Alright. Here it is kids. The song I used down there is by a lovely artist named Sia. It's called Breathe Me. Youtube is your friend. :)

As always, let me know what you think. Your reviews on here and your gray tumblr faces make this all the more fun for me.

Thanks Dray!


Brittany laid back, the soft bed contouring to her weary body. Her eyes shut to the wave of nausea that swept across her body like a sandstorm. Her tongue was squirming in her mouth like sandpaper and all she needed right now to complete her dehydrated state was a box of rocks to chew on. She needed a shower and some toothpaste. She needed new clothes to change into and a strong cup of coffee. She needed to find her cell phone (if only to ignore the messages). But, most of all, she needed to find Santana and ask her if she remembered anything about last night.

She wasn't sure which prospect was more terrifying. If Santana remembered everything then she remembered the sloppy kiss Brittany had placed to her cheek and the racing heart that accompanied it. But, if she didn't remember anything, then the woman Santana had been last night didn't exist. It was kind of like the tree in the forest thing.

"Actually, it was exactly like the tree thing," thought Brittany.

Because even though there may not have been any humans around to witness some gigantic red oak falling from the sky there still were witnesses-animals. Animals saw it and made it real. Made it exist.

Brittany saw Santana last night; more so than she had ever seen anyone before in her life. She saw her secrets. She saw her flaws. She witnessed this incredibly dynamic, wonderfully calloused wall (so high she couldn't see the top), crumble to the ground; only for a gentler, more soft spoken person to rise from the devastation. Santana had been some kind of beautiful phoenix rising from golden ashes surrounded by a cacophony of laughter. Brittany thought Santana's laughter may have been the most precious sound she'd ever heard in her life, even more wonderful than the first time she'd brought a girl to orgasm.

But, still.

Even though Brittany knew that the tree in the forest existed in all its beautiful, breathtaking glory before it fell, none of that mattered. Santana had disappeared.

And Brittany could feel herself disappearing too. She could feel fatigue sucking away at her like a leach to blood and there was nothing she could do to stop it.


"What did you do to her?"

"Your bill here could cover the cost of my loft and then some."

"Do you have any booze that doesn't rhyme with pansy?"

"If you drugged her, I'm calling the authorities! My dads are staunch supporters of our local volunteer firefighters. I have connections!"

"I want an island boy…How much money do you think one of them would cost? In blond."

"Stop leering at the door you syphilitic burnt Berry. Your incessant staring is making my skin crawl; I can only imagine how she feels."

Brittany's eyes snapped open in time to see a mane of shiny brown hair whip out of the room.

"I did not have syphilis, Santana!"

She heard the slow rumble of Santana's response, but the words gurgled together incoherently. A few seconds later she heard the tell tale signs of Rachel's feet storming off, righteously indignant to whatever Santana's response had been.

Brittany sat up quickly, instantly regretting the movement as her stomach lurched and the throbbing in her head thundered. She gripped at the blanket to balance out her swaying upper body before pushing herself down the bed so her feet dangled to the floor. Her eyes found the window and from the way the sunlight cast low shadows into the room Brittany knew it was late in the day. How long had she been sleeping? Where had Santana gone? More importantly what the hell was Rachel Berry doing in Mexico? She had sworn off visiting after a late in life screening of Sex and the City.

Maybe she was still drunk? Maybe this was all a dream?


"Definitely not a dream," Brittany thought, as they all stared back at her like she had snot pouring from her nose. She wiped at it with the back of her hand just to confirm there wasn't.

Everyone was there. Sort of. Callie and Arizona sat together on the chaise flipping through what looked like a tourism brochure, both wearing big matching hats and white suntan lotion on their nose. Kurt sat by himself, an elastic band pushing his hair up and off of his forehead, creamy white moisturizing cream slathered across his face. Rachel sat rigidly on the couch, her arms crossed glaring at Santana who sat further down, her feet tucked under her reading a magazine.

Kurt had noticed her first. "You slept half the day away. I thought writers were natural born alcoholics?" He adjusted himself so his body was facing her, "Shouldn't you be able to just get up and go by now?"

"I got a liver transplant." It was the only thing Brittany could think to say and judging by the perturbed look on Kurt's face it was just enough.

Rachel shot over, her arms outstretched and her eyes large and glassy. "What did she do to you? Are you okay? She didn't hit you did she? I was going to give you CPR if you weren't up in the next hour. I know what an unconscious person looks like."

Brittany's eyes shifted to Santana as she stood, dropped her magazine, and disappeared into the kitchen. Brittany watched her in silence as far as she could before slowly rolling her neck back to Rachel Berry and her stage whispers.

"I'm fine, Rachel. Honest. What are you doing here?"

"Brittany why are you wearing the clothes I sent you off in? You smell like my dads homemade cheese." Rachel's eyes shot open again and she shuffled in as close as possible to Brittany. "She didn't…Lock you up in here did she?"

Rachel gripped tightly at Brittany's hand as she waited for an answer. For a moment, she actually contemplated telling Rachel she was held captive against her will if only to witness the incredibly elaborate albeit completely genuine spectacle Rachel would most definitely put on. Instead she shook her head.

"No. I just haven't had time to change."

"I came here to take you home. Miranda's orders. We'll get you changed and we'll be on the first flight out, okay?" Rachel dropped Brittany's hand and crossed her arms across her chest, her eyes rolling, "I told you not to come chasing after Santana Lopez!"

The way she said it made it clear that she had been trying her best to not say it. But, like every other thought that had passed through Rachel's mind, it had to be shared.

Brittany's eyes shifted from Rachel to Callie and Arizona. They waved from the chaise.

"But, who's fixing the sick people?" asked Brittany.

"Temps from out of town. Some place in Seattle I think," Arizona said as she leafed through pages.

Callie nodded in agreement, "Seattle Grace."

"Is Cristina here?" Brittany asked hopefully, although knowing the prospect of the driven doctor being here was slim at the very best.

Callie grinned. "Seriously? Cristina Yang pass up surgery for a couple relaxing days of fun in the sun?" She giggled lowly. "Seriously?"

Brittany shrugged, "I know."

"I'm Kurt!" He interrupted, hand shooting up into the air his bottom lip pushing up the top in a half smile half sneer, "By the way."

He didn't like being ignored.

"We've met," was Brittany reply.

He clucked his tongue as he let his head fall back against the couch. Callie and Arizona turned back to the brochure and Rachel quickly went into assistant mode. "So. We leave here. I'm assuming all your things are still packed if you're still in this filth. I checked on our way over and I think Southwest has a flight out of here at eight. We just have to hurry."

At that moment, Santana returned carrying a mug of steaming coffee. Brittany watched as she carefully placed one foot in front of the other, making sure to not spill a drop. When she finally reached Brittany, she grinned triumphantly holding the cup out for Brittany to take.

"I put a lot of sugar in it." Santana shrugged, "I don't know why, you just seemed like a sugar sort of person."

"Sweet?" offered Brittany as she gratefully took the cup from Santana's hand, making sure their fingers didn't touch. (She didn't need a repeat from last night).

Santana laughed. "I was leaning more toward manic. Writers seem to live on extremes."

Brittany took a brutal glug of the golden brown liquid, "And apparently we're alcoholics."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"So!" interrupted Rachel, way too loudly to even be considered as casual as she was trying to present herself, "Brittany you want to head back up to your place and get your stuff?"

Brittany saw a flash of panic glint in Santana's eyes before it was quickly lost in a pool of dreamy chocolate. Her voice came out effortlessly, "You're leaving?"

Calm. Casual. Aloof.

Brittany took another sip of coffee and cleared her throat. Her eyes slide quickly over to Rachel, before returning to Santana. She shook her head no.

"Brittany I told you, Miranda wants you back!"

"Listen midget. She doesn't want to go back yet. So chill out with pushiness before I call up one of these officials here and have your ass deported." Rachel's jaw dropped into silence. She had a perfect facial expression for every occasion.

Santana continued, "And can I just say, your OCD? It easily makes the number two spot on a long list of things I've never liked about you."

Rachel's clenched her jaw as her nostrils angrily flared. Still, her unrelenting need to know what people liked and didn't like about her took precedence over any anger she felt as she pressed, "What makes the number one spot?"

Santana grinned mockingly. Like a cat bearing down on a mouse who had done all the work and cornered itself.

"That outrageous, misshaped dildo sitting in the middle of your face under the ridiculous ruse of being a nose."


They decided on snorkeling. Well more accurately, Callie and Arizona decided on snorkeling and everyone else was either bullied or bribed into joining them. They rented a charter boat and were guided into shimmery blue water by a tanned man with a soul patch, named Hector. He had a thick Spanish accent and his face reminded Brittany of the leather handbags that would line the windows on Melrose back home.

As Hector recited rules and safety precautions to everyone, "Chu have to be safe homes." Brittany leaned over to Santana and murmured, "He has purse face."

Santana mouthed confusion at Brittany as Brittany straightened back up and turned her attention back to Hector, not offering any explanation.


Brittany jumped first.

The initial dive was exhilarating as much as it was terrifying. Brittany had always equated jumping into water with jumping into clouds. Clouds, she suspected, only looked light. But, on the inside, they were thick and coiled with fluff. Like marshmallows. And no one could tell her differently.

Terrifying, because the snorkeling equipment added an extra ten pounds easy and even though under water she was weightless, the jump in had pushed her further below than she had imagined it would. She momentarily panicked before she realized that she could breathe without drowning herself.

She watched as one by one her friends appeared beside her. Callie and Arizona bobbed beside her and then swam away chasing a school of particularly shiny silver fish. Kurt and the guy he had met at the dock who spoke about six English words slithered away as soon as they landed.

The wide brimmed goggles she wore made it so that she could see everything. And there was so much to see, everywhere. Schools of fish in blues and reds and patches of coral and even the occasional sting ray. (Chu have to stay away from the sting rays homes and if a shark comes, haul ass like a race horse to la casa).

But most of all she could see Santana and it looked as if, finally, under all this water away from the world, Santana could finally see her.


They communicated in hand movements, showing each other different colored fish and coral. Brittany got particularly erratic when she noticed a pink starfish sucking at a salt rock. Santana grinned around her mouthpiece. They swam along the bottom of the ocean floor, occasionally hooking back up with a piece of their swim party only to leave them again, satisfied with the serenity they found in each others company coupled by the quiet ocean.


They somehow managed to start up a rousing game of tag that pulled everyone back together. Kurt tagged Callie. Callie tagged Arizona. Arizona tagged Santana. Santana tagged Brittany. And Brittany tagged that guy from the Harbor who spoke like six words of English but still managed to get the basic gist of water tag down. Speed swimming under water was arduous and if you weren't looking where you were going, treacherous. Hector was serious about avoiding those sting rays.


Everyone dispersed again almost as quickly as they had come together. Brittany found herself floating alone; keeping herself hovered just above the floor of the ocean, staring up at the sun and the diamonds of light it cut through the water. It was mesmerizing the way that everything up there glittered from where she stood. So disarmingly beautiful and misleadingly perfect. She was so lost in staring that she didn't notice Santana swimming toward her. It was only when she had herself pressed against Brittany her arms reaching around and doing their best to hug her in spite of their snorkeling gear, that Brittany noticed her. When Brittany hugged her back, Santana squeezed tighter.

They stood there in the water, their arms wrapped around each other for what felt like forever, but still wasn't long enough.


"I think it's a great idea." Brittany hushed into the phone, her back to her group of friends, wet hair sticking to her barren shoulders. She paused as the other person spoke, silently shaking her in disagreement as they spoke. "I know her. She'll want it." She stopped again, rolling her eyes in disdain. "Of course she won't admit it!"

"Brittany?"

Brittany spun around quickly, ending the call with a touch of her finger. She grinned, caught, as Rachel stared back at her suspicion clouding her eyes. "Who were you talking to?"

"Lord Tubbington. He got in a fight with Charity. They always act like this when I'm not home." She grinned as she shrugged. "Cats, man."

"Brittany, cats don't use telephones. We've been over this. I swear sometimes I have no idea how you won that Oscar." Rachel swiped at her bangs, before crossing her arms as she waited for Brittany to clarify her phone call.

"I won it because I was better than everyone else. Duh."

Brittany used to think that Rachel took cheap shots, but after working together for so long it was clear that Rachel didn't take "shots" at all. She just didn't know what not to say. They were similar in that way, both having no filter and no way to stop themselves from following each and every feeling. That's why Brittany was in Mexico after all and that's why Rachel had insisted on following after her, if only to bring her home.

"Who was on the phone, Britt? I hate when you're secretive." Her eyes bulged suddenly and she closed the small distance between them, gripping Brittany by the arms. "Was it a drug dealer? I know the signs of addiction. I volunteered at the Women's Shelter when I was sixteen."

Rachel released Brittany's arms and cupped her face, scrutinizing her eyes, "Let me see your pupils, Brittany!"

"I'm not high, you freak." She gripped Rachel's wrist, her eyes traveling to the ruby red headband Rachel wore, "Is that a new headband?"

Rachel fingers relaxed as her eyes flickered to the ground. "Uh, yeah." A blush crept across her cheeks and over her nose, "Finn bought it for me."

Despite her effort to hold it in, Brittany snorted. "How precious."

"It's a really sweet gift, Brittany." Rachel stepped back touching at the red strap. "He likes to get me things that I like…He's a nice guy."

Brittany clucked as she intertwined her arms with Rachel pulling her back over to their group, "Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?"


Brittany sat on Santana's bed barely moving as Santana shuffled around pulling out clothes for Brittany to wear in lieu of wearing anything Rachel had bought or offered out of her own luggage.

"Tomorrow we need to hit up some shops and buy your ass some clothes," Santana said as she pulled out a black dress inspecting it, "I think it would ruin every perception I've ever built up for you if I see you in anything Rachel Berry has bought or owned."

"And what perception is that?"

"Huh?" Santana asked absent-mindedly, preoccupied with finding something suitable for Brittany to wear. When Brittany didn't elaborate, Santana turned toward her. Brittany's head was tilted and she was staring at her with shining eyes and a curious smirk: one that only grew when Santana's loud gulp filled the room.

Letting her off the hook, Brittany stood. She walked to Santana and grabbed the black dress out of Santana's hand. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah. Sure," chuckled Santana, a rush of air leaving her body. She turned back to her clothes, biting at the smile playing on her lips.

"Did you need like…a buffer or something? Is that why your cool cousin and her SHP is here?"

Santana spun back around, curious. "What?"

"Callie and Arizona. Why are they here? And why is that snotty agent guy here?"

Santana licked her lips, unable to give a coherent answer. Brittany watched her struggle and thought that maybe she should let her off the hook again. But where would they be if Brittany had done that earlier? She was in it too deep now to just start letting things slide.

And then suddenly Santana smiled. It was so devious that Brittany self consciously took a step back, her fingers clutching at the fabric in her hands.

"What was up with that kiss last night?" She put emphasis on the word kiss, the k cracking from her lips like an arrest warrant. Her voice laced with a sultry edge. Brittany had been caught.

Brittany let out a row of tsks. Santana had remembered it, but that meant that hopefully she had remembered everything. She smiled as she brought her eyes level with Santana's. "I'm going to wear this dress."

"That's not an answer, Brittany," she leaned back against the dresser smiling, her fingertips tapping at the cold wood, "and that dress is short on me. It's going to be all ass on you."

Brittany felt her stomach back flip. This new Santana, the one who grinned instead of glowered at her, made her feel like she was in the middle of a crowded dance floor, made her body pulsate and her insides pull. This was another one of those reality check moments, where she should be reminding herself to go outside and get some air before she slipped too far into whatever it was she and Santana were cultivating. But there was no walking away from it this time. Instead, Brittany returned a smirk as she turned to walk to the bathroom. "I'll make it work."


They found a hole in the wall restaurant for dinner called, Eduardo's. It won for two reasons. First of all, it was low-key enough for Santana to not have to hunch in the corner with a large pair of glasses on in hopes no one would recognize her. It was filled with locals: tanned and boozy. The wooden table that their party filled was worn from the bottom of frothy beer glasses and browned with water stains. Secondly, Eduardo's also offered a small karaoke stage and Kurt and Rachel practically sprayed everyone in anger when another place was suggested.


While everyone else ate, Kurt and Rachel fought over the microphone. They tried to duet with one another but every song ended with one vocally sabotaging the other by raising their voices to drown the other out. They got so loud during a rendition of Cabaret that Manny, the owner, asked them to step off the stage. It was only after they promised not to sing together again that they were allowed back on.

Brittany stayed at the table, reveling in the way her arm brushed against Santana's when one of them laughed or shuffled in the tiniest bit. Santana and Callie traded lively stories of growing up together in a way too rich, far to complex, Puerto Rican family. She learned that when she was six, Santana broke her arm because their cousin Juan told her she was too chicken to let him try out some of his karate moves on her. She kicked him in the nuts and ran the two miles home to her father afterward, broke arm dangling to her side.

As the night stretched further and the drinks came quicker, the stories became more embarrassing. (The boy Callie lost her virginity also took her backdoor virginity completely on accident she promised.)

(Santana's dad caught her making out with not one but three of his patients' sons during the stint that he used one of the free upstairs bedrooms for his medical practice while his office was being renovated.)

They talked and laughed and shared stories and pretended not to catch the other staring when they did. Somewhere during the second verse of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" and Arizona's coming out story, Santana had hooked her left ankle around Brittany's pulling her leg closer and covering it with her right.

Last night Brittany had thought nothing could top their moment on the couch, but feeling Santana's warm skin flush with hers and hearing Santana laugh instead of sob, she knew she had been wrong.


There was screaming and tears and curse words being thrown each and every way (and maybe even in French) but after the tantrum, Kurt finally thrust the microphone into Callie's hand and stormed off the stage, stuffing himself into the seat on Santana's other side. Santana laughed as he fumed. "Dude, you've been singing for hours."

"I was just hitting my stride. Now I'm going to have to start all the way over so these amateurs can have a slot. Singing should not be a right."

Rachel's wide-eyed resignation had been slightly more graceful. But it still took all of Arizona's might to pry the microphone from the death grip Rachel had on it.

"She's actually really good," Santana offered after taking a long gulp of her beer, "our parents use to put us in competitions when we were younger. They were all about vicarious thrills." She shrugged, "We won every one of them though."

Brittany quirked her head to the side, "You can sing?"

"BABE! I GOT YOU BABE!

Brittany's eyes drifted over to Callie and Arizona and the cornfest on stage and back to Santana. Couples should never be allowed to sing karaoke with each other. Ever. There was too much second hand embarrassment to be felt by all. She nudged Santana's shoulder.

"This is a question you have to answer, Santana."

"Yeah, I guess," Santana sighed resentfully, "my mom even wanted to see if I could make a career out of it. She hired this sketchy agent named Pete and everything. He had an office in the mall next to the food court. I nipped that shit in the bud quick." Santana laughed, her eyes clouding with nostalgia.

"Why? Isn't being a rockstar like every kids dream at some point?"

"Not mine."

"Acting was?"

Santana bit at her lip, her eyes skating over to Callie and Arizona before dropping to the table. "Yeah, acting was."

"They are butchering the lyrics!"

"My dads sang this song at their thirtieth anniversary. It's much more compelling when two men are singing it as a piano ballad set against a starry night."

"Then it settled. For your mom, you have to sing." Brittany stated matter-of-factly.

"My mother, God love her, is a cunt. I say that as a devoted daughter who gave her fifteen perfect piano recitals," replied Santana.

Brittany grinned. "Say that again."

"What?"

"Cunt. Say it again."

Santana smiled, moving her face closer to Brittany's, "Cunt," she hushed. Brittany's grin widened as her head dropped back against her chair, a flush coating her cheeks.

"Good?" asked Santana.

"There's something I've always loved about a pretty girl with a dirty mouth," she turned in her seat to face Santana, "and if you don't want to do it for your mother, then do it for me."

"But why would I do it for you?"

Brittany's stomach flipped again.

And again.

And a third time.

Santana had a low tremble in her voice and it reverberated against Brittany's body; made her jaw clench.

"Because…I'm in Mexico making you laugh."

"And?"

"Because…I'm in Mexico making you laugh…Wearing the dress that's too short on you. And you were right. It's all ass."

Santana's eyes dropped down to the toned thighs that spilled out of the black dress that kept riding up and Brittany kept diligently pulling back down.

"I'm serious eye candy, Santana."

Santana laughed as she struggled to pry her eyes away from skin and back up to Brittany's face. She exhaled quickly, before releasing her hold on Brittany's leg and pushing her chair back from the table.


"Alright, so I'm a little rusty. No judging."

Santana giggled into the microphone as she fingered over the keyboard Manny brought out for her to use. She nervously bit at her lip as she cracked her fingers, preparing herself. From the small crowd that still lingered in the restaurant, a wolf whistle sliced through the air.

Santana smiled and rolled her eyes, "Shut up, Brittany," she spoke into the microphone even though the room was small enough for everyone to hear her without it.

As Santana began to play, her eyes closed, from emotion or because she was trying to remember the notes Brittany couldn't be sure. What she knew was that when Santana sang, it broke her heart.

"Help. I have done it again. I have been here many times before. Hurt myself again today. And the worst part is there's no one else to blame."

Brittany felt the pressure build inside of her, forcing air past her lips as she struggled to keep herself calm. Her hands gripped the hem of her dress. Her heart thundered against her chest and as it became clear who Santana was singing the song to; her legs began to tremble beneath her.

"Be my friend. Hold me. Wrap me up. Unfold me. I am small and needy. Warm me up. And breathe me."

When Santana paused, the entire room took a collective breath.

"Ouch. I have lost myself again."

Brittany couldn't pick what new thing she liked most about Santana. She didn't want to. She hoped she would never have to. Here, in front of her, was this flawed woman who had somehow managed to build herself up as absolutely perfect in Brittany's eyes. Perfect in the way that paradise should be. And in this moment, she had found paradise.

Except it had nothing to do with the endless liquor or the amazing food or the crystal clear beaches or the swank hotel rooms. Paradise was a woman stripped bare, asking Brittany to be her friend.

"Yeah, I think that I may break. Lost myself and I feel unsafe...Be my friend."


They slipped out after Santana's performance. Rachel and Kurt had stood on table to give her a standing ovation and Manny had good-naturedly threatened to throw them out if they did it again. They bought a cheap bottle of wine from the bar and went looking for a sunrise to pass out to.

They found a spot on the beach that seemed good enough so Brittany plopped down on the sand, pulling Santana down with her. She settled in between Brittany's legs her back resting against Brittany's front.

"Wine, please."

Brittany took another sip from the bottle and passed it to Santana. After taking a drink, she drove the bottom of the bottle into the sand leaving it free standing.

"You're a really good singer, Santana."

It was the first thing Brittany had said about her performance. It wasn't enough but it was the only words her mouth would form. Santana laughed dryly, "A debt of gratitude I owe to my mother I guess."

"No. No offense to Mrs. Lopez but all the agents and competitions in the world can't teach someone to sing the way you sing…It was perfect."

"You're drunk, Brittany."

"But I'm not."

Silence engulfed them, punctuated only by the sound of the waves breaking against the shore. LA and Hollywood and all the bullshit that came with it seemed so far away it was virtually nonexistent. Venturing back was a terrifying prospect.

"Remember when we were talking about Callie and Arizona earlier today? Murmured Santana, sleep tickling at her voice.

Brittany grinned into the top of Santana's hair. "You don't have to answer that if you don't want to. I gave you a pass."

"Thank God for small mercies," replied Santana, "and I was talking about what you called Arizona? SLP?"

"SHP." Brittany corrected her.

"What is that?"

"Shiny. Happy. Person. People who are all whole and not broken and shiny and…happy. Cristina and I got drunk one night with our friend Meredith and we reasoned that there has to be at least one of them in a relationship for it to have any chance at succeeding."

Brittany dug her hands into the sand as she tried to conjure the details of that night back to memory. There had been a lot of tequila. "I don't remember exactly why. But I know that's what we decided on."

"And this is only in relationships or do friendships count to?"

Brittany shrugged, "I don't know, I guess friendships could be handled the same way. Though I don't know how fool proof that would be."

"So in our friendship…?"

"You are definitely not an SHP, Santana. But that's okay because honestly it's not a good thing."

Santana's laughed bellowed from somewhere low in her throat. "So, that would make you the SHP?"

Brittany thought about it for a moment and then nodded, "How insane is that? I write movies that people slit their wrists to and yet I'm the SHP in this friendship."

"I apologized for that!"

"You so did not apologize for that!"

They tumbled into a laugher that echoed against the ocean. Brittany let herself fall back against the sand clutching at her stomach. Santana turned and crawled on top of her, the startling clarity in her eyes quickly shutting Brittany up. She lowered herself down and placed a kiss to Brittany's cheek.

"I apologize. Officially."

Brittany felt her insides tugging again as her hand unconsciously reached up and touched her cheeks were Santana's lips had been moments before. She smiled.

"Being an SHP, in our circle a friends, is not a good thing. But if it means me balancing you out I'll wear it like a badge of honor."