A/N: Welcome to Quinntana Week 2015! Here's the first part of the Quinntana week series! It's still Monday where I live, so I hope it's not too late to be uploading this at 1145pm. Reviews are appreciated! I'm not confident I can finish all 7 days, but I'll try, anyways... ENJOY! [Don't worry I've stopped giving promo to my tumblr]

Day 1:

Quinn doesn't appreciate the sing-a-longs and the blaring of Barbra Streisand in the background. She could have been working on that history paper she has due in three days and clear her workload, but she's here at this party full of people that love and worship Broadway musicals. She'd agreed to be Rachel's chauffeur for the night, and she's starting to regret saying yes, because the brunette is singing with a guy with overly gelled hair at the front of the room, and although it's not remotely horrible, it's not to her taste, and it's giving Quinn a headache.

Santana doesn't appreciate the lack of alcohol and the amount of divas present in the room. Not only does she not understand the need for a large quantity of homosexuals with horrible fashion sense to gather in a room and dedicate the night to ridiculously high notes held at record timings. She'd only accompanied Kurt because she had been promised alcohol, which obviously isn't present, and access to some of the fashion pieces available at his workplace. But the bright colours and shoes that scream makeover are narrowing her eyes and she's having a hard time fighting the urge to let out her temper at the nerds singing in the crowded space – not to mention she's definitely not drunk enough for this.

She figures that it doesn't count as any sort of betrayal if she waited for Rachel outside the house, so she leaves, weaving through enthusiasts left and right to make her way out. It's not as easy as she had hoped it to be, because most of the attendees were holding her back, throwing "no ways" at her when she says the music wasn't to her taste. Had she not taken into account these were the only few friends Rachel had, she wouldn't have bothered to play nice and give a small smile every time someone grabs her forearm or blocks her escape.

Her hands full with a beer cans she managed to find in a hidden compartment in the fridge, Santana slips away from the crowd, throwing glares at whoever tried to grab a can off her arms, and anyone who bothered to ask her to stay and promising that she'd "like the next song, it's classic." She rolls her eyes before baring her teeth at people who can't take the hint that "classic" wasn't her style.

"We do worse back at Lima Heights!" she calls over her shoulder, at a guy bent over in agony, clutching his manhood as the door slams shut behind her. Quinn's eyes lift at the commotion, and her lips fall apart as her jaw slacks when she realises what the brunette has done.

Santana notices the blonde at the porch, and greets her expression with a raised brow and is met with a shaking head. "I've been dying to do that for a while, actually," Quinn admits, regaining her commotion, "they're too persistent for my tastes."

Santana chuckles and sets her stash of alcohol down on a round table next to her. Quinn is surprised the brunette had been able to gather such a large amount of beer at the relatively alcohol-free party. None of the party-goers were allowed to more than two coolers, and some even chose to stay away from the bitter drink. Her inquisitive stare doesn't go unnoticed, as the Latina cracks open a can as waves the can to something along the explanation of "secret stash" and throws a can with a husky "catch, blondie".

Quinn manages to grab it with one hand with proven difficulty, as the wet aluminium rolls around her fingertips as she tries to keep a grip on it, her other hand a vice grip on her phone. She wants to say that she doesn't really appreciate alcohol, but she hears Defying Gravity, and maybe even Rachel's voice start to seep from the inside of the house, and she decides she needs to be rather drunk to be able to sit through this ordeal, because Berry certainly wasn't quite done with the party yet.

-x-

"My name, isn't blondie," Quinn slurs by her fifth can, as she sat on the porch with her newly acquainted brunette.

"I probably won't remember by sunrise, so don't bother with that, blondie," Santana smirks as she takes another swig from her fourth, a buzz from her back pocket cutting her intake short. She reads the message, just as a drunk Kurt, with another guy, which Quinn recognises to be caterpillar brows who had been singing alongside Rachel before, in tow, stumbles out of the estate.

The blonde almost comes up with a response, but Santana stands all too sudden, taking in the rest of the drink before tossing it aside.

"Looks like it's my cue," she nods over to the pair, the one with a high pitched voice shouting at Santana that he's "got his night covered", though Quinn didn't quite want to know.

Quinn almost asks Santana to stay, instead she says goodbye and asks for her name.

It hangs on her lips and on her minds the months after, leaves scribbles across her lecture pads halfway through class, and the face accompanying the noun haunts Quinn's sleepless thoughts.