Maybe the World was Ending

12am-1pm

Her mind overwhelmed her with 'what ifs' as her body inched closer. She'd started up on the balcony, looking down and catching that glint of pale skin on her abdomen. Now it was ten feet away, occasionally obstructed by a throng of bodies, and pulling at her insides even when she couldn't see it.

She leaned against the wall and clutched at the bottle of water she'd stashed into Quinn's purse when they left. She wanted to be two eyes forward (with an occasional eye on Quinn), not in a drunken daze. Strands of Quinn's sweaty dyed hair mixed with blond locks just beyond. His hands were on her, but not too far down - a good sign. She wouldn't have to approach Quinn's own apocalyptic hook-up quite yet.

Santana unscrewed the top, took a sip, and screwed the top tighter, until her fingertips hurt and reminded her to feel something else. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and bit for the same reason – to remind her to feel something else.

The blonde girl's body rocked in exact time to the rhythm. Academia flipped its switch in her brain. It reminded Santana of Burton Tower, in Ann Arbor – its symphony of bells clanging in concert with the time. Ann Arbor reminded her of her, her first love; at the end of sophomore year and slamming the door on the last day she'd see her. She reminded Santana of her mother, whispering, "You are not my daughter." She couldn't.

She looked up. Quinn was gone. The boy, too.

She walked down the narrow hallway toward the bathrooms and the backdoor. Quinn's escape. Quinn was leaning against the wall alone, her phone in her hand.

"What are you doing?" Even away from the music, Santana had to shout.

Quinn jolted and shoved her phone into her purse. "Nothing."

"You calling someone? Did you call her?"

"Christ, Santana, drop it." Quinn's arms pushed herself off of the wall and into the night. Santana caught the door behind her and followed. The air tasted just as sticky as inside. She'd expected to see the end of the world – lights flashing or the sky lit in darkness. It looked like any other night.

"Sorry." Quinn had taken up a spot against the brick wall of the alley. A man leaned against another man farther down the wall, roughly kissing him. Santana turned away and look back at Quinn lighting a cigarette.

"Was that your conquest for tonight?" A cloud of smoke created a shield around them.

"Who?" Santana's brow furrowed.

"The blonde girl you were staring at. She's pretty."

"Yeah, she is." Santana thought about going back inside to catch another glimpse of that sliver of skin. "I don't think it's a good idea tonight."

"I think it's the only good idea tonight."

"What about that blonde guy?"

Quinn coughed roughly and looked startled. "Oh, you saw him?"

"Course. I'm keeping an eye on you."

"You don't need to do that, San, I told you."

"It's what I do. And I want to."

"Fine." Quinn took a last drag of her cigarette and flicked it into a standing puddle of murky water. "He's not so bad, if you know him."

Santana caught a soft groan from the man leaning up against the wall as she pulled the door.

"You should dance with her, Santana. Or go talk to her, or something. What have you got to lose? Seriously." Quinn held her hands in her own. Her dilated pupils sunk into Santana's. Quinn shouted as they moved closer to the dance floor.

"Alright. Yeah." Santana looked up to find the girl that much closer, just feet away.

By the time she'd turned back to Quinn, her pink streaks were lost in the crowd. She turned back again to find the girl's eyes on her and a slight smile on her face.

Santana clutched the water bottle tighter and gave a slight nod before shifting her eyes to the ground. On every third beat, she'd glance up. Her eyes met with a slideshow of breathtaking images: the girl lost to the rhythm, blonde locks whipped through the heavy air, that sliver of skin within arm's length.

Quinn reappeared a few songs later, a shot and a drink shoved into her hands.

"Lose the water bottle and the loser demeanor." Quinn tipped the shot toward Santana's mouth as the water bottle fell to the floor. The blonde man from earlier was no where in sight as she tipped her head back and a warm liquid burned down her throat.

"Go after her, Santana."

Santana felt the drink slipping out of her hand, a combination of condensation and perspiration. Quinn pushed her in the girl's direction until she could feel deliverance. She closed her eyes and lost her mind in the touch.

Moments or lifetimes later, Quinn was gone and the touch remained. Her drink dangled from her fingertips and blue eyes exposed her. The girl's mouth moved. She was talking to Santana. Santana shook her head and tried to listen again. She couldn't tell if it was the music in the club or the music in her head, but the message was lost.

The girl gave up after the third try and swayed in front of her instead. Santana's eyes darted to all the places she'd glared at before. With the alcohol firmly possessing her, she placed on hand on the girl's hip and pulled in closer, eyes briefly checking for consent. She was met with an airy smile and the girl's head tipping back to the rhythm.

Songs melded into one another. Santana forgot about Quinn, about the boy. She could only feel the moment and keep two eyes forward.

Attempts to talk were futile, Santana decided, after trying to scream "What's your name?" to the girl for the third time.

At some point, they decided to talk with their hands instead. Santana's fingers skirted her back.

Her eyes were magnificent. Santana lost the rhythm. She waited for the pulse of the music to recapture her body.