The music flowed through the air smoothly in the quaint apartment.

Ok go; go hang your heart on any tree. You can make yourself available to anybody…

Rachel shuffled around the living room straightening things. You see things didn't actually need straightening. It's just what Rachel does when she has a lot on her mind. But, there shouldn't be a lot on her mind, it wasn't her fault. Rachel didn't want to be just friends and she had every right to request more out of their… "relationship".

"Because every living person knows you are a prize…" she hummed quietly to herself.

There are only so many times she can rearrange her playbills. She plops down on her couch with an exasperated sigh. She grips the cushion and leans her head back, trying to let the music take her over.

Whichever way you go I'll be easy to find, I don't ask for much, just be honest with me…

I don't ask for much, be honest.

"Think of this song as a promise, you can do what you want… if you decide you wanna move into a new stage," Rachel sang the lyrics softly, it seemed like she was singing to someone but, not her. "Deleting me from pages in your mission statement…"

Why was she listening to this song? It wasn't necessarily sad but more hopeful. Because, maybe that what Rachel wanted to be, hopeful.

But, how could you be hopeful when you've destroyed everything that you ever wanted? Rachel pondered this as the music droned in the background.

My love is unconditional make no mistake… I don't ask for much, just be honest with me…

Rachel pressed the heel of her hand into the cushion to push her self up off the plushy couch, determined to not pity her self.

Who we are, when love is what it wants to be, we are free. And we are having the best day ever by far, yes we are…

Rachel shuffled over to the window of her tiny Brooklyn apartment. She looked around at the brownstones. Now that all—well that one—distractions are gone, she could focus on her career fully, she though to herself. Maybe this was a good thing.

There was a soft knock on the door. It was probably just one of her neighbors. Her mail has been ending up in their boxes quite often recently. Frankly, Rachel's convinced the mailman despises her. Something about his attitude and the way he handles her packages… but that's irrelevant.

Rachel stepped briskly to the door and twisted the knob, expecting Mrs. Smith from across the hall or Mr. Moore below her. But it definitely wasn't Mrs. Smith or Mr. Moore. It was her. And she's not supposed to be here. This was Rachel's home and after what she said last week she had no right to even show her face again.

"Uh hel—" her voice was cut off by her lips surging forward to grasp Rachel's. It was slow and passionate and reassuring.

I can hold space while you see what your heart has to say about me. There's not dotted line to sign away your freedom, I acknowledge you for what you do to keep strong. I'll always get behind you, don't get me wrong.

Rachel pulled away and searched her eyes for the answers to the questions brooding in recesses of her mind.

"I—I… want to be with you Rachel." She murmured against her lips. "I'm so sorry, I was stupid and just a bitch. I… just give me a chance. Please." She begged.

"Santana, I completely agree that you were rash and just plain rude but… this is all I've ever wanted." Rachel whispered as a grin crept onto her face.

Santana pulled her into a tight embrace there in the doorway and breathed a giant sigh of relief.

"Thank you…" she said softly. The music filled the room and the words have never meant more.

I don't ask for much, just be honest with me.

Who we are, when love is what it wants to be, we are free. And we are having the best day ever by far, yes we are…