A/N: This is Day 2, Quinntana as roommates. I took forever to write this because I got distracted by tumblr and hiding the fact I was blogging and gaming and writing at the same time from my teacher, so here it is! Hope you guys enjoy it. Sorry there's no real get together scene so far, I just really have a thing for budding relationships currently. I'll try to put at least one where they're together, I'm sorry. p.s. the prompts are all used as chapter titles.

Day 2:

Quinn really likes organisation, she so close to viewing it as a form of art. She organises her textbooks by height and subject, she hangs her clothes according to colour and season, there are a thousand sub folders in her laptop for every little thing, and she puts her stationery in mugs labelled with its usage. You'd figure everyone in a well renowned ivy league like Yale would be the same, and they are, except one.

It's no longer a surprise when Quinn comes back to her dorm room from lessons and steps on a form of clothing or another. She still tries her best to keep the other side of the dorm organised, which really takes very little effort because most of the clothes strewn around are black, or dark in one way or another, and there are minimal stationery and material on the desk (and the bed, and the floor) as well. The only problem the blonde faced was probably the speed whereby her efforts are diminished. Which was normally after a lecture or two.

"Can't you at least keep your dirty laundry in a basket?" Quinn asks, picking up the strewn pieces.

"Who said those were dirty?" the brunette calls from her bed.

"Then at least hang them back when you decide you don't want to wear them," she answers, hanging the pieces where they had been originally before Santana decided to try them on.

She's greeted by a groan, and a sarcastic "yes, mom" though both girls knew that the Latina was never going to do as asked.

-x-

Santana's into pop punk at the moment, and she plugs her iPod to the portable speaker on her desk every second she's in the room. It's not awful, but the shouting gets to Quinn's head whenever she's working on a paper, and it leaves the blonde utterly frustrated. She often finds herself screaming at the Latina to turn the volume down, and its always replaced by louder singing on the brunette's part. It's supposed to get on Quinn's nerves, but it doesn't, and she finds her voice oddly calming.

It's a Friday and Quinn is trying to do a last minute revision for an upcoming test on Monday. The room is empty, since there was some frat party being held across campus that Santana felt the need to attend.

"There'll be alcohol," her roommate had informed her, as if it was explanation enough. It's a trend, Quinn had noticed over the months of her stay in the college dorms with the shorter girl, Santana went wherever there was alcohol. She's glad really, that the other inhabitant of the space was gone, because she'd finally have the silence needed for her to work.

She tries, really hard to make sense of the words she sees on her textbook, spread wide on her very clean table. Except her mind doesn't really focus like she wants it to, and she can't get a word in. And she finds herself humming to a tune Santana had been putting on repeat lately while she twirls the pen in her hand.

Forty more minutes is all it takes for her phone to replace her pen, her thumb pressing all the right buttons before she stops herself. Quinn bites her lips in anticipation, she's anxious, because Santana's not picking up but then she kind of hopes she doesn't, because she doesn't really know what to say to the brunette. Obviously "Hey you're at a party but I just had the urge to call you," wouldn't suffice. It's almost as bad as the state Santana's side of the room was in till thirty minutes ago.

Yes- she had cleaned the room, thinking the mess was the issue that was keeping her from concentrating.

The phone clicks and Santana's voice vibrates from the speakers. Quinn doesn't process the words falling out of her lips, but when the phone call ends with a chuckle from the other party, she's sure she'd at least done something right.

-x-

"So, Queen Elizabeth called," Santana slurs as she pushes open the door to their dorm, wine coolers in hand.

"No alcohol, Lopez," Quinn groans at the sight of the glass.

"Who said it was for you?" there was a pause, as the Latina took a swig, before she continued, "I sing ten times better drunk."

She does. Quinn doesn't argue, because her mind was clearing, and she was processing all the information in front of her like she used to on normal days, Santana's voice ringing in her ears, a soft tapping on their hardwood floor as the girl's sultry voice filled the air.

It's not clear when the brunette had collapsed on her bed, dozing off as the effects of the alcohol she'd consumed took place. It's not clear when this started became a routine, but it has.

Quinn doesn't appreciate messiness, but she can fix that. Santana's music tastes bring her headaches, but as long as the brunette's voice takes over the mic, she can tolerate that. So she does. Quinn cleans after Santana, and Santana sings for Quinn, it's a give and take, but it works between the two.