So for the past few minutes I tried to find a socially approved way to put last Thursday's episode into words but I just couldn't. It just sucked big time. Anyway, having that said, here's your much needed dose of Brittana. And Rachel.

Brittany softly patted Rachel's shoulder to warn her: they needed to get out of here. It was warm, sweaty, Hotdog started to get annoying and a fat guy in the corner of the room wouldn't stop winking at her.

''Let's just go.''

''Yeah,'' Rachel repeated, only louder, ''let's go Santana.''

Santana, who was hanging over the counter and was in a heated discussion with the little Thai man –who started to look desperate-, turned around and narrowed her eyes at Rachel.

''No. You want your rice to be vegan, we get your rice goddamn vegan.'' Santana pointed at a sign above the counter. ''Quote: for all of our plates it's possible to replace the meat with tofu.''

''But ma'am,'' the Thai man said in a thick Thai accent while he also pointed at the sign, ''it says it's only possible with the family menu or the full moon menu.''

''Full moon in your ass,'' Santana rolled her eyes. ''Does it really takes that much effort to simply not bake some chicken and put a little tofu in the rice? God, working at a restaurant is not rocket science.''

''Santana,'' Brittany stepped forward. The queue behind them had doubled in their time in the Thai and they were now practically surrounded by annoyed people that were scoffing or sighing every ten seconds. ''We've got some tofu left in the apartment, I'll just bake that.''

But, before she reached the half of her sentence, Santana had already lost her attention because something close to the ground squeaked loudly.

''Uh excuse me, asshole?'' Santana nudged a man's shoulder. ''You're standing on my dog.'''

The man sourly took her in from head to toe. ''I'd be careful if I were you. Fried dog is a deli in Thailand.''

Brittany briefly gazed at Rachel, whose eyes were practically beaming out rainbows and pots of gold of joy. And unicorns.

''She called Hotdog her dog Britt,'' Rachel exulted.

''Okay. We're leaving,'' Brittany stated.

Half an hour later they were back in their apartment; one gruffly Santana and one packed with paper bags Rachel further, they finally had their food. Brittany had convinced Santana to give up and just take the vegan menu, so they could add meat at home as yet.

After dinner they slumped into their usual positions: Rachel sitting on the edge of the couch, afraid she'd miss anything from her favorite TV shows, Brittany horizontally occupying the couch with her legs on Rachel's lap, plus Tubbs hogging her own lap, and Santana disappeared under a blanket in the fauteuil, her legs on the coffee table.

''Mufasa!'' Rachel yelled excited.

''No, Rachel. Mane. It's mane,'' the lump covered in blankets sighed. ''They're not asking for a character from the Lion King, they're asking what lion hair is called. Don't you understand how crosswords work?''

''Oh,'' Rachel pouted. In her world everything had to do with the Lion King.

''Egg shaped,'' the woman on the screen spoke very explicit, probably because half of the viewers watching this show was at least sixty years old. And then there were them, watching the show, having not even reached their twenties.

''Rachel's head?'' Santana suggested in a snort.

''An egg?'' Rachel put forward, scowling deeply.

''Oval.''

Rachel sighed and slumped down even further, childishly pouting and crossing her arms. ''This game is stupid, let's play another one.''

''Nah,'' Santana shook her head. ''You've already used your television time, and, besides that, we made a pact. I got to choose the channel if we took the meatless crap.''

Rachel shot Brittany an insisting glance but Santana was right: deal was deal. Santana put up with the vegan food, so, for tonight, the remote was all hers. Also, the main reason they even had to get food from the Thai was because Marcela found out about their new carpet. In a short summary Marcela knocked on their door to get some sugar, but in reality just wanted to check on her lilac carpet. The Polish woman saw their new one, found out what happened with the old one, and went straight to their meter closet to attack their boiler. They didn't know what happened but it sure looked like the last time Marcela broke their radiator as punishment.

''Burst of a bad temper.''

''Rachel, when she's out of tampons or didn't get laid for longer than nineteen years. Oh that's right, she's nineteen.''

''Shut. Up.'' Rachel reached out and shoved Santana, including the pile of blankets, off the fauteuil with her foot. ''Hiding the tampons was not funny Santana. And stop referring all of your answers to me. It's not funny anymore.''

''What the-,'' Santana started, but her sentence got caught off by a scream and a dull sound when she hit the floor.

''Rach,'' Brittany changed the subject of discussion, ''where is my Lion King sweater? I know it's awesome and stuff but it's the warmest one I've got and it's cold at night. Even Tubbs is complaining.''

''My room,'' sounded from the floor. ''Top drawer.''

Brittany expected Santana to stand up and get the sweater for her, but instead of that, Santana stood up, covered herself in the blankets again and sat down in the fauteuil, locking her gaze at the screen again. She waited for the girl to say anything but then the idea that Santana might suggested that Brittany could get the sweater herself popped up into her head. And Brittany eagerly took the opportunity. Until now Santana's room had been like the library at High School: tucked away and not a place Brittany had ever been before.

So, Brittany carelessly stood up –or at least, she wanted it to seem like that-, and made her way over too Santana's room. And Rachel had been right the last time: Santana's room was a mess. Not just a mess as Brittany knew it, a real mess mess.

The floor was covered in CD's, cables, pictures and clothes. Santana's bed wasn't visible because two laptops and another pile of clothes hogged it. The complete right wall was decorated with old LP's and records and a shitload of papers were piled up on a desk. If Brittany didn't know this was Santana's room, she would've thought it was the room of a teenage boy.

And of course, in the back of her mind, Brittany knew she should've just searched the piles of clothes to find her sweater but the laptops just looked too tempting.

Brittany opened the laptop, pressed the ON button and within a minute the background image of a smiling Santana in a wetsuit, with one hand holding a surfing board, and her other arm loosely around a blonde girl's waist, popped up. Brittany briefly scrolled through the other pictures on the desktop: most of them were Santana on the beach with people, Santana on parties with people or Santana trying to not look like a tourist in famous places while it wasn't possible to look any more like one. But it was cute.

A flicker on the left side of the screen caught Brittany's attention. A new e-mail with the subject 'vocals' just came in and without thinking, Brittany plugged in one of the many headphones in the room and played the sound file.

A deep but feminine voice started singing relatively slow. Too slow for punk songs, or indie rock, but that didn't surprise Brittany because she didn't think Santana would own a rock label. Brittany still couldn't put her finger on what genre it actually was, but from what she heard, it sounded pretty good.

''Brittany?''

Brittany quickly turned around, causing the headphone to slip off her head and fall on the ground.

Santana was standing in the doorway, scowling at her.

''What are you doing?''

/

Sorry for this chapter's length, it's more like an appendix from the next chapter but in my opinion the story worked out better this way.