This is a one-shot in Rachel's P.O.V. Santana is the one comforting her since Finn has broken her heart once again. I am not portraying Finn as the bad guy in this. I am simply implying that he is just naive.

We went to that field. Again. That soccer field, you know the one you take me to every time he breaks my heart. The one that we just sit in together. Even while the rain pours, you stay there with me. We sit through the rain while you allow me to cry. I can cry for hours. All through the day and you stay there with me. It's a Saturday, this time, so we stay out there all night. All while you allow me to cry.

Through the night the rain goes off and on. We stay there in silence with the exception of the rain and my labored breathes. In the early morning, before the sun makes its appearance, we look up into the stars and you begin make up stories of the constellations for me. Stories of Romance. Stories of Heartbreak. Stories of Death. Where you come up with such stories, I have no idea, but they are beautiful.

I fall asleep to your stories, but it's not because they're boring. And when I wake up you are already awake. Just watching me. I close my eyes again, reassured you won't leave me alone. And then I say, "Please sing to me."

And you comply and ask, "What shall I sing my Princess?"

I look up in the stars again and reply, "Anything you wish my Prince."

You start to run your fingers through my hair as you think of the song. The songs are always perfect. This time you sing some in Spanish and it's truly one of the most beautiful songs I hear. And it's so much more beautiful this time because you slowly, softly, and oh so sweetly.

"Tropical the island breeze
All of nature wild and free
This is where I long to be
La isla bonita

And when the samba played
The sun would set so high
Ring through my ears and sting my eyes
Your Spanish lullaby

Yo quiero estar donde el sol toca cielo
Cuando es hora de siesta tú los puedes ver pasar
Caras tan bellas, sin importar nada
Where a girl loves a boy, and a boy loves a girl."

It is a beautiful song and I love that you sing for me.

But I don't want to love a boy. I know this for a fact. Because I already loved a boy and he only breaks my heart. But I don't love him as much as I love you. I don't tell you how I feel. You won't understand. You can't understand. But I don't mind. As long as you are here to pick up the pieces that he leaves behind, I will be alright.

The sun begins to rise and I stop crying. I don't like to cry when it's bright. You know this too. You stand and offer me a hand to help me get up. I take your hand and you walk me home. You don't let go so neither do I. And we continue to walk down the many streets between my house and the soccer field.

When we arrive to my front door you pull your hand away from mine, but only for a second so you may unlock the door. Then you grab my hand again and we go up the stairs to my room. You immediately go to my closet and pull out two pairs of shorts and two over-sized t-shirts for us to change into.

It's such a habit for you. I always go back to him. You tell me not to, but I do anyways. And every time I go back, he breaks my heart again. I shouldn't go back, but how could I not? He wants to be with me, you don't. I'm not mad at you though. I am mad at myself. For not standing up and telling you how I feel. How I love you this much and could only you love this much. Not him.

We change and you guide me to the bed. Even with it directly in front of me I get lost. I lose myself in my thoughts. My thoughts of him. The way I hate him. I shouldn't hate him.

"What?" she asks. I didn't realize I had spoken aloud.

I repeat myself so she may have the chance to understand me, "I shouldn't hate him."

She looks at me with that look. The look that paints her face when she realizes I'm lost. She knows that I want her to understand, but she can't when I can't understand it myself. So she helps me to understand.

"Sweetie, it's okay to hate. God only knows I do. As long as you have the ability to forgive, every thing will be alright." She talks softly. Her voice is calm and I find that she is right.

"I shouldn't hate him. He loves me. He doesn't mean to hurt me. He doesn't even know he does it." I don't understand why I try to justify every thing he does. I shouldn't, but I do.

"Yes, he does love you, but he doesn't treat you right. You need someone who can tell when you're hurting and who would do anything, large or small, to make you feel better." And I know that once again she's right. Why are you always right?

"I know." I say it so quietly that I'm not sure if she heard me. And the weirdest thing of all is the fact that I just said those two words. I never know and this is a big step I believe.

She moves her head down ever so slightly. Just enough so she can look directly in my eyes. So that she may see into my soul as if it sat out in the sun split down the middle. And I now know that she heard me. She looks at me, no, not at me. She looks into me and I can see that she's proud.

She smiles and says once again, "Every thing will be alright." And she kissed me. Not on the forehead or the cheek like she normally would have. She kissed me on the lips. It wasn't just a peck and it wasn't a full blown make-out session. It was simple, sweet, and loving. She slowly pulled back and with a blush upon both our cheeks she said, "I love you."

One year later I asked, "Why did you decide to kiss me for the first time that night?" By this point I had given up on him for good and we were together for a year.

She simply replied, "You needed to know."

"You were wrong." I tell her. She looks at me confused and I continue, "You said every thing would be alright, but it's not."
She looked sad and broken at that so I quickly added, "It's way better."