A/N It's been too long since my last update, sorry! Coursework is eating away most of my life. So without any further rambling from me I give you this!
Disclaimer: It's Ryan Murphy's.
Wes jumped awake, his phone ringing loudly in his ear. He scrambled desperately in the darkness to stop the noise as quickly as he could. Waking David at this kind of hour was surely asking for death. He glanced at the clock on the desk. The glowing red numbers read 2:47. Eventually he found his phone buried beneath his pillows, he pressed the 'silent' button and inhaled sharply in surprise. The phone's screen was lit up with an image of an incredibly disgruntled girl who had been caught on camera mid-rant. Worried he answered the phone, glancing briefly across the room at his sleeping roommate. He answered the phone in a loud whisper.
"Santana? What's wrong?" Wes' voice was gruff from sleep. He cleared his throat slightly and waited for her to answer. Through the speaker came the sound of uneven breath and muffled sniffling. A cold ice began snaking its way inside Wes' body. "Santana?" He asked again, firmer and louder this time.
"Everyone hates me." She wailed. Wes looked at the phone suspiciously before placing it back to his ear. "You hate me don't you? Why do you hate me Wes?" The frantic questions burst out through the speaker in a whiny desperation. Wes' jaw dropped and he forgot all about his sleeping roommate in his haste to reassure the sniffling girl at the other end of the cell phone. It must be someone else. There was no way Santana would ask anything like that. Unless...
Vaguely Wes remembered Blaine saying something about one of Kurt's friends' having a party that he was tagging along to.
So she's a sad drunk...
"You hate me! You hate me!" She continued to wail.
"Of course I don't hate you! Shh, breathe, it's okay..." he murmured sleepily sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Wes listened to her argue hotly back in silence for a moment while his still half asleep mind struggled to comprehend the stream of barely coherent rambling coming from the speaker.
"You hate me and I'm not perfect and sad and awesome!"
"Santana... are you drunk...?" he asked gently cutting her off. His eyes flickered to David's bed as he waited for her to answer. His best friend was awake and glaring so viciously Wes was pretty sure he was contemplating causing him serious injury. Wes widened his eyes desperately at him and held up a hand.
"I'm drunk!" She cried shrilly. "I'm drunk and everything sucks." Wes winced as she began crying again. Crying girls were bad enough but a crying Santana? He wondered if this was all some horrible, horrible nightmare.
"Wesley..." growled David from the other side of the room. No, not a nightmare, he was definitely awake. Not even a dream could conjure up something as terrifying as sleep-deprived David. Wes shot him a wide-eyed look and mouthed "What do you expect me to do?"
David jabbed his finger angrily at the door. Wes rolled his eyes and flung back the covers, whispering comforting nonsense and hushing Santana over the phone, and stumbled through the dark. David pulled the thick duvet over his head and by the time he closed the door as quietly as he could behind him he could hear the faint noise of David's snores through the cracks.
"Where are you?"
"At home," she sniffed before embarking on yet another tangent. "Wes, the party sucked. Quinn is all sad and awesome and blonde and God everyone just loves Quinn don't they?" She huffed bitterly. Before Wes could interject and tell her he didn't know Quinn she was off again.
"Maybe I should dye my hair blonde..." she mused, "Wes I'd make a good blonde right? I'd be hot." Wes tried to muffle his laughter as he made his way down his corridor to the kitchen at the end of his floor.
"No, I don't think you should dye your hair." He murmured as he dragged one of the chairs across the kitchen and hopped onto the counter leaning his feet on the chair.
"Why not? I bet you love blondes. Every guy loves blondes -" She broke off and something important seemed to dawn on her. She gasped dramatically, "You like Quinn don't you? Wes you like Quinn too! You like her better than me! You hate me!" She accused, her voice shaking as though on the brink of tears. Wes shook his head in exasperation but deep down he was somewhat enjoying himself... he knew how mortified Santana would be in the morning and he'd be right there to tease her mercilessly about it. Unfortunately he doubted drunken Santana would be able to handle being mocked right now, so instead he went for honesty.
"I prefer brunettes actually..." He confessed, grinning in the darkness and imagining the reaction a comment like that would earn him from a sober Santana. The contrast between the headstrong, tough girl he'd encountered in the past and the vulnerable crying girl at the other end of the phone was more than a little mind-blowing. He wouldn't judge, he'd mock her later of course but he wouldn't judge. This new weakness just made her that bit more human like everyone else. The sniffling at the other end of the line stopped abruptly. After a pause he heard her release the breath she'd been holding it crackled into the receiver over the phone.
"You...You do?" She asked in a small voice that pulled at Wes' heart. He wanted to reach through the phone and wrap his arms around her tiny waist... but their relationship had to remain platonic. Kurt had made it clear that she was off limits. Not that Wes was the type to hit on other people's girlfriends, but he still felt like Santana needed someone outside her crazy world. What did it matter if that meant a whole lot of new crazy?
"I do." He assured her sincerely and smiled in silence before remembering something Blaine had told him earlier that day.
"So was this the super secret New Directions party Blaine and Kurt have infiltrated?"
Santana snorted and then there was silence at the other end of the phone. He wondered if she'd fallen asleep, then he remembered something Trent always did when he was drunk and on the phone to his girlfriend. He could imagine it now.
"Santana, people can't usually tell that you're nodding when you're on the phone." He teased. Santana gasped.
"Ohmygod how did you know that I was...Wait... Ew, Wes you're not outside my window like stalking me are you? Because I've been down that road before and it's no fun!" This alarmed Wes a little and he made a note to ask Kurt about any stalking incidents surrounding the petite Latina. He leaned back in the chair and stretched his legs.
"No, I just know you-" the rest of his sentence was drowned out by the monstrous yawn that had been building ever since her call had awakened him. He sat in silence with her for a minute, fighting his drooping eyelids. He balled up a hand and rubbed his eyes with his fist. Eventually he couldn't contain the question he'd been burning to ask ever since he'd seen her face flash up on his caller ID.
"Why did you call me Santana?"
She didn't answer immediately, but the uneven breathing he could hear in his eat told him she was still awake.
"I don't know..." She admitted in at last in quiet confusion. "I think... I just..." She took a deep, shaking breath as she tried to collect her scattered thoughts through the drunken haze. Her voice was soft and more vulnerable than he'd ever heard it.
"Sometimes..." She sighed softly in resignation. "Sometimes I just... I want to, you know, talk to someone. But I guess I never had anyone to call before." The frown and confusion was evident in her voice but the honest words hung between them with a charge of hope. Wes struggled to keep the spark of happiness that blossomed in his chest out of his voice as she waited for him to reply.
"You can always call me." The words were sincere and not even Santana; in all her drunken insecure, misery, could deny that he meant every word.
"Thank you." She whispered. Wes smiled and he heard her yawn.
"I'm sleepy Wes..." she mumbled, voice thickening in exhaustion. Wes decided it was adorable.
"Go to sleep Santana, we'll go buy some coffee and sweet stuff to counteract the killer hangover you'll be experiencing tomorrow, how does that sound?"
"It sounds...great." She yawned again, a delicate sound that would have sounded out of place on the Santana he'd grown to know the past few weeks.
"I'll pick you up at twelve. I'll text you again in the morning so you don't forget."
"Great." She repeated sleepily.
"Goodnight Santana."
"Goodnight Wes."She mumbled. There was a click and the line went dead. Wes slid his phone closed and leaned his elbows on the table. He pressed the phone to his forehead and tried to conceal the smile that curved up the corners of his mouth.
It wasn't until the next morning when David walked into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of cold water from the tap and preceded to unceremoniously pour that water all over his snoring best friend that Wes realised in a blur of profanities that he'd fallen asleep at the kitchen table still holding his phone.
By the time Wes had chased David up and down the dorm, awakened all the disgruntled boys on his floor, gotten changed and kicked out of the dorm by those very same disgruntled boys and pulled up outside of Santana's house he'd already devised his revenge on David. As he got out of his car and hopped happily up the steps he felt quite accomplished for so early in the morning. He rang the bell repetitively with ruthless glee. Through the frosted glass of the door he saw a short figure shuffling towards the door. He could hear her cursing in a muted voice as the door opened at last.
"Well don't you look just positively radiant this morning!" Gushed Wes when Santana locked eyes with him and realised who it was. He was met with the most vicious scowl he had ever seen. He smiled brightly at her and she narrowed her eyes. She was dressed in a tight black tank top and loose blue sweat pants, a sliver of skin exposed between the fabrics.
"Stop yelling!" She whined through gritted teeth."And your face, your stupid smug face. It hurts my eyes more than the damn sun." Santana turned away from the doorway and walked towards the archway at the end of the hall, she left the front door ajar behind her. Wes stepped inside and closed the door behind him before following her into the kitchen.
"What are you even doing here?" Santana grumbled pulling back a metallic dining chair with a high, curling back and dropping heavily into it. She folded her arms on the long chic dining table and leaned her head on top, her wavy hair fell loosely over hair shoulders onto the table. The whole kitchen was modern and sleek, black and white and silver surfaces everywhere with the same air of pristine cleanliness as he'd experienced in the rest of the house. Wes, as a force of pure undeterred chaos, would never get used to it. He walked over to the table running his fingers across the cool black surface, fingers briefly finding a lock of soft silky hair. He pulled back his hand and occupied the seat opposite her.
"Don't tell me you don't remember our conversation last night!" He exclaimed in mock astonishment. Santana stiffened. With an almost painful slowness she raised her head to see the first traces of mischief flashing in Wes' grinning face.
"I didn't!" She pleaded as her face flooded with heat and mortification. He nodded enthusiastically as he beamed at her. She shrunk back in her chair, burying her head in her arms once more.
"Urgh... I need to stop drunk-dialling..."
"I've got to admit..." he mused leaning back in his chair and tapping his chin thoughtfully. "I never had you pegged as a sad drunk. I pictured you being much more aggressive..." He laughed as she moaned into her arms.
"I don't know which one would be the most amusing."
"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" She protested angrily. Wes continued undeterred.
"Does sober-Santana still want to be a blonde?" That particular question seemed to have an impact, she flinched slightly but enough so that Wes noticed. Without warning her head shot up her eyes blazing fiercely.
"Why do you always have to be such a fucking smartass!" The chair screeched angrily against the hard tile kitchen floor as Santana rose and stormed angrily around her kitchen.
"You just show up whenever you want! Spoilt little prep-boy." Wes watched her snarling with a little amusement but he couldn't help but feel a little twinge of guilt as he noted the dark circles under her red eyes.
"I bet you've always been given exactly what you want! You come waltzing up here to my house and just expect me to answer to your every stupid little whim?"
He watched calmly from the table as she expelled every single burning word from her body delivering them with as much venom she could muster in her hung-over misery. She ran out of steam and still breathing heavily glared at his impassive face. Santana was annoyed at the lack of reaction from Wes and her head ached worse than ever. She decided the pain resounding in her skull was worse than the bitter pain of wounded pride and shuffled back to the seat opposite Wes. Her hangover was too horrific for her words to be as cutting as she'd like.
"I hate you." She informed him before resuming her former hunched position as if nothing had happened.
"Would you hate me less if I get you some killer coffee to cancel out the killer hangover like we discussed yesterday?" He asked her lightly.
"Stop talking about conversations I can't remember Wes." She snapped irritably but then seemed to consider his offer.
"You'll... buy me coffee?" Wes smiled at her.
"As much as you can drink." He assured but then tilted his head and looked at her pointedly. "But I think you might want to change first." She looked up at him aghast.
"What do you mean? I thought you would get the coffee and bring it here." Wes shook his head with a grin.
"Not a chance, you my dear are coming with me. So come on," Santana raised her eyebrows sceptically at the 'my dear', he jumped up from his the seat and tried to encourage Santana to do the same by holding her by the shoulders. She swatted at his hands but rose from her seat begrudgingly.
"Give me twenty minutes." She grumbled and shuffled out of the kitchen.
In reality it took Santana 48 minutes to make herself presentable. Wes knew that it was 48 minutes exactly because he'd spent the entire time fidgeting in boredom and glancing at his phone as the minutes dragged by. Ten minutes later they pulled into the parking lot of a small coffee shop in Lima that Santana had suggested. Wes killed the ignition. He had driven, insisting that Santana's blood alcohol level was still way too high to be responsible for both of their lives behind the wheel. He turned to look at her and raised his eyebrows.
"Those sunglasses aren't fooling anyone, you know that right?" Santana removed the sunglasses to glower at him but opened her purse and dropped them inside before turning away from him and exiting the car. Wes did the same, locking it and walking over to where Santana was standing on the other.
She shifted her weight, hesitating. Wes rolled his eyes and grabbed her shoulders, directing her towards the glass doors. Santana inhaled deeply and moaned in appreciation.
"Coffee..." she purred as they stepped in away from the cold. Wes spotted a small table to the back of the confined, cosy space and propelled the hung-over teen towards it, she plopped herself down ungracefully and bowed over, crossing her arms on the table and placing her head gingerly on her arms. Wes sighed.
"Stay here, I'll get us coffee while you sit and try not to puke okay?" Santana grumbled into her arms, sounding suspiciously like 'no promises', but didn't make any attempt to move. Wes left her to wallow in her alcohol-induced hell and walked over to the counter to order their coffee. As he waited he stared back over at the motionless figure in the corner of the cafe. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a tall, muscular boy wearing a Football jacket leering in her direction. Wes did his best to placate the awful green monster that seemed to have taken root in his chest but it was useless. Despite that he couldn't help but be impressed, even slumped over and drunk from the night before she was attracting attention. Wes drummed his fingers on the counter in agitation as he waited for their order. He didn't take his eyes off the dark-haired figure drowsing unsuspectingly away.
Wes had never been a jealous person so the unjustifiable irritation possessing his body was an unnerving feeling. He had to remind himself for a second that as nothing but a friend, and barely that, he had no real right to feel jealous. In fact it would be extremely ironic for him, as he bought coffee for another guy's girlfriend, to feel jealous. His eyes flickered back and forth between the two figures. Santana and her arms sprawled across the faux wooden table didn't even glance up in either of their directions.
Hell, it wasn't jealousy he decided, he was just looking out for her - Like he looked out for all of his friends. Although thinking of Santana as a friend did nothing but awaken a whole other wave of frustration within him. He drummed his fingers a little harder on the cold, black counter, his eyes flickered to the jock who was still leering appreciatively at Santana. The boy pushed back his chair with a smug smirk and began to rise from his seat when at that moment the barista called out a coffee order for Wes. He grabbed the cups hastily flashing a quick smile to the girl behind the counter before closing the space between him and Santana in a few long strides.
"Here, take this." He said hastily and sat down opposite Santana pushing the coffee cup towards her. He glanced over at the leeching guy who had slumped back down into his chair dejectedly, the two boys glared at each other until Santana, still in a state of obliviousness, raised her head and stole Wes' attention with her fiery brown eyes. She blinked blearily at him her eyes' usual shine dulled by fatigue and cupped her hands around the steaming cup.
"Mmm..." she breathed in. Wes tilted his head and noticed her mascara had smudged a little under her eyes. Without thinking he reached out and rubbed the dark smudge away with his thumb. His hand lingered there, ghosting over her soft cheek. The alcohol that still lingered in her veins slowed her reactions but in the additional seconds it took for Santana to register what was happening and swat his hand away all she could think about was how warm and big Wes hand seemed against her cheek. Wes pulled away as she slapped his hand. He grinned at her as usual but there was a rueful glint in his eye, it gave him the youthful appearance of a scolded child.
"Idiot..." She mumbled grumpily. Wes ignored her, still smiling, and stirred the sugar into his coffee cup.
"So how much did you actually drink last night?" He asked absently, focused on his coffee.
Santana glared at him, he wasn't even trying to hide the amusement in his voice. Eventually she sighed and answered him after a long gulp of her drink, enjoying the pleasant sensation of the warm liquid almost scalding its way down her throat.
"I can't even remember," she groaned "one second I was drinking Rachel's lame-ass coolers..." Wes smiled at the way her eyes scrunched up tightly in concentration. She let out a defeated noise and she seemed to visibly deflate, returning to her previous position resting her chin on her folded arms.
"Santana, Santana..." he shook his head at her with an affectionate grin. A little bubble of warmth blossomed in her chest, the way Wes said her name was odd. Usually when people said her name it sounded like an insult, something detestable. She didn't mind, it was just another way of concreting her place as McKinley's top bitch. Even Kurt hadn't been able to best her of that. This new way of being addressed though... it was strange but she couldn't say it was unpleasant.
"So you don't remember calling me at all?" Santana's head shot up eyes guarded.
"Do we really have to talk about that?" She rubbed her temples and closed her eyes.
"I'd say we do."
"I'm never drinking again..." She moaned.
"That's what they all say!" Wes sang happily. "Does that mean you remember?"
"I remember okay? And I'm embarrassed as hell so just give it a fricking rest." Wes wanted to continue teasing her but decided to keep it in and save it for another day. He beamed at her and her nose wrinkled in disgust.
"Why are you always so damned cheerful all?" She accused irritably. Wes tilted his head to the side, resting it on the hand he'd propped up on the table, considering her question seriously.
"It's really not that hard, you should try it Santana."Wes winked over his coffee cup and she rolled her eyes but she felt the blush creeping up her cheeks and frowned again.
"One day, and I hope that day comes for you very soon, when you're this hung-over don't you dare come crying to me for sympathy." She said jabbing her index finger at him. Wes' expression twisted a little, the ever-present smile faltering. She frowned at him, her eyebrows drawing together in question. He took a second to gather his thoughts then confessed with a mysterious smile.
"I don't drink." The words hung between them for a second as though waiting for something more to be said and the whole world seemed to stand still around them. Santana broke the bubble of tension that had enveloped them with an exaggerated roll of her bloodshot eyes.
"Of course you don't," she snorted disbelievingly but when her eyes met his she saw that they were serious.
"Of course you don't." She repeated, softer this time but wrapped in the same irritated tone.
"Why do you always have to be -Perfect?" Santana leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms tightly against her chest. Wes bowed his head and glanced up with her with a smug smile pulling at his lips.
That can't be anything good...
"You think I'm perfect?" Heat flooded Santana's face. Flustered, her thoughts raced to find a coherent response. She covered her mortification with her best bitch stare but even that couldn't maintain its usual conviction.
"Please." Wes laughed at her but she noticed it didn't light up his entire face like it usually did. Santana occupied herself with stirring her coffee and they fell into a silence that wasn't uncomfortable or awkward. Eventually Wes started up a conversation that he seemed to be able to maintain with himself, Santana offering half-hearted grunts in response.
He was right, she remembered the conversation they'd had. She remembered how she'd eventually gotten home and stumbled through her house blindly and collapsing on her bed. She remembered finding her phone with bleary eyes at the bottom of her purse and searching for the face she wanted to see. She'd seen her blonde best friend's dopey smile and hit call. It had been engaged. She'd fallen back against her pillows miserably. Angry indignant tears ran down her face as she wallowed in the profound loneliness that alcohol always seemed to instil in her. She considered reaching for the bottle she'd hidden in her wardrobe before remembering that Brittany wasn't the only one she could call. She remembered searching through a blur of unfriendly faces and finding the one face that grinned up at her without a shred of judgement. She remembered calling Wes and the conversation she'd had with him.
More than anything she remembered the warm feeling Wes' soothing words had left in her body as she hung up the phone. She remembered being lulled to sleep with the comforting knowledge that somebody cared.
A/N Long chapter for the wait? I stayed up till ridiculous AM to finish this as it seems I've gotten into the slightly annoying habit of writing late at night... As long as you enjoy it it's fine! As always thank you so, so much for your wonderful reviews. They mean so much and never fail to brighten my day so any more you send my way are greatly appreciated!
Now I'm going to stop rambling and sleep. Thanks for reading, let me know what you think.