Santana's brain does not function first thing in the morning.
Normally it takes an hour and at least three cups of steaming hot coffee before she is alert enough to string together a coherent sentence. It's usually another hour and two more coffees before she can hurl insults with anything near her famed viciousness- and that's on a good day.
On waking today however, she finds that by some miracle of nature her brain has managed to scrape together enough awareness to register one conscious thought:
Pain.
Her eyes flicker open and she regrets it immediately. The light that hits them is bright, too bright, blindingly bright oh God make it stop. It's as if there is a spotlight fixed on her, one of those awful stage lights that make her skin look blotchy and her face harrowed. It's everywhere and it's spinning and wow, that shouldn't even be possible.
It's all downhill from there.
Letting out a muffled groan she rolls over to bury her face in her pillow, desperately seeking an escape from the unnatural light that the room seems to be radiating, and notices two things.
One, her skull feels like it has shattered into a million tiny fragments that have embedded themselves into her brain and are prickling against the backs of her eyeballs.
And two, this isn't her pillow.
She freezes instantly mid-roll. Slowly, cautiously, she lowers her nose to the pillow and takes a tentative sniff. And there it is.
That scent- crisp, fresh linen with a hint of cologne and that faint musky smell that comes from hours of close contact with a human body. Another human body.
This isn't her bed.
She has just woken up in someone else's bed.
She sits bolt upright, ignoring the splitting pain in her head that reaches a blinding intensity as her body protests the sudden movement.
Think, Santana.
Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes again and massages her temple, trying to block out the pain long enough to remember-
Flashing lights. Sweaty bodies. Singing. Laughter.
She remembers a party.
Steph, I see your early morning Westana phone call, and raise you an early morning Westana hangover. For everyone else's benefit, WESTANA IS PERFECTION and if Ryan Murphy et al. won't write them, I sure as hell will.
To clarify, this story is set the year before Season 1, during Santana's freshman year. I have a pretty good idea of where this is all going, but reviews and feedback are always appreciated. Thanks for reading (: