It was funny how Santana asked Blaine out to coffee. Or at least, Blaine thought it was.

"Hey, hair," she has called after a particularly rambunctious party at Rachel's. There hadn't been any alcohol this time, but there had been Disney Scene It. Things had gotten particularly out of hand on Blaine's account.

"Yesh?" he parried, looking for his keys amongst a pile of cushions Kurt had dubbed their 'fort'.

Santana drew closer to him, and for a moment Blaine feared that she was attempting some sexual advance on a known gay.

"We're getting coffee at eight tomorrow. And you'll be there because I have something you want,"

Blaine cocked his head, meeting Santana's eyes. They didn't look at all how he expected them; instead of their normal seductive glare, they were muted and downcast.

"Really? Something I want?"

"Yeah," she returned, and she stepped even closer. "I know Kurt's birthday list and the password to his recordable journal,"

Blaine giggled, returning to the task at hand. "I can't believe you've stooped so low, my dear. And besides, I'm fairly certain that there's nothing written in there that I don't already know,"

Santana smiled coyly."And the birthday list. You know about that one? Because I figured you'd show a little more enthusiasm after a mention of something crawling with kinky sex toys,"

Blaine froze. "No,"

Santana laughed once. "Oh, yes,"

And so it was settled. Coffee would be held at 11am.

"So," Blaine began, nervously twisting the end of his scarf as he found himself waiting in line for coffee with Santana. "What's the, ahh, occasion?"

Santana kept staring ahead, and muttered something incoherent.

Blaine noticed that she looked a bit disheveled today. The wings of her eyeliner didn't match at all, and the zipper on her skintight black dress was only ¾ of the way zipped. It was completely unlike the Amazonian goddess that Blaine knew her as, and it made him a little uncomfortable. There had always been something about pretty girls that made him itch in an unpleasant way. Perhaps it was because he was afraid they'd get the wrong idea, or maybe it was because the utter lack of chemistry between him and such girls left little in the way of building any sort of platonic relationship. For all his sincerity and stalwartness around guys, he couldn't muster up the same vibes around girls.

At last their order was taken, and Blaine was surprised when Santana covered the tab with several wads of ones that she pulled hastily from her bra. "There," he heard her say, as if she was embarrassed by the act.

"Santana, what's wrong?" he asked, catching her arm as they sidestepped towards the end of the counter.

Santana met his eyes waveringly, and Blaine was shocked to find tears there. "I'm… I'm about as queer as…," But she couldn't go own. Instead, she made a terrible choking noise and gripped Blaine's wrist.

Blaine blinked. He'd always imagined her as a fairly ambiguous person, but never had he guessed that she was ever full out…

"Santana, there's nothing to be ashamed of… I don't…," At that point a Medium Drip and a Macchiato were set forth, and Blaine grabbed them before steering Santana to a vacant booth.

"What got you thinking about this?" he asked once the brunette settled into her seat.

"Brittany, that skank," she said quietly. "I've known for months now. It's just… it's only getting harder to deal with…,"

"Well," Blaine said thoughtfully, adjusting himself into his lecturing posture and taking a sip of his drink, "I can see how it can feel that way. Have you talked to Brittany?"

"It's all we talk about anymore," she said, twirling a coffee sleeve in front of herself. "And I hate it,"

"But you still love her?"

Santana nodded earnestly, almost as if offended. "That bitch is my soulmate. But she's in love with wheels,"

To be honest, Blaine didn't know what else to say. Something about lesbians scared him. They scared him more than straight girls did. And here was Santana, potentially the most tenacious and feline of any woman he had ever met, struggling with a devastating conundrum.

'What would I say to Kurt? What would I say to Kurt?' he was chanting mentally, all the while studying Santana's face. But he was drawing blanks. Instead, he turned the tables.

"Why did you come to me?"

Santana gave an ironic blink, as if he was the one with a shocking revelation. "You're honestly the most charismatic and confident homo I've ever met. Why wouldn't I come to you?"

Blaine couldn't see it as a compliment. Instead, he felt it a burden.

"I honestly didn't think I had that kind of reputation with you Lima kids,"

"Pshh. All Kurt does is gloat. But let's get back to me, now,"

"Well, what's got your, umm, panties in a bunch?"

Santana blinked again, her face suddenly twisted into confusion. "I'm the skankiest girl in this school, hair. I screw boys like a zombified sex-craven whore. And now… now this? I can't possibly come out after all that,"

Blaine shrugged. "It doesn't matter what your past was like or how your reputation might change. You shouldn't deny yourself or anyone else the truth,"

"Yeah, but look at porcelain. He was run out of McKinley like one of those Spanish Bulls. I mean, guys are one thing; they can beat you up, break you down. Girls are a whole other thing; they're vicious. Like piranhas with a love for tasty lesbian flesh,"

Blaine had to laugh. "Okay, I'll give you that. But you've only got one year, Santana. And you're one of the strongest people I know. You've got no reason…,"

"What if I'm not strong at all?" Santana interrupted, her eyes turned down once more. "What if that was all a rouse, all along? What if I knew, all along, just what I was?"

"And the bravado was all some defense mechanism?"

"Yeah. Exactly," Santana looked up, a sparkle in her eye. "You are pretty smart, hair,"

Blaine snorted. "Well, I guess it's possible. But Santana, if that's true than it doesn't really change a thing. It's not as though coming out is going to change your life. I mean, sure, some people may treat you differently, but it's not as though you will truly change,"

Blaine reached across the table to jab at Santana's heart. "This won't change a bit,"

Santana nodded a little. A hint of silence passed in which the two looked around the coffee shop to abate the awkwardness running rampant between them.

"What was it like when you came out?" she asked suddenly, and Blaine caught her eyes.

"It was rough,"

Santana wasn't satisfied. "Explain," she barked.

Blaine adjusted his wayfarers on top of his head before beginning. This wasn't a tale he enjoyed telling, and he had never told it to anyone other than his closest friends. But he saw something in Santana that needed to be sated –sated by wisdom or Dr. Phil bullshit or something…

"I was thirteen, and my best friend was that guy who knew every girl and had kissed almost half of them. He ridiculed me about my lack of expertise in the area of girls almost daily. Soon after came the teasing; the playful jabs about gays and the word 'fag'.

"I didn't really know at that point. I had never been sure of where I stood as far as girls were concerned. I was a nerd, I was shy. And for a long time I believed that I was just in an awkward stage. In fact, being gay was never a subject that I myself or any of my family members had ever approached.

"So Paul –the best friend- took me to one of his older brother's parties. The place was crazy. People were drinking, hooking up, smoking. I swear that I saw people doing cocaine, but Paul told me it was just salt and the guys were trying to look cool. Paul's brother made us drinks, and I got buzzed for the first time in my life.

"And then came the girls. We were undoubtedly the youngest people at the party, but the high school girls were wasted or high enough to find us attractive. They were everywhere; dancing on tables, stripping in people's laps. And slowly but surely they made their way to us.

"One grabbed Paul and took him upstairs. Another two took me to the bathroom,"

Blaine stopped. Santana looked incredulous, but nodded at him to keep going.

"Needless to say, even in my drunkenness I could tell that I wasn't going to enjoy myself. One was undoing my zipper with her teeth when I finally broke down.

"And I broke down, Santana. I ran out of that house so fast. I'm fairly certain I ran over three miles to get home. And when I finally made it back, I cried for hours.

"I don't remember what I was more ashamed of–whether it was that Paul had put me in that situation or that I hadn't been enjoying myself iat all/i. You see, I was too young to recognize that it was probably out of sheer embarrassment and anxiety that I couldn't find those girls enticing. Instead I was convinced that something was wrong with me.

"So I went hunting. I tried so hard to be that average, straight, horny-as-hell middle school kid. For weeks, I peppered myself with swimsuit models and porn. But nothing did it for me,"

"I went to another party, at that point. I hadn't spoken to Paul for a while, but I knew that I was either going to have to make it or break it. And things went a little farther at this one.

"So when the girl was making out with me, practically having dry sex with me, I had my epiphany. If I thought of the men I had seen in those movies, and pretended that they were the ones all over me, I could get it up.

"I ran from that party, too.

"And over time, I grew to accept it. It made sense to me, then. Throughout my whole life, I had been teetering on the edge of that discovery. But I think because my parents were so traditional and my hometown was so conservative that I had to figure it all out with such drastic measures.

"I came out to my cousin online halfway through eighth grade. He, naturally, told everyone he knew in town and it was then that the bullying took off. After a point, I think I broke. I couldn't wake up in the morning knowing that my day was going to be filled with constant reminders about how immoral, unnatural, and unlovable I was.

"So, I transferred to Dalton. And I found love and morality and nature through singing and school and friends who didn't give a damn about who I found attractive. And everything -everything, Santana- is just fine for me now."

Santana appeared a little flabbergasted. "That's, like, the kind of thing that's supposed to be on General Hospital… or Maury,"

"Yeah, well," Blaine said, suddenly blushing. "That's real life,"

Santana laughed once, and after a moment, she began laughing far harder. And it wouldn't stop.

"Real life….real life….sucks," she said between gasps for air. People were looking at her from across the café, and Blaine could only stare at her in wonder.

When at last she had finished her impression of an imprisoned velociraptor, Blaine motioned to her coffee. "Are you finished?"

Santana nodded, still beaming wildly.

Blaine felt something for her then –a pang of empathy that changed his view of her entirely. No longer was she some alien creature hell bent on sex and sassiness. She was normal, now. At least, as normal as they came in the McKinley High Glee Club.

And before he could stop himself, he asked, "Hey. Do you want to go shopping?"

For that was the greatest offer of friendship a gay male could extend to anyone.