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Rooming with Rachel is convenient. It’s not like Santana Lopez has any doubts about living alone in New York. She could handle this city all by herself just fine. But even though she has all this money, splitting rent is a good idea. That’s a very obvious reason to do this whole thing. Finding roommates who could turn out to be insane serial killers or worse, listening to Nickelback? No, she rather takes her chance with the devil she knows. And rooming with Rachel is a good thing, because now there’s a person who is anal enough to keep up with all this stuff about what a landlord should and shouldn’t do.
Rooming with Rachel is convenient and sometimes even enjoyable. Not as enjoyable as it would be if she was Brittany or anybody else Santana actually cared about… okay, that is a limited list of people to begin with. Nonetheless Rachel has her good moments. Remembering to buy toilet paper (it was always there and now Santana is curious who did that for her before), always checking the mail and it turned out their taste in reality TV is compatible.
Rooming with Rachel is also the most annoying thing in the world. And every day there is something new Santana wants to punch her for. She holds back on these things, when she talks to Brittany. The summer was bad enough and trying to do this whole friendship thing again, costs a lot of energy. This time around Santana supports her with her studies and isn’t putting her own drama on the frontburner all the time. But she rants about all those infuriating things in detail to Quinn. Which in turn annoys Quinn, that she ignores Santana’s Skype calls for a whole week.
“Write that stuff down and send me a copy. Now either we talk about something other than Rachel Berry or I will block your calls for the whole semester.”
That’s when Santana starts making a list. Writing it all down helps her to not yell at Rachel immediately. The first note she writes is about Rachel always taking so fucking long with that curling iron in the bathroom. Of course she has to use it in there, because the natural lighting is better than in her own bedroom. Two times Santana had been late to her acting class because of this.
The bathroom is an endless source of annoyance. Rachel alphabetizes all her products. No, all products. Santana was used grabbing what she wanted, now she has to pay attention. And suddenly her shampoo isn’t on the edge of the tub where she left it, so she has to stop and search for it.
Santana writes down a new thing almost daily and when she is adding the part where Rachel put up curtains on the living room window without even asking, Rachel stomps into the room.
“Hey, Santana, can I borrow your umbrella, I forgot mine yesterday. And I’ll bring both back today, I promise.”
Santana turns the piece of paper she’s writing on, putting her hand firmly down.
“Jesus, Berry, knock! What if I was enjoying some private time here?”
Rachel takes a step back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize… I mean… it’s three in the afternoon, why would you be doing that now?”
They stare at each other. Rachel has this confused expression on her face. A mix between curiosity, embarrassment and pure innocence. And Santana is too surprised to even comprehend what the topic is right now. Rachel looks so… those eyes and that half smile filled with politeness. She wants to throw something at her to make it stop.
“The umbrella is by the door. I want it back in one piece tonight. Go.”
When Rachel leaves, Santana writes down a few more things, about the lack of knocking, how Rachel always asks to borrow things and that stupid look on her stupid face in general. It’s really hard to not make fun of Rachel some more. To not tease her anymore like way back in high school. Because she’s still annoying and sometimes still wears silly animal sweaters and is so… short.
Santana doesn’t want this list to lie around where Rachel could find it next time she storms in, maybe to borrow earrings, while Santana is away (happened). The safest place she can think of, is the back of her door. Rachel opens her closet and has rummaged drawers, but there’s no need for her to really be in Santana’s room. The door stays open, so she won’t notice what’s behind.
The list grows. Whenever Rachel reaches a new high in this game of Annoy Santana Lopez With Every Fiber Of My Being, Santana quietly walks into her room and shuts her door. The black sharpie at hand, Santana will add the point, take a breath and go on with her day.
Eventually she starts running out of space. There is still plenty when she now gets on her knees, but that is extra effort, so maybe that prevents Santana from adding every little thing to this list. That time when Rachel ran her scales on a Sunday morning wasn’t that bad, because Santana said she would not be home. But Rachel couldn’t know that the date was the flop of the century. And she apologized with a self-made mango smoothie (fuck, Rachel makes super tasty smoothies, Santana doesn’t even dare to make a quip about Rachel’s knowledge of iced beverages).
Two weeks pass and not a single item is added to the list. And they are both alive and well. Rooming with Rachel isn’t the worst thing in the world. Especially not when the next dates aren’t any better. It took a lot for Santana to even find a spot she deemed worthy of her sexy qualities (Rachel accused her of being too picky, Quinn just said she didn’t have enough swag to pick up random girls anyway, with Brittany the topic was avoided altogether).
Turns out, the girls Santana picks up don’t have a sense of humour (she keeps it real and she’s hilarious, what’s not to like?). Rachel assures her that there are plenty of people out there, who are waiting for the chance getting to know her. She always encourages Santana to try. To try for open auditions for everything that isn’t linked to pornography, to try new places for dinner, to try for another date, just to try. That’s all Rachel asks for.
Like the day Santana comes home from her singing lessons and sinks right down onto the couch. Not even taking off her jacket or boots.
“What’s wrong?” Rachel comes out of her room with that worried look on her face that makes Santana groan. “Holding the notes again?” Santana groans some more. Why does Rachel know all these details about her life?
“Did you do the breathing exercise I told you about? I know I am repeating myself, but I really think you should change the teacher, because he clearly doesn’t know what he’s doing when you’re not improving.” She stands before Santana and grabs her hands. “Come on, up, I’ll show you.”
Ten minutes later Santana feels - everything. Rachel behind her, pressing her hands on places that scream for even closer human contact and her breathe choking, because she has seen a scene like this in a movie once. And in the end that was all foreplay and let to kissing later on. And more touching and… oh God, if she just leans a tiny bit back more.
“You’re not trying, Santana”, Rachel whispers in her ear.
But she’s wrong. Santana is trying really hard keeping her arms down. To not reach out, caressing the hands on her stomach. Trying so hard not to not press those hands against her more firmly. Santana is trying with all her might to not think of all the times they watched TV together, her head resting in Rachel’s lap, with Rachel’s fingers playing with her hair. Trying is everything Santana can do now. Trying to push the feelings away, because it’s not an option to turn around and kiss those lips that are inches away from her neck.
And Santana fails.
Rachel’s lips are soft. Instead of jerking back, she melts into the embrace. It’s like they both danced around the issue and finally got to the point. Nothing is awkward about the moment when their noses brush up against another while they move their heads to find that right kissing angle. Rachel’s fingers tickle her neck, while her thumb traces the pattern of her jaw and Santana lets herself drown in the moment.
No, not the couch. They share the couch on normal evenings. The living room isn’t good enough for this, it’s a shared space, but this is something private. Santana places her hands on Rachel’s hips and guides her backwards. Their lips never breaking contact, they make their way to Santana’s room.
Rachel stops sucking on her bottom lip when she crosses the threshold. Finally they let their tongues meet and it’s every bit as exciting as Santana remembers (imagined). Kissing somebody new. Given in to somebody new. She wants to shut out the world. With her foot she reaches for the door and when it closes Rachel pushes her up against it.
There are so many things Santana thinks should be wrong with this picture. But her hands all over Rachel’s body, a body she taunted as being too small, but that reveals to be shaped so perfect with all the curves… Santana stops thinking.
And then everything just stops.
The sweet pressure is gone. The knee that had started parting her legs falls down. The hands leave her sides, where fingertips had threatened to touch her breasts.
Santana opens her eyes and looks at Rachel. She doesn’t need to ask what is wrong. The moment she sees the hurt in her eyes she remembers what she was pressed up against. She moves a bit to the side, trying to cover up more of the writing, but it’s too late.
“I can explain. This-“
“Let me out.” Rachel’s voice is weak, broken. Santana takes step forward and wants to put her arms around her again. “I said let me out!”
A sharp sting on her cheek makes Santana stepping aside. The door is opened and the next is closed with a loud bang.
“Rachel, wait, let me explain.” Santana tries the doorknob, but Rachel locked herself in. “Come on, I know this must look weird to you, bu-“
“Weird? You wrote down how horrible it is that I remind you to recycle paper. Or that I’m flossing too much, as if I was playing an instrument. It’s hygiene, Santana!”
“But five minutes after every meal seems a lot and the wax makes these sounds…” Santana bangs her head on the door, she wants to apologize (yes, that is her intention), but instead probably makes everything worse, because this is unfamiliar territory.
“Santana, go away. The only reason for me to open this door is, so I can slam it in your face. I will now put in my earplugs and listen to music. You know, my music that annoys you so much, because everything is Broadway and I’m so far removed from the world of actual music.”
“No, please, Rachel, I need to talk to you.” There is no answer. Pressing her ear against the door she can hear the rustling of sheets. Slowly Santana sinks down. Her back against the door that separates them. Realization hits her. “I want to talk to you.” Another beat. “I want you.”
Santana stays right there the whole night. Sometime around three she starts drifting in and out of sleep, but that nagging feeling inside keeps her awake. She recognizes this particular emotion. It’s the guilt. Guilt over doing and saying something stupid. Guilt about hurting a person she… really likes. She did that before.
When Rachel wakes up the next day and comes out of her room, Santana falls backwards. There is no surprise on Rachel’s side and no concern. She shuffles out, getting Santana out of the way so she can close her door behind her.
“Rachel, please le-“
“No.” Rachel doesn’t even look at her and heads for the bathroom. “We can make a schedule so each has the same amount of bathroom time. Taking longer will leave to monetary penalties collected in a jar.”
“Rachel, that’s not wha-“ Rachel is not listening and Santana gives up. She knows how stubborn Rachel is. That is an actual point on the offending item.
It’s no use now, so Santana finally goes into her room. She tears down those awful pieces of paper she taped together and vanishes under her covers.
Rachel leaves earlier and comes back later. Four days they don’t talk to each other. Santana tries. But obviously not hard enough. And she gets it. They’ve always been honest with each other. Brutally honest if need be. There had been insults and some back-stabbing once, but that was ages ago. They had some sort of friendship going and Rachel didn’t make friends easily. And the moment she let her guards down around Santana so completely, she was punched in the gut. And Santana is sorry, but can’t find the words to make those sentences, she wrote in anger, go away.
On Friday morning there’s a suitcase in the living room when Santana wakes up.
“I’m not talking to you, but let me inform you that when I come back from classes, I will only take my packed up suitcase and will spend the week-end in New Haven.”
“Come on, running off to Quinn so you two can talk shit about me isn’t gonna make this situation go away.”
Rachel huffs and leaves. And for a painful moment Santana is afraid that this could be the last thing she will see of Rachel soon. Her back, walking away. She can’t afford screwing up again, she can’t afford taking more time sorting out all these feelings. Santana cancels her appointments for the day, puts Rachel’s bag in her room and gets to work.
When Rachel returns, she is greeted by almost a hundred strips of paper dangling from the ceiling. They hang on twines and she recognizes the black sharpie. But before she yells for Santana to come out, some red letters catch her attention. She grabs the nearest piece of paper.
It’s the one about all the time she takes with the curling iron. Turning the paper over reveals a second message. You look hot with curls, makes me wanna comb my fingers through your hair even more. The next is something about her learning to knock. If you always waited for permission, I probably wouldn’t have let you into my heart. Santana Lopez being a sap is news to Rachel, but maybe she knows what will get her points.
Thank you for making me care about the environment. Your ambition sets you apart. Your voice is your most important tool, I respect you taking care of it. I was just really pissed off that day. The skirts are only frustrating, because they are so short and make me have inappropriate thoughts.
“Hey.” Santana stands in her doorway. Waiting. Not daring to move too fast.
Rachel stops and looks at her. “So all my faults are really super endearing and you have the maturity of a fourteen year old boy, is that what this is about?”
“No. Yes. Kinda.” She holds out another piece of paper. Santana Lopez is a bitch. But she’s trying to be more than that.
Rachel opens her arms and with two quick steps Santana is falling into that embrace. Her arms tight around Rachel’s waist, she buries her face in the crook of her neck.
“I’m sorry.”
“You better be. I almost spent the weekend with Quinn, when there’s a Hoarders marathon on TV tonight.”
It’s good that it’s a re-run, because even though Rachel states firmly she wants to take things slow, they end up making out on the couch before the first episode is over. Rooming with Rachel is the best decision Santana made after graduation.