Chapter Text
“Kurt’s out with Blaine for the night, so we’re on our own for dinner.” Rachel announces, slamming the loft door shut behind her, phone and bag dropping on the kitchen table with a clatter. “I was thinking of doing Chinese as we’ve had a lot of pasta the last few nights, and I could really use a break.”
Silence.
Brows knitting, shrugging her jacket all the way off to hang on the back of the dining chair, she trails through the small room seeking the third to her and Kurt’s living arrangement. “Santana?”
The window leading to the fire escape is open, rippling her curtains almost serenely when she steps into her space. Alert to the fact that someone could had broken in while they were all out, and was now lurking in waiting. She’s sure the perpetrator was waiting for her to investigate further and jump her the second she got close enough to said window.
Withholding a whimper, she scans the area for something, anything, to protect herself before investigating. One of the newest candle jars on her dresser had to do. It barely fits in her hand, but it has weight for throwing. It was better than nothing.
“I should warn you!” Rachel calls towards the window, readying her arm as she inches closer. “I have a rape whistle!”
A shadow casts over said window by the dreaded figure outside, leading Rachel to scream. Throwing the candle just as Santana’s head comes into view. Not even making it fully to make contact with Santana, crashing to the floor mere inches from the window itself. Glass shatters and scatters across the bedroom floor directly where her roommate would have to step to re-enter the room. Covering her mouth in shock as if any other ending was expected to come from throwing something so fragile, Rachel apologetically whines.
“Sorry.”
“What the hell?” Santana asks, confusion etched across her face. “Are you daft? That almost hit me!”
“I’m so, so sorry. I thought you were a burglar wanting to rob us. Or worse!” Rachel says, rambling, gesturing with both hands. “This is the city, right? And after watching Law and Order for the last few nights, it was my worst nightmare realized! And just because it’s the middle of the day doesn’t mean anything!”
“Berry, breathe.” Santana tries, but Rachel continues.
“And you weren’t answering me when I called for you, so what was I supposed to think? I didn’t know what else to do!”
Lowering a boot to the floor while climbing back through the window, an evident crunch sounding beneath the heel causes them both to cringe. Santana gives an exasperated sigh, pausing in her climbing. “Well? Are you going to go and get the broom so I don’t track this stuff further inside? Or are you going to make me your next personal statue?”
Nodding, Rachel backtracks out of her designated space, disappearing behind her curtain divider and retraces her steps into the kitchen area. In her panic to find the broom, brain fog not giving her the grace to remember where exactly Kurt and Blaine usually kept it.
“If you could hurry things along because this position isn’t the most comfortable, that would be great!” Santana calls out, causing Rachel’s panic to rise.
“I’m looking, I’m looking!”
Returning after five full minutes, gripping the long broom handle and dustpan tightly, Rachel steps in towards her roommate. “Found it!”
“Do you want a gold star? Sorry, left my stickers in my other outfit.” Santana drawls.
Unbothered, Rachel squats, starting the sweeping process. Helplessly watching tiny specks of glass escape through the slats of the hard wood, and making a note to vacuum later to be thorough. The last thing anyone would need is a hospital trip for an embedded piece of glass in the bottom of their foot. Her Broadway career would not suffer that type of injury well.
Being too invested in her sweeping strategy, she fails to realize the long broom handle is weaving dangerously close to Santana’s head and face.
“Mind the money maker, will you?”
“What?” Failing to comprehend the dilemma of sweeping in this position, Rachel takes her attention from the task to look up at her roommate in time for the pained cry to ring out when the broomstick makes a pointed bonking sound against the side of Santana’s head.
Even with both arms shielding her face, the broomstick bonked again until Santana is grabbing the handle, shooting Rachel a dangerous glare. “Have you never swept anything before? I’m a balancing act here!”
Standing, Rachel huffs. “I was just trying to help!”
“A lot of good that did! You tried to break a candle with my head and now you’re trying it with a broom! If you want me gone, Berry, you can just shove me out this window!”
“That isn’t at all what I was trying to do, Santana! What are you even talking about?!”
“It sure feels like it!”
Frustrated, Rachel tosses the broom handle so it clatters to the floor, arms crossing, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “And what would you know about feeling anything? Aren’t you the best at pretending you don’t have any?”
Eyes locked, sparks of intensity rising between both of them. Santana, still with her other leg positioned on the windowsill, grabs a handful of Rachel’s cashmere sweater, yanking her close for a surprise liplock. Knocking air from the shorter girls lungs, brain attempting to catch up with the action of being kissed.
Unsure what to do with herself when Santana releases her sweater, she steps back and covers her mouth. Lips wet and traced with honey lip balm that wasn’t there before, experimentally darting her tongue to taste.
“What are you…” she tries, hands shaking. “Why did you do that?”
Santana shrugs, dragging her other leg into the apartment and snaps the window closed behind her.
“Because I felt like it. So, Chinese takeout tonight?” And then she’s picking the broom up and continuing with the sweeping.
Rachel can only stand there, not knowing what to do with herself, and decides to drop it. For now.
Food first. Talk later.
