This Must Be An Alternate Reality: Artie, Santana, PG
Title: This Must Be An Alternate Reality
Author: marliskelsey
Pairing,Character(s): Artie, Santana
Rating: PG
Word Count: 354
Spoilers: None
Summary: Artie wasn't quite sure what to make of things . . .
A/N: A quick little drabble I've had sitting on my computer for a few months. Enjoy!
Artie wasn’t quite sure what to make of things when Santana approached him one day after Glee and without a scowl on her face.
“Hi Santana,” he managed to choke out, nervously pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You know, he was still a teenage guy, and being in this close proximity to a short Cheerio uniform wasn’t exactly unpleasant. Artie looked up, and Santana was looking down at him with an unfathomable expression on her face.
“It’s Artie, right?” she confirmed. He nodded, still kind-of taken aback. Santana Lopez was never nice.
Santana looked undecided for a second, before sitting down beside him on the choir room risers. She turned to face him.
“So, look, my therapist says that I should try to ‘reach out beyond my group of friends’ and ‘make an effort to be nice to others’ so,” she looked a little pained, “I was wondering if you would like to work on a song with me. For Glee.”
The universe spun. Was he dreaming? Because this kind of stuff only happened in dreams, where Artie was a playboy and had a crazy car and thousands of women at his disposal. Santana Lopez, Santana-freaking-Lopez, had just asked him if he wanted to spend some time and work on a song with her.
Outside of school.
Possibly in public.
This had to be a dream.
When Artie was finished sputtering and being generally incoherent, he noticed that Santana was still waiting for an answer, one perfectly-plucked eyebrow raised in semi-amusement. “Uh...sure!” he squeaked, grinning at the girl. A corner of her lip moved into what Artie imagined was a smile.
“Good. Come over to my house on Sunday, three o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.” She quickly scribbled her phone number and address onto a slip of paper and dropped it into his lap.
He was still holding it in amazement when she called to him from the doorway. “Hey!” Artie wheeled around to face her, still smiling like an idiot. “I like the suspenders.”
And with a swish of her skirt, Santana was gone. Artie fought not to lapse into unconsciousness.