Disclaimer: Still don't own anything.

Author's Notes: Thank you for all the lovely reviews. I'm glad you guys are enjoying the fic. R&R like always.


"I was wondering if you needed a lift home from school?"

"I live two blocks away from school, Finn."

"So?"

"So, I can walk there by myself, idiot."

"Are you mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"...I don't know."

"Nothing new. But I'm not mad."

"Well do you want to hang out later?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I'm busy."

"Oh...ok."

Santana went back through the text messages she had exchanged with Finn over the course of the afternoon. An afternoon that she had spent in the girls' bathroom by herself, locked in a stall, doing something she never did. She had spent her afternoon crying. Santana didn't even know why she'd been crying. Santana Lopez did not feel things, she did not do negative emotions. She did not cry. And yet she had spent the afternoon sniffling with her legs clutched tightly to her chest, crying over something that she had heard by accident. And now, she was no longer crying, but it didn't mean that it hurt less. She was sitting in bed, hair down and nightie on, replaying that moment over and over and over in her head again like a God damned broken record and she didn't know how to make it stop.

"Maybe the only girl I want is the one who lied to me about being pregnant with my baby!"

She had heard Finn calling her name as she ran out of the choir room, but the damage had already been done and she had been focused on holding back the tears she didn't understand until no one could see her shedding them. She'd been looking for him because she wanted to ask if he wanted to hang out again after school, since Cheerios practice had been mysteriously canceled, and she had found him in the choir room. She had been about to interrupt and play the charade of the good fuck friend and make her presence known to the whore formerly known as Quinn Fabray, but then she heard that and she felt something that felt all too similar to an incident that occurred when she was nine years old.

The incident.

No one knew about the incident. Not even Brittany, and she was Santana's best friend. To be fair, she hadn't known Britt back then either. They'd only met in the seventh grade when Brittany asked Santana if she could help her find the bathroom because she was lost. Normally, Santana just would have laughed, but she had taken pity on Brittany and the two had been inseparable ever since. But back to the incident. Santana didn't even like to think about it. She didn't like thinking about the day she'd decided to become a bitch. It was a hard time for her, even if she should have been over it. But something to keep in mind about Santana Lopez was that she'd always been able to hold a grudge like no one's business.

Santana had been dating Lucas Reily. Of course, it was one of those schoolyard, I like you you like me type of relationships, but whatever. Santana was in it for the long haul. Lucas was cool and he was cute and she was pretty sure that she was in love with him, even back then. In fact, Santana had been about to tell Lucas that. She went through the big courtyard in search of him. Eventually, she found him...holding hands with another girl. Santana was heartbroken and spent the rest of her lunch period crying in the girls' toilets. That afternoon, she'd decided to make Lucas' life a living hell, and even if it had been six years, she still made sure to make his life difficult. Ever since that day, Santana had become cold, hard stone and put up a front like she was completely impenetrable.

And for a long time, she had really believed that. Up until that afternoon, actually.

Because hearing Finn say those words to Quinn made Santana realize that she had fallen into the same trap: She had gone to seek out Finn, actually excited to hang out with him – something that never happened to her anymore, just as she had gone to seek out Lucas. Just like with Lucas, she had found Finn with another girl, and just like that day when she was nine, her heart had felt like it was being ripped in two. A feeling she had thought would be impossible to feel again.

Finn Hudson had made her heart break, and Santana didn't even understand why. She wasn't in love with Finn, she knew that much for sure, but she also knew that somehow, he had also managed to make her care about him. Maybe it was the stupid dimples he flashed at her when they were standing next to each other at their lockers, or the way that his shoulder seemed to constantly brush against hers when they were playing video games. Regardless, Santana knew that she had feel- a temporary lapse in judgment.

That's what this was. A temporary lapse in judgment. She had just let her guard down a little with Finn because he was like a boy in a man's body. But that wasn't attractive. Nope, Finn was definitely just a huge potato head with a strange love of striped sweaters and khaki-colored pants. Nothing more, nothing less. Anything else that she may or may not have been thinking or feeling in regards to him was merely wishful thinking. She needed to quit being distracted. She needed to focus on her ultimate goal of ruling McKinley High. It was lonely at the top, right? Berry always said that kind of shit, but Santana actually agreed. Just like it was lonely at the top of a Cheerio pyramid, it was lonely being the head bitch in charge. But this was what she wanted. No, this was what she needed. She didn't need a boy. Certainly not a boy named Finn Hudson.

"Santana?"

Sitting up straighter in bed, Santana leaned her head a little to look at her mom, who had appeared at her door. "Yeah?"

"I've been calling you for five minutes," her mother replied, frowning. "What were you doing?"

"I was thinking... about Cheerios stuff. What do you want, mom?" Santana replied, looking out her window so her mom wouldn't see that she'd been crying.

"There's someone here to see you."

"Oh, Britt?" Santana inquired, since she usually ended up lost on her daily walks, but somehow always seemed to know how to get to her house. She usually had to drive the blonde back to her house and help her find her keys, because Brittany liked to hide them from her cat, whom she was convinced was reading her diary.

"No, a boy," her mom clarified, crossing her arms.

"Puck?" Santana questioned, raising an eyebrow at her mom.

"No. I don't know what his name is."

"Wait-" Santana paused, frowning. "Why are you not totally freaking out on me? You usually go mental when a guy shows up at the door asking for me."

"Because," her mom chuckled, "he actually looks nice. Do you know why he plucked one of my tulips out of the flower pots from the front and insists it's for you?"

"Oh," Santana replied, suddenly unamused. What the hell is Finn doing here? "Does he look like he's wearing the grown up version of Osh Kosh?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it..."

"Ugh, can you try and get him to leave?" Santana pleaded, looking at her mom with hopeful eyes.

"I already did... he seems pretty insistent, love. He says he thinks he made you mad and he wants to apologize. Is he your boyfriend?"

"NO!" Santana shouted, a little louder than was probably necessary. "Sorry," she frowned.

"So, what do I do?"

"Ugh, send him up," Santana sighed, resigned. Why was Finn here to see her? Damn it, how did he know that she was mad, even via text message? She had been as careful as possible not to let him see that she was mad. Actually, she hadn't even been mad, not at him, anyways, but more at herself. How could she have let herself get to this point? Wiping at her eyes, Santana pulled her covers up over herself as Finn entered the room.

"Hey," he smiled, one of his little half-smiles. Santana met his greeting with a glare, crossing her arms over her chest and throwing him her best bitch face.

"I told you I was busy," she reminded him, turning her attention away from him to stare at the door frame next to him.

"Yeah... you look really busy right now," Finn nodded, frowning. Santana watched out of the corner of her eye as Finn came around to the opposite side of the bed, kicking off his shoes and climbing under the covers himself.

"What are you doing here, Hudson? With a flower from my mother's garden, nonetheless," she questioned, arching an eyebrow at him as she turned to meet his gaze, her arms still crossed over her chest.

"I didn't know what kind of flowers you'd like and I saw the tulips and I figured you'd probably like them since there's some in front of your window," he replied sheepishly, handing her the flower, which she took with an eye roll.

"Classy, Finn. I repeat, what are you doing here?" Santana inquired, trying to keep her voice as flat and icy as possible with him in the hopes that he'd just get tired of her and leave. Santana just really wanted to be left alone, especially by Finn.

"I don't know what I did, but obviously you're mad at me. You're rolling your eyes at me a lot and your arms are crossed and you look like you were cry- like you had something in your eye," Finn corrected, his eyebrow arching higher and higher as he scanned her frame and seemed to realize that she was in her nightie. In her bed. With him.

Clearing her throat to pull him from his thoughts, Santana rolled her eyes as she heard him mutter 'mailman' to himself. "I did not have something in my eye," Santana informed him. "You're seeing things. And maybe I just don't want to see you right now. I told you I was busy, remember?"

Finn pressed his lips together and nodded, looking down at his hands as he let a silence fall over their conversation. He looked up at her briefly and opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but then he turned back to examine her bedspread very intently. Finally, he muttered a very quiet, "Does this have something to do with lunchtime?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Santana snapped, probably a little quicker than she would have liked.

"Santana, I saw you. I mean, I saw your hair, but I knew it was you because of the way the pleats were swinging on your Cheerio skirt. The other Cheerios' skirts just kind of flop up and down but yours move side to side. I mean -" he blushed, since clearly, his mouth had run away with him.

"That's really creepy, I hope you know that," Santana replied, sighing at him.

"Are you mad that I was talking to Quinn?" Finn asked, biting on his lip in a way that Santana was forcing herself not to be distracted by.

"Why would I be mad about you talking to Quinn?" Santana inquired, though they both knew that it was a loaded question.

"I – I don't know. But you didn't sit next to me in Spanish class and you didn't want to hang out and I just – whatever I did, I'm sorry," he replied, his tone giving away how sad he really was. Santana had to remind herself that she was not supposed to care about that.

"You didn't do anything, Finn. I just don't think this is a good idea," she frowned, looking away slightly.

"What's not a good thing?" Finn wondered, giving her a genuinely confused look.

"This. I don't think we should hang out anymore," Santana clarified, ignoring the little stabbing feeling in her chest as we said it.

"I – I thought we were friends," he frowned, his face falling. He looked like someone had just taken away his favorite toy or something.

"Well, you thought wrong. I told you, we were just doing this to get back at Quinn and Puck, and since you and Quinn have clearly worked through your issues, it would be stupid for you to still try and get back at her," she admitted, running a hand through her hair.

"Oh," Finn replied. His shoulders were drooping and honestly, he looked like he was on the verge of tears. Santana felt bad, but this was what was for the best. She didn't want to get hurt again and that was what was going to happen if she kept hanging out with him. She was already hurt, it was time to cut out and minimize the damage before things got to be too bad. This wound was still repairable, even if watching Finn climb out of bed, sadness written all over his face, was making it hurt just a little bit more. The pain would dull, eventually. In a day or two, she'd be back to her normal self, she had to be. There was no other option.

Looking at the wall in front of her as he left, Santana sighed, looking at the doorway as she heard his footsteps stop in the hallway. "'Tana?" he called, his voice soft yet hopeful, like he was waiting for her to call him back into the room.

A cold and snippy "What?" was all she threw him in reply.

There was a long silence, save for the sound of his breathing. Even his breathing sounded louder, bigger than everyone else's, something she had noticed in the rare moments when a silence would fall over their conversations. "I'm going to miss you."

Santana had to bite her tongue and grip her sheets to keep herself from doing or saying anything. She heard him waiting in the hall for a minute, like he was silently begging her to say something, before he eventually gave up hope and bounded down the stairs, apologizing to her mom quickly before he left her house. It was only when he closed the door behind him that Santana let out a tiny, almost inaudible, "I'll miss you, too."

Any hope she'd had of keeping herself together had been lost. By the time that her mother came up to check on her, Santana was on the verge of sleep, but she was still sniffling, her eyes all red. For the first time in six years, Santana Lopez was crying over a boy. How had that boy managed to be Finn Hudson?