santana.

“Real quick of you, Anderson-of-a-bitch. I guess you have no way of knowing. Life sucks like that, have you not realized that by now? Again, real QUICK of you. No need to ask why. The only think you need to know is I’m gonna be out of here for a while. I’d like it if I had a friend around while I’m crashing at crappy motels, but frankly — I don’t trust you. Since you’ve moved in it’s all a big Kurt && Blaine pride parade. You do realize we haven’t hung out solo in weeks, if not over a month now, right? No, course you don’t. You’re to busy tending to the needs of tickle-me-elf-boy. I’m sick of it. So don’t bother, okay?”

“I’m sorry.  What did you just call me?  Really, Santana?  Really?  You don’t have to go. Please?  Don’t go holing yourself up in shady hotels.  This isn’t Lima.  Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?  I know you think you’re a total badass and you are but–stay here. Where its safe and clean.  Because God knows what you’re going to encounter in a roach motel in this town.  Hold on.  You don’t trust me?  Because of Kurt and I being–well–us?  I know we’ve been around each other a lot and I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize I was hurting you. Can we go out? Get dinner.  A drink or two?”  Or six considering how this conversation was going?  He might need that many.  “Talk this over?  Will you give me that chance?”