santana.

If only he could see his mess of a hairdo. As much as she wanted to fire off a few quick one liners regarding the undone masterpiece, the situation didn’t call for it. There was no reason other than her own fear of commitment && connection that would lead her to say something cruel. As tempting as it was to self destruct, it seemed Blaine calmed her nerves enough to push those thoughts aside. The option was there, she could lean towards her dark side and snap any moment. Just not yet. Right now she was sticking to the part of her that always got what she wanted. The part that excused the things that scared her most, letting the future rest unbalanced so she could have the present.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Blaine, or feeling close to people. It was just overwhelming when people looked out for her. Santana had seen too many people fall from greatness, too many hearts breaking from the hands of those whom they trusted. So to have love on her side, was what scared her the most. The bitch of their group prided herself in being independent, not giving a shit, always being on the heart breaker side to avoid being heart broken. A few times she’d slip, and her wicked ways would settle just long enough for her to share a moment of intimacy. A moment that showed the wicked witch had a heart. Deep brown hues flickered open to see her friend, so dangerously close by her own design. His question caught her off guard, striking a small panic to stir in her half asleep brain. Thankfully for the both of them, she was just comfortable && happy enough to let it slide. && She felt able to breathe again. “I don’t need to talk, wonder boy. Unless it’s about your full on muppet on meth hair.” She grinned at her joke, but curled her fingers over his chest to show some sort of care. Even if it came from that dark place, she didn’t mean to hurt him. She had to make sure he knew that.

Long fingers dared to card themselves into the dark strands of hair his nose previously was enjoying having a field day burying itself into.  He waited–wondering if she was okay or if she needed to let something off her chest.  Either way?  They weren’t moving from this couch come hell or high water. Why? Because he was comfortable and this felt too good to give up yet.  A break from all the head throbbing inducing studying was more than welcome and he planned on enjoying every second away from books and notes that he indulged himself in.  Plus?  He did have great company in that pause of work, work, work.  So long as she was okay?  Blaine was okay.  If she wasn’t?  Making sure she was wouldn’t be too much trouble.  Truthfully, it’d be no trouble at all.  “Okay, okay.  Just thought I’d ask.  Did you seriously just call me wonder boy. Cute, Santana. Real cute,” he kept his voice at a whisper because the quiet was nice and calm and perfect.

“I’ll let the muppet on meth hair comment slide just this once.  Because I know–coming from you–that’s the best sort of compliment I can hope for.  It probably does look like a wicked mess. I’d fix it but that requires moving and we already established that isn’t going to happen.” Humming at her fingers on his chest–Blaine gave her scalp a stroke of fingertips and piano key worn nails before untangling his fingers and covering the back of her hand.  “You know?  For swearing that you’re no good at any of this stuff?  You’re a pretty amazing cuddler.  You should give yourself more credit where it’s deserved.  Comfy enough for you?  I think I passed out on top of a blanket stuffed between me and the crease of the couch.  If you want?  I might be swayed into letting you try to get it out.”  Maybe.  Maybe he’d move.  Chances were about fifty-fifty currently.