I do not own Glee, if I did, it would probably be called the Brittana show and all the irrelevant characters will cease to exist.

Moonlight filtered through the cracks of my open blinds as I lay across the foot of my bed finishing the final touches on my music theory essay for Mr. Schue. God, that man is so annoying sometimes. Who assigns a one-thousand word essay on a Friday night? I could be out doing more productive things like drinking with Puck or watching TV and eating chips all night. But of course, Mr. Schue and his extensive collection of vests somehow manage to cockblock all my fun when it's the weekend.

I groaned and tucked a wavy strand of black hair behind my hair. If I finish this shit now, I won't have to worry about for the rest of the weekend. Even if I slip into a coma because I'm slowly but surely falling into unconciousness from boredom, it'll totally be okay because at least I got it finished.

Rustling from outside my open window draws me out of my train of thought. My hand freezes on the 'S' key as my head immediately snaps to the window. My eyes scan around for a moment before I warrily turn my attention back to the laptop sitting in front of me. And besides it's like one in the morning, everyone is either out at one of Quinn Fabray's parties or singing broadway and reading Barbra Streisand's life history like we all know Rachel is doing. Or they're sleeping, ya know, the thing most normal people do at this hour. I roll my eyes at myself for being so paranoid and imagining things.

Alright Lopez, only two hundred more words to go, you got this.

I get about halfway into the next sentence when I more rustling and a soft thud shortly following. And okay, I know I'm not crazy enough too imagine it twice and now I'm seriously getting freaked the fuck out. I roll over to my nightstand and jerk the heavy lamp out of the wall and stand to my feet swiftly. I take tenative steps toward the window and wince as the cool hardwood floors squeak under my bare feet.

Well, shit.

So much for the stealthy approach.

Fuck it.

"Alright, who's there?" I raise the lamp up into swinging postition and exahale nervously. "I'm not afraid to go all Lima Heights-"

I'm cut off mid-sentence when a figure towers over me. I can only see the stillouhete of a guy, deffinitely bigger than me, looming over my body. I scream and swing the lamp, knocking the figure in the chest.

"Ow! What the hell, Santana?!"

I immediately recognize the voice. It belongs to none other than my bestfriend Noah Puckerman. Everyone just calls him Puck, for short. Puck and I have been bestfriends/lesbros since the third grade when he stole my crayons so I cut one side of his hair with safety scissors. The next day he came to school with a mohawk and told the teacher to start calling him Puck, he started thanking me for being such a bitch because he was a total badass. Since then, I've learned to tolerate his stupidity and he's learned to deal with my bitchiness.

I let out a loud breath and throw the lamp on the bed.

"Jesus, fuck! You scared the crap outta me!" I yelled, hitting him in the back of the neck and stepping aside for him to enter my room. I closed the window and latched it, taking one last look outside. I could've sworn I saw a dog run across my yard.

And again with the hallucinations. Pull it together.

I turned around to face the intruder. Puck stood in front of me, mohawk, shit-eating grin and all. He dug his hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out his phone, waving it in front of my face.

"Ever heard of checking your phone?" He asked, his eyes roaming my room and landing on my open laptop. I walked over to it, slamming it shut and scooting up my bed to lean against the headboard. Knowing Puck, he'd probably try and copy the essay or something.

"Ever heard of using the front door?" I shot back, crossing my arms in front of my chest and stretching my legs out.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. Yeah, he's deffinitely been hanging out with me too long. He smoothed out the buttons on his blue, plaid, button down and stretched out on my bed, propping his feet up on one of my pillows.

"Okay Puckerman, number one, who the fuck do you think you are?" I said, pushing his muddy shoes off the pillow and dusting it off. "And two, what are you doing in my house?"

He sat up and crossed his legs. "Well, ya know, I thought maybe we could have a few drinks, mess around a little." He wiggled his eyes suggestively.

"Okay, ew. You know I don't play on your team, and unless you just magically grew a vagina, it's never gonna happen." I smirked at him and pinched his cheek mockingly. "And even if you did have a vagina, it's gonna take more than a few drinks to get me to sleep with you."

Puck narrowed his eyes for a moment and then broke out into a grin. Yeah, we have a love-hate relationship. I lay down on my stomach and looked up at him through my eyelashes.

"But seriously, why are you here?"

He brought his hand to his chest and gasped. "Ouch, Lespez. I'm offended."

Okay, did he just call me Lespez?

I grabbed his mohawk and yanked. "Don't call me that. I thought I made it clear two weeks ago."

Yeah, two weeks ago we were out with Rachel and Kurt and Puck thought it was a nice time to start bringing up nicknames. I mean, it's no secret that I'm a lesbian, but it still pisses me off when people bring it up when it's not needed. That little incident lead to me taking Puck out into the parking lot and going Lima Heights on his sorry ass.

"Don't act like you don't enjoy my company." He grunted when I tugged on his mohawk again and then I released him.

"You have still neglected to tell me why the hell you're here." I looked at my nails and pretended to be uninterested even though I really just wanted to know what was so important that he couldn't wait until tomorrow to tell me. It's not like he doesn't see me everyday. I mean, the kid practically lives at my house.

"My dad got a phone call." He said, whispering like it was big secret. Okay, so Puck's dad is the Sheriff of Lima. When Puck and I were about thirteen or fourteen, we would sit by the radio for hours and just listen to the calls his dad got. And let me tell you, cops deal with some pretty funny shit.

"And?"

"They found a body." Puck sat up again and leaned towards me.

"And?" I repeated. This kid just isn't making any sense. He came all the way here to tell me they found a body? It's nothing new.

"We're gonna go look for it." He stated.

The first thought that came to my mind was litterally to smack him in the head and yell 'What the fuck is wrong with you?'. But really, how stupid can you get.

"If they found a body why are we going to look for it?"

Puck smirked deviously. "That's the best part. They only found half of a body."

I rolled my eyes because, ew, and also because he may actually be the stupidest person I've ever met in my entire life. And so predictable.

"Let me guess, it was a female." I deadpan.

"Yep."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the small smile that crosses my lips.

"Okay." I say, nodding and begining to stand up.

"Okay?" Puck asks, disbelief in his voice.

"Yeah, but let me change into some jeans." I walk over to my closet and slide the door open. I grab a pair of light blue, skinny-jeans off a hanger and throw them on the bed.

"Can I watch?"

I pick up the pillow he put his feet on and throw it at his face, flipping him off once it's out of my hands.

That boy will never change.

So, this is my first fic ever. Constructive criticism is great, but don't be too brutal!