200- Fragments
The longer Rachel lived with Santana, the more random things she learned about the girl. Like the fact that Santana was a black belt in two forms of martial arts. Or that she had an unhealthy obsession with Nutella-covered pancakes. The second month of living together, she'd found out that Santana slept with a stuffed elephant.
"His name is Daniel," she'd muttered. "And he was a Christmas gift from my Nana. Tell anyone, I ends you."
"Don't worry, Santana. Your secret's safe with me."
They'd moved in together out of necessity. Rachel's potential roommate was a grade-A psychopath, and Santana figured her graduation money would only get her so far. So they'd made a deal not to kill each other, and moved in together. They'd written up "house rules" so that no one fucked up right off the bat. It worked pretty well. And Santana was learning just as much about Rachel, as the tiny diva was learning about her.
So when Rachel walked in with flowers from the market, and found Santana playing the cello, neither girl batted an eye.
"Flowers?"
"I like to brighten up my living area. What are you playing?"
"Fragments, by Adam Hurst."
"Cool."
"Cool."