Day 24: Character A doesn't feel the Christmas spirit but Character B, who lives above them, keeps playing Christmas carols really loud.

Santana was going insane. Not only stuck at the Berry house for half of the holidays, currently bunking down on the living room couch until the Berrys could move the substantial amount of junk out of the guestroom, Rachel Berry, one of the banes of Santana's existence, was insisting on playing Christmas Carols at the loudest decibel her state of the art stereo could produce.

Putting her pillow over her face, Santana screamed into it. "I'm trying to sleep!" she yelled pointlessly as soon as the pillow slipped down.

In a break between one CD and another, a low chuckle caught her attention. "Don't bother," Hiram Berry smiled at her from the living room doorway, a mug of something in his hand floating near his mouth. "She's preparing for a recital. Nothing will get her to stop."

Santana glared at him. "I thought her room was soundproofed."

This time Hiram snorted, his hand automatically coming up to over his nose and mouth. He made a face at Santana for her immediate snigger, "It used to be. We're just behind in scheduling a repair after the latest failure."

"Great. Doesn't surprise me she blew the dampeners with that annoying voice of hers." Huffing, Santana sat up, shoving her hair behind her shoulder and fiddling with the blanket now pooling at her waist, making an unapologetic face at Rachel's dad when he looked vaguely chastising at her words. She glared up at the ceiling when new music swelled. "That sounds even louder than before!"

Wincing, obviously only catching a couple of words Santana said, Hiram took pity on her. "Here," he mouthed, fishing in his pajama pocket for a small packet, which he padded forward to hand to her. When she looked down at it, eyebrows raising, he pointed to his ears. "Ear plugs."

"Oh." Clicking her tongue, Santana winked, giving him a thumbs up. "Thanks."

Hiram saluted with his mug. "I'll let you get some more sleep," he said, nodding at her lame 'thanks' before turning on his heel and slipping from the room.

Watching him go, Santana groaned when the opening strains of Winter Wonderland thundered through the house. "It's six fucking am in the morning," she complained uselessly, ripping open the packet and quickly getting the ear plugs into her ears. Once the music was a dull roar, enough so that, coupled with her pillow pulled over the back of her head it would allow her to get at least four more hours of sleep, Santana burrowed back under her blanket. She couldn't wait for her parents to come back from their business trip.

"It has been pointed out to me that perhaps my preparation for my show has been… Excessive," Rachel said stiffly, accepting the wet mug Santana handed her. "And hasn't been entirely welcoming to those unaccustomed to my ways. Or conducive for being a good host."

"You're not my host. Your dads are." Santana clicked her tongue. "And something tells me it's better that way. You'd probably kill me with tofu." She dunked a suds covered plate into the hot water in front of her, lazily sweeping it back and forth. Once deemed suds-free, she pulled it out, practically slapping it into Rachel's hand; she smirked when the girl gave her a dark look, flicking a bead of water off of her arm.

"You know what I mean." Rubbing her dishtowel over the plate, Rachel stacked it onto the ones waiting to be put away.

Santana shrugged her shoulders innocently. "Do I?"

Sighing, Rachel deflected Santana's next plate. "Santana. I am trying to apologize."

Looking at her, Santana raised her eyebrows. "Are you still going to play Christmas carols at all times of the day?"

Rachel's lips slightly tightened. "Yes. Until my recital, and then likely off and on as Christmas approaches."

"Are you going to turn down the volume?"

Like it pained her, Rachel swallowed before answering, "Yes."

Santana hummed. She raised her finger, leaning towards Rachel. "Your or my definition of lower volume?"

Opening her mouth, Rachel huffed through her nose, looking away. "What is your definition?" she grit out.

Santana smirked. "Can't be heard out of your room."

"But – no! Without the soundproofing, I'd barely…" Rachel stared at her in alarm. "I can't immerse myself in the music if I can't hear it sufficiently!"

"Too bad. I'm the guest."

"And I'm the one who may have agents coming to watch my performance, which could potentially set the stage for how my career in showbiz is going to start!"

Santana clinked a wineglass on the counter. "You're also the one who might just wake up to your door superglued if you cut short another morning of sleep for me."

"Honestly! Sleeping in until noon is not a healthy practice."

"Ever heard of beauty sleep?" Santana tilted her head, studying Rachel. "Oh, no, never mind. Obviously not."

A sound of disgruntlement left Rachel's throat, and her shoulders momentarily dropped before immediately firming. "I'll do my best to better monitor my listening habits," she said stiffly, erecting a palpable wall of air between them.

Santana studied the side of her face. Coming to the end of the soaped dishes, swirling it through the water, she paused before handing it to Rachel. When Rachel reached to take it, however, she held onto it. "Look. I'm only here for another week. Your voice's not going to suffer and die from nonuse in that time, no matter how much we all might want it to. When is your recital?"

Still holding onto the plate, Rachel looked up at her. "Christmas Eve."

"See?" Santana shrugged, finally letting go, briefly shaking her hand to dry it before propping it onto her hip, turning her body to better face Rachel, "You'll still have another week after I'm gone to practice. You can get all your la la las and insane show preparations out then."

Rachel's lips tightened. "It doesn't work that way."

"Sure it does! I don't kill you, and you live to sing another day." Santana smirked. "'Sides, how can you even hear yourself with the pounding music? Doesn't that hurt your ears? It has to hurt your ears."

"I'm surprised you're interested in the wellbeing of my ears," Rachel sniffed. Turning back to the last dish, she quickly wiped it dry, setting it down onto the pile of likewise dishes before picking up the whole pile. "Here," she pushed them at Santana, "I'm assuming your hands are clean. These go in the top cabinet."

For a couple of days, Rachel turned down her stereo. However, by the third day, Santana was increasingly aware that with each new CD, the volume was ticking up one or two notches. When she couldn't ignore it any longer, she growled and slammed down her magazine, loping up the stairs and pounding on the door emblazoned with a gold star with the bottom of her fist. "Berry, god dammit, you turn that fucking stereo down afores I come in there and break it off your face!"

The music cut off just as the door clicked open, only one of Rachel's eyes and nose and mouth seeable through the opened crack. She didn't even have the decency to look guilty. "Yes, Santana?" she asked.

Santana glared at her, pushing on the door with her palm; she was slightly gratified to see the shadow of effort on Rachel's face as she fought to keep the door still as Santana leaned more and more of her weight on it. "We had a deal," she clipped.

"Well, I'm sorry, Santana, but I decided that the deal wasn't suitable anymore."

Inhaling sharply through her nose, Santana narrowed her eyes even more. "Are you – you're fuckin' serious? It's like you're purposefully trying to piss me off." Barely waiting for the other girl's response, she tensed her muscles to push forward, using her shoulder as a battering ram to throw Rachel away and backwards. Immediately straightening as soon as she crossed the threshold, she zeroed in on the stereo taking up most of the space on top of Rachel's chest of drawers. Before she could finish stomping over to it, however, Rachel's hands wrapped around her arm, the girl attempting to yank her to a stop.

"Santana, stop! This is my future at stake!"

Rounding on Rachel, shoving her away from her, Santana was just about to snarl something harsh and pointed when her gaze zeroed in on something. "Seriously?" she ripped Rachel's rebound lunge at her off of her again, snatching a professional grade pair of headphones up from where they were resting on the desk next to the stereo, "You have these and yet you're still ripping apart my damn eardrums?"

Rachel opened her mouth, closed it, then tried to say something before huffing and clicking her jaw shut. A very bright, very red flush bloomed on her cheeks.

Santana stared at her. "Berry?" she hissed leadingly, her expression and voice dark.

"I…" Rachel's voice died. Her gaze skittered from Santana's the second she tried to meet Santana's eyes again.

Shaking her head and dropping her hand so the headphones vibrated violently against her thigh, Santana couldn't help but tighten the headband between her fingers; she enjoyed the wince Rachel gave when it creaked in her grip. "You're telling me you could have been quiet and boring up here the whole time?" she snapped.

"I – it's the ambient noise! I need to completely immerse myself in the music, and headphones don't – they don't give me that feeling of being inside the music, it bouncing off the walls to wrap around me and carry me to the appropriate level of absorption – – can you please put those down before you break them?" she practically shrieked as Santana crossed her arms, starting to bounce the headphones up and down against her flexed bicep.

"No." Santana shook her head. "And you know why? Because you deserve to have them fucking broken! If they're not getting used, then why have them at all? Yes," She grinned ferally, "That seems logical, doesn't it?" Bringing the headphones to in front of her chest, she wrapped her other hand around the headband next to the other.

"Santana!" That time it was a full shriek. Her hands flying up to her face, frustrated, panicked tears starting to gather in her eyes, Rachel's mouth open and closed. "Please – please – those were over two hundred – " When Santana tensed her arms, making like she was about to start twisting the headband in two different directions, her voice rose even more, shrill and high, "My fathers got them for me! They – please!"

Santana glared at her. "Do you promise to keeps your damn music all to yourself?"

"Yes! Yes! I promise! …Though I don't understand why if it truly bothers you you can't just leave the house and hang with Brittany or Quinn or – "

Growling, Santana raised the headphones again, flexing her arms again, the headband creaking once again in her grip.

"Okay! Okay!" Looking chastened – even if it was predicated by panic and absolute terror – Rachel practically danced on her feet, wavering closer to and away from Santana. "Just, please," she put her hand out and up, almost trembling in the air, "Can I have them back now?"

The girl was honest to god starting to leak tears. Looking down at the headphones, which, yeah, now she could see were personalized with golden stars and a bedazzled cursive blazon of her name in purple, Santana really couldn't muster up the appropriate amount of spite needed to actually rip them apart. Groaning thickly in her throat, she rolled her eyes and slapped them into Rachel's chest as she stalked towards her, pushing harder so Rachel moved out of the way, her hands coming up to catch the headphones, and paused at the door. "This doesn't mean they're forever safe," she warned, looking at Rachel over her shoulder. "I am holding you to using them. If you don't… Super gluing your door will be the least of your worries. And you know I don't do idle threats."

Clutching her headphones, her lower lip trembling as she looked like she was close to hyperventilating in relief, Rachel managed a short, quick nod, and whirled away, putting her back to Santana.

Rolling her eyes, Santana wasn't surprised in the least when the bedroom door slammed shut almost as soon as she'd crossed the threshold. She sighed, stretching her arms up and twisting, trying to loosen her back muscles. God damn Berry. Turning Santana's righteous fury into what could have been an uncomfortable moment.

Ten minutes later, back on the couch with her magazine and a newly poured glass of iced tea, Santana was satisfied to hear no more music coming down the stairs. Maybe she'd be able to make it through the week after all.

Thank god.