Fic: Blame It on the Alcohol (deleted scene)
Title: Blame It On The Alcohol (deleted scene)
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: pg-13 for implied sexytimes and the underage enjoyment of all things worth living for alcohol.
Word Count: 2440
Summary: "It's the alcohol. That's all."
Spoilers: through 2.14
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Notes: I am so happy to have my babies back in my life, being gay for each other. This title is not really a title, I know. It's not my fault that this episode stole the title of my fic. GOSH.
She’s drunk. Like, about to fall over, possibly blow chunks on Rachel Berry’s gay furnishing, drunk.
Tip number one that she’s drunk? She seriously can’t stop crying. Tip number two? She’s caring way too much about the fact that Brittany’s drunk. Or, more accurately, that Brittany’s drunk, and all Santana can really do about at this moment is make out with Sam.
Not that that’s a bad thing. Sam’s actually a pretty good kisser. It’s a little jarring at first, to feel like your face is about to be eaten by his man-cave sized mouth, but it’s enjoyable enough. Plus, Quinn gets this look every time they break for air that makes Santana want to laugh.
Anyway, the point is that she’s drunk, and all she really wants to do right now is fall asleep. Unfortunately, she can’t fall asleep in the middle of the party like a loser, and that’s only making her want to sob into Sam’s shoulder some more. She wishes the slaphappy part of her drunkenness lasted longer - she’d probably be having more fun that way. She stares enviously at Tina and Mercedes, laughing together on the couch.
But at this point, she’s past the point of no return. So, she grabs the tequila bottle from where Mike is trying to hog it and takes a swig, glaring at him for hoarding liquor while she does it. He tries to glare back, but only ends up breaking out into hysterical laughter.
Hands settle on her waist, and she hates how she immediately notices that they’re too heavy to be the ones she wants them to be.
“Got some for me?” Sam says, in a voice she’s sure is supposed to be impersonating someone.
She rolls her eyes, but hands him the bottle. He picks up the salt shaker and lime wedge from the table, and wiggles his eyebrows up a down as he stares at her. But before he can sprinkle salt onto her neck, like she’s sure he’s planned, Brittany hits him in the side, knocking him over a few steps. For a second she thinks he might fall, but he manages to stay upright.
“My turn,” Brittany demands, this adorable pout on her lips that Santana’s trying not to stare at. It turns out to be easy, because tequila always made Brittany’s clothes fall off, and there are just a lot of things besides her lips for Santana to stare at.
Sam hands over the salt and lime to Santana, setting the tequila bottle back on the table wordlessly. Santana just shrugs at him, but the dejected look on his face kind of makes her feel bad. Tears well up in her eyes, and she nearly curses her own ridiculousness.
But then Brittany’s face is in front of hers, smiling lasciviously, and Santana’s tears disappear like that.
She glances again at Sam, to see realization spread over his face. A smile starts to form, before he puts his finger in the air and points between her and Brittany. “Yeah, I’m cool with that. Totally. You do your thang.”
Turning back to Brittany, Santana tries to play it cool, but Brittany’s giving her this look she hasn’t seen in months, and something warm shoots straight to her groin.
“Neck,” Brittany orders, reaching forward to brush Santana’s hair over her shoulder. Santana obeys, tilting her head to the side to expose her neck.
When Brittany pulls her tongue up the muscle in Santana’s neck, towards her ear, her eyes flutter a little bit, and her stomach tightens involuntarily. She doesn’t know why it’s affecting her so much, considering just moments ago her tongue was tracing the muscles of Brittany’s stomach, but the rush of breath across her skin, and the feeling of Brittany so close, is doing things to her body that makes her wish there weren’t so many watching eyes. Namely, Sam’s watching eyes.
Then, Brittany’s mouth is gone. She feels the sprinkle of salt hit her neck, and watches as Brittany bends over to pour herself a shot, standing back up and lifting it towards Santana, this smirk on her lips that Santana doesn’t think she’s ever seen before. Before Santana can say anything (like get this salt off me please), Brittany’s putting a lime wedge in Santana’s mouth, winking at her.
“Lick, shoot, suck,” Brittany whispers, smiling.
She nearly corrects her with a soft, “Lick, suck, sip,” but Brittany’s already closing in, her chest pressed up against Santana’s, and she forgets to breathe, much less how to speak.
It’s over in seconds, Brittany’s tongue back on her neck, cleaning away the salt. Santana can’t do much but watch Brittany shoot the tequila, before her face comes closer and her mouth is on Santana’s, sucking the lime wedge away.
She’s drunk. Beyond drunk really. That’s the only reason she can give for the next few moments.
Brittany’s barely thrown the used lime wedge in the shot glass and set it down, when Santana grabs for the thin black tie around her neck, pulling her closer and crushing their mouths together.
She feels Brittany’s body start in surprise, but her friend recovers, hands going to the back of Santana’s head to keep her closer. It’s familiar in a way that makes Santana’s heart ache.
It’s nothing she hasn’t done before. Nothing they haven’t done before. Santana can’t count the number of parties she’s been at that involved, at some point, her lips against Brittany’s. So, she’s not really worried about the kissing, as a concept that is.
What makes this different than the countless times she’s made out with Brittany at a party before, is how her only goal here, really, is to kiss Brittany. She’s not looking out the sides of her eyes to find Puck, she’s not reaching out to grab at Sam, she’s not concerned with how long is too long to keep kissing. She just doesn’t want to stop.
Brittany’s hands tangle in her hair, her tongue stroking into Santana’s mouth, and her knees feel weak - whether from alcohol or the feel of Brittany’s hips against hers, she’s not sure.
They break apart way before Santana actually wants to, but it’s probably for the better. Brittany’s staring at her with wide eyes, like she didn’t think that was going to happen, her breath short gasps of air. Santana thinks it’s stupid that Brittany’s allowed to look like that. She’s the one who started it in the first place; Brittany, of all people, shouldn’t be surprised by Santana’s reactions.
The party is still going on around them, and Santana’s grateful to realize that they haven’t drawn much attention; she supposes the frequency of this occurrence over the years has significantly lessened interest.
But Sam is still watching them, eyes wide and interested, and it seems Artie has noticed as well.
“Awesome,” Santana hears him say from behind Brittany.
Brittany jerks away from Santana, looking over her shoulder at her boyfriend, before back to Santana, this look on her face that Santana can’t quite figure out. Smiling, Brittany moves away, stepping backwards until she’s at Artie, dropping down onto his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck.
Sam moves up next to her as Brittany and Artie roll away, Brittany sucking on Artie’s neck with lips that were on Santana’s moments before.
“Hot,” Sam says, breath warm against her cheek. He slings an arm around her shoulder, and she lets him, eying Quinn across the room briefly.
She leads him to the couch with a smile, and a wink, and spends the next hour making out with him there, trying desperately to forget Brittany. When she cries, she’s grateful to blame it on the mix of tequila and wine coolers in her stomach.
--
The party winds down considerably after that, drink starting to make everyone a little sleepy. Rachel and Blaine are still on stage, slurring karaoke songs and giggling over their new found chemistry, while Kurt glares at them from the side. Quinn is on the couch, leaned up against Mercedes and alternating her glare between Finn, Puck and Sam. Lauren is snoring next to her. Artie and Brittany are making out in a corner, just like they have been for the past forever, and Mike and Tina are nowhere to be found.
Sam has his head on the back of the couch, rolling it back and forth. He’s mumbling something in a weird mix of English and language Santana can’t exactly place. His eyelids are drooping, minutes from sleep and while Santana actually finds herself enjoying his company these days, she kind of wants to get out of here. Pissing off Quinn through frequent makeouts with all her love interests can be exhausting, and there’s only so much Brittany-Artie face sucking she can deal with in a night.
She gets up, knowing Sam’s about seconds from nodding off, and finds her way to Rachel’s bedroom, laughing when she sees it. Mostly because, it’s pretty much exactly the way she’d expect Rachel Berry’s room to look.
She’s not there to enjoy it for long though, because moments after she steps into the room, the door creaks open and another person joins her. For a second, her defenses shoot up, expecting Rachel to walk in, chastising her for snooping, but when she turns, she’s met with blonde hair, blue eyes, and the hottest set of abs Santana’s ever seen, still on display.
“Hi,” she greets, softly, running her eyes up Brittany’s legs, and licking her lips.
“Hey,” Brittany replies. She steps into the room, closing the door behind her. The click of the lock sliding into place makes Santana’s stomach flip over in anticipation.
Before she can take another breath, say another word, Brittany is in front of her, eyes a deep blue as they stare seriously down into Santana’s. They don’t say anything for a long while, both of them seeming to war with themselves.
There’s no denying that they both know why they’re here. Heat is rolling off of Brittany’s body, and Santana’s mouth goes dry at her nearness. They both know what’s going to happen, but something’s stopping each of them from doing it.
“It’s the alcohol,” Santana says, breaking the silence. “That’s all.”
Brittany’s expression softens a little bit, sadness creeping into the wrinkles around her eyes, and Santana’s heart clenches at the sight. “Okay,” Brittany says. “Okay.”
“You have a boyfriend,” she continues, her left hand gripping Brittany’s hip and tugging them in together. “I have a boyfriend.”
Brittany’s lips twitch up at that, but she doesn’t argue with her. “Just once,” Brittany whispers. “Just this one last time.”
Nodding rapidly, right palm sliding up the warm skin at Brittany’s back, Santana bites her tongue against disagreement. It should only happen once, but she can’t deny how dissatisfying that reality feels.
But, thankfully, they don’t talk anymore. Brittany puts her lips back on Santana’s, her fingers going to work on both of their clothes.
It takes them seconds to get naked and on Rachel’s bed, their movements muscle memory more than anything else. It’s not the first time they’ve ever done this, and despite Brittany’s insistence that it’s the last, Santana promises herself it won’t be. It can’t be. She can’t imagine having to go through the entirety of her existence and never knowing what this feels like again.
Brittany settles on top of her, leg sliding between Santana’s. Her palms are near Santana’s ears, holding Brittany up above her. Hands gripping Brittany’s hips, Santana pulls her down, arches up into her, and smirks a little at the way Brittany bites her lips, rocking back down.
It’s an intoxicating feeling to watch Brittany’s eyes flutter closed when Santana rolls them over, and tracks her hand downward. Her heart beats heavy in her chest, and she forgets about everything except what’s happening right now, in this bed. All she’s aware of is the way Brittany’s fingers dig into Santana’s back, the way her hips cant upwards, searching for friction, the way Brittany’s lips taste like tequila, and lime, and it only fuels Santana’s desire all the more.
Brittany falls apart with a soft cry, head arching back into the mattress beneath her. It doesn’t take much more, Santana presses down against Brittany’s thigh, embarrassingly close. She buries her head in Brittany’s neck, breathes in deeply, and bites her tongue on the I love you that nearly slips out.
It’s not what this is about. It can never be what this is about. This is about tequila, and orgasms, and a school full of guys that never quite live up to the way Brittany makes her feel.
Rolling off, and laughing a little, Santana sucks air back into her lungs and sits up, feels Brittany do the same. It doesn’t take them long to get their clothes back on, Brittany tugging the covers of Rachel’s bed back in order.
Santana reaches out and moves an errant lock of hair from Brittany’s forehead. “Too bad I can’t tell Rachel about this,” she jokes, pulling her hand away before it lingers too long. “She’d totally flip.”
Brittany smiles, her nose scrunching up a little, before looking down at her feet. “Yeah, probably.”
“Anyway,” Santana says, stepping away. She hates how awkward this part feels these days. Wants to hate Brittany for it, but ends up hating herself.
“I should probably go,” Brittany says, cocking her thumb towards the door.
“Right, yeah, I should too. I’m sure Sam is looking for me,” she replies, knowing it’s a lie.
“I told Artie I was going to the bathroom,” Brittany explains.
“Good thing he can’t get up here,” Santana jokes, trying to smile.
Brittany looks confused for a second, but she shakes her head, and manages a half smile in Santana’s direction. “I’ll see you tomorrow? At school?”
“Definitely.”
Brittany walks to the door, unlocks it, but pauses before pulling it open. “I don’t want to hurt Artie,” Brittany whispers, the words so soft that Santana almost misses them.
“I know you don’t,” Santana says, chuckling bitterly. “Like you said, it was just once. For old time’s sake. We’re drunk.”
With one last look over her shoulder, a sad smile on her face that cuts right through Santana, Brittany leaves, the door shutting behind her.
Instead of leaving and heading back to her unconscious boyfriend like she should, Santana walks back over to Rachel’s bed and lies down. Curling up a little, she feels her eyes well up, and she knows that this time, with the smell of Brittany still all around her, her tears have nothing to do with alcohol.
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: pg-13 for implied sexytimes and the underage enjoyment of all things worth living for alcohol.
Word Count: 2440
Summary: "It's the alcohol. That's all."
Spoilers: through 2.14
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Notes: I am so happy to have my babies back in my life, being gay for each other. This title is not really a title, I know. It's not my fault that this episode stole the title of my fic. GOSH.
She’s drunk. Like, about to fall over, possibly blow chunks on Rachel Berry’s gay furnishing, drunk.
Tip number one that she’s drunk? She seriously can’t stop crying. Tip number two? She’s caring way too much about the fact that Brittany’s drunk. Or, more accurately, that Brittany’s drunk, and all Santana can really do about at this moment is make out with Sam.
Not that that’s a bad thing. Sam’s actually a pretty good kisser. It’s a little jarring at first, to feel like your face is about to be eaten by his man-cave sized mouth, but it’s enjoyable enough. Plus, Quinn gets this look every time they break for air that makes Santana want to laugh.
Anyway, the point is that she’s drunk, and all she really wants to do right now is fall asleep. Unfortunately, she can’t fall asleep in the middle of the party like a loser, and that’s only making her want to sob into Sam’s shoulder some more. She wishes the slaphappy part of her drunkenness lasted longer - she’d probably be having more fun that way. She stares enviously at Tina and Mercedes, laughing together on the couch.
But at this point, she’s past the point of no return. So, she grabs the tequila bottle from where Mike is trying to hog it and takes a swig, glaring at him for hoarding liquor while she does it. He tries to glare back, but only ends up breaking out into hysterical laughter.
Hands settle on her waist, and she hates how she immediately notices that they’re too heavy to be the ones she wants them to be.
“Got some for me?” Sam says, in a voice she’s sure is supposed to be impersonating someone.
She rolls her eyes, but hands him the bottle. He picks up the salt shaker and lime wedge from the table, and wiggles his eyebrows up a down as he stares at her. But before he can sprinkle salt onto her neck, like she’s sure he’s planned, Brittany hits him in the side, knocking him over a few steps. For a second she thinks he might fall, but he manages to stay upright.
“My turn,” Brittany demands, this adorable pout on her lips that Santana’s trying not to stare at. It turns out to be easy, because tequila always made Brittany’s clothes fall off, and there are just a lot of things besides her lips for Santana to stare at.
Sam hands over the salt and lime to Santana, setting the tequila bottle back on the table wordlessly. Santana just shrugs at him, but the dejected look on his face kind of makes her feel bad. Tears well up in her eyes, and she nearly curses her own ridiculousness.
But then Brittany’s face is in front of hers, smiling lasciviously, and Santana’s tears disappear like that.
She glances again at Sam, to see realization spread over his face. A smile starts to form, before he puts his finger in the air and points between her and Brittany. “Yeah, I’m cool with that. Totally. You do your thang.”
Turning back to Brittany, Santana tries to play it cool, but Brittany’s giving her this look she hasn’t seen in months, and something warm shoots straight to her groin.
“Neck,” Brittany orders, reaching forward to brush Santana’s hair over her shoulder. Santana obeys, tilting her head to the side to expose her neck.
When Brittany pulls her tongue up the muscle in Santana’s neck, towards her ear, her eyes flutter a little bit, and her stomach tightens involuntarily. She doesn’t know why it’s affecting her so much, considering just moments ago her tongue was tracing the muscles of Brittany’s stomach, but the rush of breath across her skin, and the feeling of Brittany so close, is doing things to her body that makes her wish there weren’t so many watching eyes. Namely, Sam’s watching eyes.
Then, Brittany’s mouth is gone. She feels the sprinkle of salt hit her neck, and watches as Brittany bends over to pour herself a shot, standing back up and lifting it towards Santana, this smirk on her lips that Santana doesn’t think she’s ever seen before. Before Santana can say anything (like get this salt off me please), Brittany’s putting a lime wedge in Santana’s mouth, winking at her.
“Lick, shoot, suck,” Brittany whispers, smiling.
She nearly corrects her with a soft, “Lick, suck, sip,” but Brittany’s already closing in, her chest pressed up against Santana’s, and she forgets to breathe, much less how to speak.
It’s over in seconds, Brittany’s tongue back on her neck, cleaning away the salt. Santana can’t do much but watch Brittany shoot the tequila, before her face comes closer and her mouth is on Santana’s, sucking the lime wedge away.
She’s drunk. Beyond drunk really. That’s the only reason she can give for the next few moments.
Brittany’s barely thrown the used lime wedge in the shot glass and set it down, when Santana grabs for the thin black tie around her neck, pulling her closer and crushing their mouths together.
She feels Brittany’s body start in surprise, but her friend recovers, hands going to the back of Santana’s head to keep her closer. It’s familiar in a way that makes Santana’s heart ache.
It’s nothing she hasn’t done before. Nothing they haven’t done before. Santana can’t count the number of parties she’s been at that involved, at some point, her lips against Brittany’s. So, she’s not really worried about the kissing, as a concept that is.
What makes this different than the countless times she’s made out with Brittany at a party before, is how her only goal here, really, is to kiss Brittany. She’s not looking out the sides of her eyes to find Puck, she’s not reaching out to grab at Sam, she’s not concerned with how long is too long to keep kissing. She just doesn’t want to stop.
Brittany’s hands tangle in her hair, her tongue stroking into Santana’s mouth, and her knees feel weak - whether from alcohol or the feel of Brittany’s hips against hers, she’s not sure.
They break apart way before Santana actually wants to, but it’s probably for the better. Brittany’s staring at her with wide eyes, like she didn’t think that was going to happen, her breath short gasps of air. Santana thinks it’s stupid that Brittany’s allowed to look like that. She’s the one who started it in the first place; Brittany, of all people, shouldn’t be surprised by Santana’s reactions.
The party is still going on around them, and Santana’s grateful to realize that they haven’t drawn much attention; she supposes the frequency of this occurrence over the years has significantly lessened interest.
But Sam is still watching them, eyes wide and interested, and it seems Artie has noticed as well.
“Awesome,” Santana hears him say from behind Brittany.
Brittany jerks away from Santana, looking over her shoulder at her boyfriend, before back to Santana, this look on her face that Santana can’t quite figure out. Smiling, Brittany moves away, stepping backwards until she’s at Artie, dropping down onto his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck.
Sam moves up next to her as Brittany and Artie roll away, Brittany sucking on Artie’s neck with lips that were on Santana’s moments before.
“Hot,” Sam says, breath warm against her cheek. He slings an arm around her shoulder, and she lets him, eying Quinn across the room briefly.
She leads him to the couch with a smile, and a wink, and spends the next hour making out with him there, trying desperately to forget Brittany. When she cries, she’s grateful to blame it on the mix of tequila and wine coolers in her stomach.
--
The party winds down considerably after that, drink starting to make everyone a little sleepy. Rachel and Blaine are still on stage, slurring karaoke songs and giggling over their new found chemistry, while Kurt glares at them from the side. Quinn is on the couch, leaned up against Mercedes and alternating her glare between Finn, Puck and Sam. Lauren is snoring next to her. Artie and Brittany are making out in a corner, just like they have been for the past forever, and Mike and Tina are nowhere to be found.
Sam has his head on the back of the couch, rolling it back and forth. He’s mumbling something in a weird mix of English and language Santana can’t exactly place. His eyelids are drooping, minutes from sleep and while Santana actually finds herself enjoying his company these days, she kind of wants to get out of here. Pissing off Quinn through frequent makeouts with all her love interests can be exhausting, and there’s only so much Brittany-Artie face sucking she can deal with in a night.
She gets up, knowing Sam’s about seconds from nodding off, and finds her way to Rachel’s bedroom, laughing when she sees it. Mostly because, it’s pretty much exactly the way she’d expect Rachel Berry’s room to look.
She’s not there to enjoy it for long though, because moments after she steps into the room, the door creaks open and another person joins her. For a second, her defenses shoot up, expecting Rachel to walk in, chastising her for snooping, but when she turns, she’s met with blonde hair, blue eyes, and the hottest set of abs Santana’s ever seen, still on display.
“Hi,” she greets, softly, running her eyes up Brittany’s legs, and licking her lips.
“Hey,” Brittany replies. She steps into the room, closing the door behind her. The click of the lock sliding into place makes Santana’s stomach flip over in anticipation.
Before she can take another breath, say another word, Brittany is in front of her, eyes a deep blue as they stare seriously down into Santana’s. They don’t say anything for a long while, both of them seeming to war with themselves.
There’s no denying that they both know why they’re here. Heat is rolling off of Brittany’s body, and Santana’s mouth goes dry at her nearness. They both know what’s going to happen, but something’s stopping each of them from doing it.
“It’s the alcohol,” Santana says, breaking the silence. “That’s all.”
Brittany’s expression softens a little bit, sadness creeping into the wrinkles around her eyes, and Santana’s heart clenches at the sight. “Okay,” Brittany says. “Okay.”
“You have a boyfriend,” she continues, her left hand gripping Brittany’s hip and tugging them in together. “I have a boyfriend.”
Brittany’s lips twitch up at that, but she doesn’t argue with her. “Just once,” Brittany whispers. “Just this one last time.”
Nodding rapidly, right palm sliding up the warm skin at Brittany’s back, Santana bites her tongue against disagreement. It should only happen once, but she can’t deny how dissatisfying that reality feels.
But, thankfully, they don’t talk anymore. Brittany puts her lips back on Santana’s, her fingers going to work on both of their clothes.
It takes them seconds to get naked and on Rachel’s bed, their movements muscle memory more than anything else. It’s not the first time they’ve ever done this, and despite Brittany’s insistence that it’s the last, Santana promises herself it won’t be. It can’t be. She can’t imagine having to go through the entirety of her existence and never knowing what this feels like again.
Brittany settles on top of her, leg sliding between Santana’s. Her palms are near Santana’s ears, holding Brittany up above her. Hands gripping Brittany’s hips, Santana pulls her down, arches up into her, and smirks a little at the way Brittany bites her lips, rocking back down.
It’s an intoxicating feeling to watch Brittany’s eyes flutter closed when Santana rolls them over, and tracks her hand downward. Her heart beats heavy in her chest, and she forgets about everything except what’s happening right now, in this bed. All she’s aware of is the way Brittany’s fingers dig into Santana’s back, the way her hips cant upwards, searching for friction, the way Brittany’s lips taste like tequila, and lime, and it only fuels Santana’s desire all the more.
Brittany falls apart with a soft cry, head arching back into the mattress beneath her. It doesn’t take much more, Santana presses down against Brittany’s thigh, embarrassingly close. She buries her head in Brittany’s neck, breathes in deeply, and bites her tongue on the I love you that nearly slips out.
It’s not what this is about. It can never be what this is about. This is about tequila, and orgasms, and a school full of guys that never quite live up to the way Brittany makes her feel.
Rolling off, and laughing a little, Santana sucks air back into her lungs and sits up, feels Brittany do the same. It doesn’t take them long to get their clothes back on, Brittany tugging the covers of Rachel’s bed back in order.
Santana reaches out and moves an errant lock of hair from Brittany’s forehead. “Too bad I can’t tell Rachel about this,” she jokes, pulling her hand away before it lingers too long. “She’d totally flip.”
Brittany smiles, her nose scrunching up a little, before looking down at her feet. “Yeah, probably.”
“Anyway,” Santana says, stepping away. She hates how awkward this part feels these days. Wants to hate Brittany for it, but ends up hating herself.
“I should probably go,” Brittany says, cocking her thumb towards the door.
“Right, yeah, I should too. I’m sure Sam is looking for me,” she replies, knowing it’s a lie.
“I told Artie I was going to the bathroom,” Brittany explains.
“Good thing he can’t get up here,” Santana jokes, trying to smile.
Brittany looks confused for a second, but she shakes her head, and manages a half smile in Santana’s direction. “I’ll see you tomorrow? At school?”
“Definitely.”
Brittany walks to the door, unlocks it, but pauses before pulling it open. “I don’t want to hurt Artie,” Brittany whispers, the words so soft that Santana almost misses them.
“I know you don’t,” Santana says, chuckling bitterly. “Like you said, it was just once. For old time’s sake. We’re drunk.”
With one last look over her shoulder, a sad smile on her face that cuts right through Santana, Brittany leaves, the door shutting behind her.
Instead of leaving and heading back to her unconscious boyfriend like she should, Santana walks back over to Rachel’s bed and lies down. Curling up a little, she feels her eyes well up, and she knows that this time, with the smell of Brittany still all around her, her tears have nothing to do with alcohol.