s fast asleep with her head lolled back against the headrest. She’s so beautiful when she sleeps. Well, she’s always beautiful, of course, but there’s just something about her that’s different when her usually hard features are finally relaxed and calm.
After plugging in a pair of earphones, Rachel allows her eyes to close, but it only feels like three minutes tick away before she’s awoken by a hand on her knee. She groggily glances to her right, but Kurt is knocked out, so, very reluctantly, she looks to her left, and Santana’s smiling softly at her with these heavy, dark eyes, and Rachel doesn’t want to fall into them. She really doesn’t, but sometimes things just happen.
Music continues to play through her earphones—the soundtrack of her very own film—as Santana snatches an earphone out of her ear and then places it into her own. “What are you doing?” she mutters sleepily, but Santana only smirks as she nods along to the music, and Rachel wonders why she even wastes time trying to stay mad at Santana.
"You’re becoming more and more predictable, Rach,” Santana teases, but Rachel resents that, actually, because her taste in music has surely expanded since coming to New York.
She’s only listening to her Barbra playlist because it relaxes her, and who doesn’t need a semblance of calm when flying thousands of miles in the sky?
But despite Santana’s eye roll, she keeps the earphone in and sinks back against the chair with a sigh. “You haven’t said one word to me since we boarded the plane. I thought we were over the childish antics and silent treatments," she says, shifting in her seat. "I know I say shit without meaning to, and I’m sorry. Whatever it is I said, I’m sorry. You know I have no filter.”
“You do have a filter. It just short circuits sometimes.”
Santana snuffles through a huffy laugh, dark eyes blinking slowly. “That’s good to know.”
She can see Santana looking at her from out the corner of her eye, but Rachel continues to face forward as she asks, "If you don’t like my music, why are you listening with me?”
"My iPod died.” Santana looks away and messes with the window cover beside her. Rachel recognizes it as a nervous tick of Santana’s. She touches things when she doesn’t know what to do with herself. “And I don’t hate your music. It’s not my jam or anything, but I don’t hate it. I could never hate anything about you.”
Rachel’s breath hitches, and it hurts her throat, but she holds it in and meets Santana’s eyes. They’re shiny against the glow of the sun shining through the window. Rachel tries to focus on that for as long as possible until her eyes become dry from staring. She blinks, breaking the spell, and Santana smiles at her before facing forward again.
The moment has passed, and it’s time for Rachel to come back to the real world. For the rest of the flight, she can’t sleep, too busy thinking about how cruel cupid has been lately, especially when Santana falls asleep on her shoulder and her arm goes prickly numb. Rachel smiles down at her. She doesn't want to disturb Santana nor move her away from their touch, so she lets the numbness take over.
--
Rachel's dad picks them up. When she sees him waiting out by the gate, it’s almost like one of those old time movies where everything is in slow motion and she drops her bags and there’s this sappy soundtrack—from Come What May, preferably—as she jumps into her dad’s arms. He twirls her around, just like he used to when she was a little girl and presses a kiss to her cheek. God, she really missed him, and almost didn’t realize it until now.
After their hug, he grabs Kurt by the arm and pulls him in for a tight embrace. Santana’s never met Rachel’s dad before, but he gives her a hug just as tight as the one he gave Kurt, and Rachel loves him for that.
Santana’s awkward around new people, and she usually does weird stuff to break the ice, like make vulgar jokes or point out everything that’s physically wrong with the person, but this time she keeps her mouth shut and smiles over Leroy's shoulder at Rachel as he squeezes her tighter and even lifts her off the ground an inch or two.
They drop off Kurt first because he lives the closest on their way back from the airport. As they pull up in front of the house, Rachel briefly wonders if Finn's inside, but those thoughts eventually vanish when Burt comes out to help Kurt with his bags and then asks them how their flight was. The responses vary from exceptional to it sucked.
The ride to Santana's house is oddly quiet. After dropping off Kurt, Rachel had taken Kurt’s spot in the front seat to talk to her dad, but the conversation had eventually trailed off into silence as Leroy turned up the volume on the radio.
Santana catches her eye in the side-view mirror with a tiny smile, but she looks a bit uneasy as her eyes avert to the window beside her.
They pull up to Santana’s house, and Rachel helps Santana bring her bags in. Once they're inside, Rachel gapes, surprised by how empty and huge the house is. Their footsteps echo as they tread down the hallway and into the kitchen.
“Um,” Rachel murmurs, eyes scanning the dark, giant fossil that is Santana’s home. “Where are your parents?”
Santana roams around the kitchen as if it’s not her own. “Well, according to the post-it on the fridge, Dad is at the hospital and Mom's not even in town,” she says dryly, before ripping the post-it off the fridge and crumbling it up in her fist. “Hm, who knew?”
By the look on her face, it's clear Santana didn't. Rachel licks her lips and sets the bags down on the cold, marble floor. She doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing, which is usually best in these types of awkward situations.
Instead she watches Santana fling her suitcase up onto the kitchen counter with a huff. She doesn’t say anything as she rifles through it. Rachel waits to see what Santana's looking for, but when nothing is pulled out of the suitcase after a good thirty seconds, Rachel remembers Santana’s tendency to touch when she’s flustered.
“Santana?” She doesn’t get a response the first time; Santana looks to be more preoccupied with touching every item in her bag rather than hearing Rachel. “Santana?” she says again, a little more firmly. “Would you—” She cuts herself off before she can get the words out because it's pretty clear Santana's still not listening.
Stepping forward, Rachel grabs Santana’s hands to still them, but she doesn’t expect Santana to hold on to her so tight and then ravel their fingers together. Rachel almost chokes on her words again, but she just manages to get them out this time.
“Would you like to stay with my fathers and I?” Rachel asks softly.
Letting out a long sigh, Santana sniffles and then nods her head jerkily as a grateful smile spreads across those round cheeks of hers, and Rachel exhales shakily as she brings Santana into a hug. They stay like that for a long time, until the distant sound of a honking car breaks the calming silence between them.
Santana lets out a wet laugh as she pulls away and then wipes at her teary eyes. "Now I know where you get your impatience from."
Rachel swats at Santana's arm and then picks up her suitcase. "Let's get out of here. Your house is giving me the creeps."