"Oh my God! You're studying!"
Santana glares from over her text book, unsure whether to punch Quinn for mocking her—when she's been so engrossed in studying that she hasn't even changed out of her pajama bottoms and tee since morning—or hug her because she has grocery bags in her hand which suggests food and Santana is serious levels of starving.
She opts to veer in the direction of the first one though, because Quinn is giving her one of those exaggerated proud grins and no amount of hunger is gonna let her take lip from Quinn Fabray.
"And you're taking God's name in vain," she notes, feigning as much distaste as she can muster. "Aren't we all full of surprises?"
Quinn rolls her eyes but she smiles anyway.
"Don't make fun of my spirituality, Santana," she chastises lightly, nudging Santana with her elbow on her way to the kitchen area. Since the kitchen is just another section of her living room—yeah, her apartment is that small—Quinn doesn't even need to raise her voice to continue with her annoying indifference to Santana's sarcasm. "It's gotten me through a lot, you know?"
"Yeah, well, don't make fun of my study habits," Santana counters. "Or lack thereof. Cramming has gotten me through a lot, you know?" she mocks.
Quinn makes a little humming noise of agreement.
"It seems to have also gotten you through like four energy drinks and a cup of coffee," she observes and Santana can hear the flaps of plastic flutter as Quinn throws the evidence of her all-nighter into their recycling bin.
"Yeah, but it's also gotten me through high school and it's gonna get me through college and hopefully through med school after that,"
It takes the moment of contemplative silence and lack of sharp comeback for Santana to realize what she's just divulged.
She doesn't even know why she said that— delirium from lack of sleep, maybe? She's not sure, but she hasn't even told her dad that she's been thinking of going to med school yet. It's not anything official; she hasn't set anything in stone, but she can practically hear the cogs in Quinn's brain turning, analyzing a decision she hasn't even made.
"You're planning on going to med school?" Quinn asks, far too casual, when Santana knows that what she really means is: 'Is this something you've decided for yourself?' and 'Do you think this will make you happy?'
That's what Quinn's all about nowadays—making individual, independent decisions and happiness.
"It's just something I'm thinking about, Quinn," Santana defends; she really doesn't like the worried glance Quinn shoots her. "But like, whatever, I've got two years," she brushes it off, moving to distraction instead. "Much better question, are you planning on cooking?"
She knows that Quinn knows that she's just trying to push the prior subject away and luckily, Quinn knows her enough to know that this isn't a subject she can push, so she drops it.
"That was the idea," Quinn states, glaring hard at her when she drops her studying completely to make her way to the kitchen and prod at whatever pre-cooked items Quinn has unpacked from her shopping.
She grabs an apple, a string of cheese and Quinn's already half-drank bottle of orange juice before Quinn's glaring becomes too opportune for her to not make fun of.
"I know my face is pretty, Quinn. You can stop staring at it,"
Quinn scoffs, elbowing her out of her way.
"I thought you were studying,"
"Yeah, well I was and then you distracted me with the prospect of food,"
"I could always find somewhere else to cook. Julian's maybe? He's been asking to hang out,"
Santana huffs at Quinn's bluff but she grabs her book from the coffee table anyway and cracks it open on the kitchen island so she can at least still study and bug Quinn while she's cooking at the same time.
She makes sure to throw Quinn a pointed glare as she takes a seat, but Quinn's immune to that too.
"So, finals are coming up," Quinn says after a few moments of comfortable silence. Santana glances up to see Quinn skinning some giant purple fruit/vegetable type thing.
"Well, I'm clearly not pulling all-nighters for my health, Quinn,"
"Yeah, about that; why didn't you tell me you were staying up? I would have stayed up with you,"
Santana shrugs; as nice as some company would have been, when she snuck out of her room late last night to grab another energy drink, Quinn was already sprawled on the couch, sleeping peacefully in a cocoon of blankets. She wouldn't have asked her to sacrifice that, especially when she wanted so badly to just kinda curl up with her. Except like, not with her, but next to her.
"Besides, even more important than finals, Cheer United is also coming up," Santana reminds her.
"More important than finals?"
"Fine, just as important as finals," Santana amends. "You know, a few goods wins at Cheer United and then next year, we qualify for JAMfest; we place in a few categories at JAMfest then by my senior year, I can lead the squad to placing a few times in the Cheerleading Worlds; which is a huge deal, as you know,"
"Yeah, I do," Quinn agrees, although she seems far more inquisitive than excited.
"What?" Santana asks. Clearly, Quinn has something that she's stopping herself from saying.
"Nothing. I just—"
"You just what?"
"I mean, Cheer Worlds is big! I just didn't know cheerleading meant that much to you is all; it certainly didn't in high school,"
Santana really can't argue with that, because cheerleading really didn't mean much to her in high school. It really was just a way to keep herself far up the social ladder and keep herself mostly on Sue Sylvester's good side. Sure, she did kinda like cheering, it kept her in shape and Coach Sylvester randomly flinging things during routines kept her eye-hand coordination sharp, plus the uniforms were awesome, but apart from that, it really wasn't something that she particularly liked.
It's different here though. Sometimes, when she gets caught up in a routine—and she actually does that here; finds herself caught in the spins and turns and flips until the world kind of just disappears—it's easy to forget that this is mostly what's paying for her classes and her apartment and not something she's just doing for fun. It's also a lot easier to attend the events and the parties and share laughs with the squad when there are very little ulterior motives and a lot less backstabbing; Coach Reyes has instilled a sense of cohesiveness among the squad that Santana has to admit, although begrudgingly, that she really sort of appreciates.
She honestly hasn't felt this kind of freedom in a group since… well, since Glee. Although, that isn't something she's about to admit to Quinn, so she shrugs her shoulders instead.
"I like winning," she says defensively, but Quinn flashes her one of those genuine proud smiles—the kind that lights up rooms, and makes Santana's chest kind of flutter—and she knows that Quinn is seeing right through her façade. She only allows a quick moment of indulgence before she does what she does best to tame the sudden sappiness that has sucked the air out of the room; she scowls. "Besides, a lot of important people were cheerleaders,"
"Oh," Quinn's smile turns teasing. "Like?"
"Like Paula Abdul,"
"Very impressive," Quinn jokes.
"And Christina Aguilera,"
"Didn't know that one,"
"And here's one to appeal to your hipster wiles: Steve Martin!"
Quinn gives a long throaty chuckle, like she can't quite believe what she's hearing or even more likely, like she can't believe that Santana just said that.
"Oh please, I am not a hipster and neither is Steve Martin,"
"Sounds like just the type of thing a hipster would say. And Steve Martin is like the O.H.! Original Hipster. You only wish you could be as hipster as Steve Martin,"
"You are ridiculous,"
"Mmmhmm. At least I'm not a hipster,"
Santana doesn't see it coming, she doesn't even suspect it until she feels something cold and slimy running down her cheek.
She wipes the residue off slowly, the rest of her body stock still in complete disbelief.
"You did not just throw a piece of your vegetable thing at me!"
"It's eggplant, Santana. Plenty of antioxidants. Great for your pretty face," she teases, through a fit of laughter.
"You're not gonna like what you just started, Q," Santana warns, a sly smile turning menacing.
"Oh really? Because it seems like I have all the "vegetable thingy" over here and you have—"
Santana times it perfectly, one flick of her wrist and a splash of organic valley orange juice hits Quinn square in the chest. The squeal she makes is probably the funniest thing Santana has heard in days.
"I really can't believe you just did that," Quinn huffs, giving Santana just enough time to duck behind the counter as a barrage of thinly sliced carrots falls on top of her.
That's all it takes to wage a complete food war.
Just about every vegetable Santana has ever heard of and a lot she really hasn't, is strewn on the kitchen floor and lodged down their shirts and in their hair by the time Quinn manages to catch Santana's hands and pin her against a kitchen counter—a feat which Santana has to attribute to Quinn's "spirituality" because she really can't describe it as anything but an act of God.
It doesn't even occur to Santana how close they really are until she feels the strain of Quinn's laughter against her, their bodies fitted in a way that really shouldn't be, not with the way Santana's thoughts have been running asymmetrical to her common sense lately.
"Quinn?" her voice betrays her in its breathiness, but so does Quinn's breathlessness.
It seems Quinn's attention suddenly deviates to their sudden proximity as well because she catches Santana's gaze and Santana swears she has never in her life seen Quinn look this intense. Not when she was captain of the Cheerios, tearing through McKinley halls, not after her fall from grace, when she was Ms. Teen Statistic and not even when she was president of the Celibacy Club.
Definitely not when she president of the Celibacy Club.
Honey irises are ringed dark and pink lips parted and Santana knows she has to move before she does something stupid.
"We should probably clean up," She suggests, trying to tame the sudden static intensity between them. It's trying to pull her in when all she wants to do is retreat although she has nowhere to retreat to—even her bedroom is as tainted with Quinn as her mind is.
"Yeah," Quinn agrees, nodding even though she doesn't budge.
"Right," Santana affirms, exhaling a shaky stream of breath.
She doesn't know in what world cleaning up equates to kissing, but apparently, it's this one, and with Quinn's lips on hers, she hardly finds it in herself to care.
Well, they've really gone and done it now, haven't they?
Review please =)
Hints for future chapters: They're gonna have to talk about this one. Also, cheerleading will play a big part in the next few chapters as we move onto Cheer United which just happens to be in a certain city that another Nationals that lead to this Quinn and Santana to where they are now, was also in. Riddles!