Wes wasn't sure how he'd ended up this way.

As far as he remembered, one second, he'd been walking down the hall to meet up with the rest of the Warblers, mentally preparing for their meeting that afternoon when suddenly–

Well. That was where things got a bit fuzzy.

Despite his confusion, however, Wes wasn't one to get in the way of a good thing when it happened, and as he felt two (surprisingly strong) arms pin him to the wall and a warm mouth press against his neck, he decided that, yes, this was most definitely a good thing. All he had to do was lean back, relax, and allow this wonderfully talented girl to - oh. He stifled a moan as a tongue slipped out to graze the spot between his neck and collarbone. Bringing his hands up to run his fingers through her hair, Wes bit back the urge to speak the girl's name - wait.

He regretfully pulled back, looking down at the now annoyed expression of the girl in front of him. She glared up at him, clearly questioning his sanity. (Though to be honest, Wes was questioning his sanity at the moment, too. A hot girl was trying to make out with him, and he pushed her away? Sure, it was the rational thing to do – knowing who he was with was, admittedly, kind of important - but rational thinking can only get you so far before it turns into insanity...)

"Are you done staring?"

The shock of finally seeing her face and realizing who the girl was put Wes at a loss for words. She was gorgeous, yes, that wasn't it; but out of all the girls he could've been shoved in a closet with, it had to be-

"Cause if you could stop your impression of a dead fish, we could get back to what we were doing. Cause I wants to get my mack on, and I wants to get it now. And Santana Lopez always gets what she wants."

Santana Lopez.

How could Wes begin to describe Santana? He'd never really interacted with her before - not on this level, certainly - but the things he had heard. Well. Let's just say, while Kurt was very careful in the words he chose to describe the... spunky Latina, she'd always come across as, well... scary. Not that Wes hadn't been intrigued - face it, the girl was in a league of her own when it came to looks - but he'd never imagined getting involved with a girl who carried razors in her hair. Razors. And she knew how to use them, he had no doubt.

And yet despite his worries about Santana's abilities, he was unable to look away from her. Here he was, pinned to the wall by a girl who not only was insulting him to his face, but could easily take him down with one swift move of her hand (although, to be honest, his hands had been in her hair, and he hadn't felt anything out of the ordinary), and yet all Wes could do was stare at her lips. Those lips.

No, he thought, shaking himself out of his momentary stupor. As much as he hated it, his logical side was taking over, and he couldn't enjoy what was bound to be a wonderful experience without clearing up his confusion first.

"Okay, so are we going to do this or am I wasting my time? Cause here's the thing – I'm fine with you just standing there while I do my thing, but the staring has got to go. It's creepy, and you're starting to look like a Japanese businessman with a strange fetish for cheerleaders."

Ah. There was the racism Kurt had mentioned.

"Actually, you should know that both my parents are Chi-" But of course, the moment Wes was able to speak, he was cut off.

"Like it makes a difference. Are we going to continue or not?" Santana trailed her fingers up his chest, reaching up to lightly tug at his blazer.

"Well- the thing is, I… Okay, no, I can't do this until you answer something for me." It took a great deal of willpower for Wes to speak, as Santana's wandering hands had managed to unbutton his blazer and were working their way up the buttons on his shirt as he spoke. She looked up at him questioningly, never stopping her movements.

"Okay. Uh. Well. I guess there isn't a great way to phrase this, but… why, exactly, are you undressing me in a supply closet?" Wes cringed at the words coming out of his mouth (because who asks something like that? Honestly, what kind of question is that?), awkwardly glancing down to meet Santana's eyes.

"You're seriously questioning why I want to hook up with you?" She seemed honestly confused at this, her tone clearly expressing her feeling of- oh, no. No. She was offended. And angry. There was definitely a hint of anger in her voice. Wes scrambled for a way to fix his mistake, knowing that being locked in a closet with a pissed off Santana was not a good situation to get stuck in.

"No, it's not that, it's just- why me? I'm sure you saw plenty of other guys you could've shoved in here; why did you pick me?"

Her hands, now in the process of pushing both shirt and blazer off his shoulders, stopped suddenly, and she pulled away.

"If I tell you, will you shut up and let me do this without interruption?"

"…yes." She sighed, avoiding eye contact as she began to speak.

"Fine. I was trying to get away from Brittany and Artie – they kept whispering to each other and touching and being cute, it was disgusting – and when I saw you over here, I just… I remembered what you did during the Valentine's Day thing okay?" Santana glanced up at him briefly before quickly looking down again. "It's just… I was having a bad day, and then that hobbit decided it was a good idea to basically tell me in song that I'd never find anyone, and when you came over to dance with me… it was nice. You didn't know me. If you did, you probably would've hated me; I spent half the night thinking of ways to steal your gavel and hit each of you over the head with it."

She glanced up to take in his shocked expression.

"Yeah, Kurt told me about the gavel." Wide eyed, Wes listened in awe as the girl took a deep breath and continued. "I just thought… maybe you could help me. Get my mind off of being alone, y'know? You helped me then, so why not now?"

Wes stayed still for a moment, absorbing Santana's explanation. It was a strange thing to see – the words coming out of her mouth in no way matched the forceful, defensive way she spoke them, and yet there was something in her eyes that made Wes feel he was seeing a side Santana didn't show many people. Though she was trying her best to keep from doing so, her guard was down, and, well… it was beautiful.

The moment didn't last long, however, as Santana quickly returned to her usual front. "Alright, you got what you wanted; now either we're going to get down with this or-"

She was cut off when a pair of lips collided with her own. Not used to being surprised, Santana stood immobile for a few moments, trying to figure out what was so strange about the kiss. She wasn't used to this feeling; the boy pressed against her was holding her gently, lips soft against hers, not pushing her farther, not trying to get anything out of it, just… there. As if he was doing this for her.

Wes pulled away slowly, cautiously looking into her eyes to see her reaction.

"What was that for?"

Expecting, at the very least, to have been met with some sort of abrasive comment, Wes was thrown by the complete lack of defense in Santana's question.

"You said you were lonely." He gazed directly into her eyes as he spoke. "I want to help you."

"…you do?"

"Yes." Santana reached for him, pulling him in again. "Just not in the way you had in mind."

She stopped, face inches away from his. "What did you have in mind?"

"Let's get out of here. Get some coffee. You said you didn't want to deal with Brittany and Artie, right? Well, the show's over, we've got no more reason to stay… so come with me." Wes watched as she thought over his offer, hoping he hadn't crossed over some invisible boundary.

"Okay." The answer was quiet, barely a whisper, and it took Wes a moment to realize she'd spoken.

"What?"

Santana smiled up at him, taking his hands as she answered.

"Let's go."