Broken Sinks & Bountiful Baking

*0*0*

It's All About the Roommate

*0*0*

Sitting in a café two blocks from her apartment, stirring her coffee anti-clockwise, Santana Lopez's patience was wearing thin. She was meant to meet Kurt there twenty minutes ago, but his prissy ass had yet to show up. The man had been out of town for the last two months, exploring all L.A. had to offer before running home with his tale in between his legs, or at least, that's how Santana liked to think of it. Kurt, himself, had an entirely different view of what went down.

Regardless, he was late, and she was bored. If he was going to be late, she could have just hung out at her apartment, caught up on the latest reality TV show and eaten junk food. But then again, on second thought, maybe not. Maybe he was doing her a favour by keeping her out the house longer.

Finally, Santana caught eye of Kurt prancing in. He looked round for her, earning a nod in his direction, before going to get served. Minutes later, he was planting himself down in the seat opposite, placing his coffee mug and cake down. It was chocolate gateau, rich with chocolate icing, and Santa's lip curled in distaste, her eyes slinking away to focus on something else.

"Look, I'm sorry I'm late, but don't give me that face. I sent you a message, it's not my fault if you hadn't picked it up," Kurt said, picking up his fork to tuck in. The mild distraction he offered was good enough for Santana to drop her lip, and check if he was telling the truth or not. He was, to her disappointment.

"So, tell me how have things been? I really don't want to talk about L.A. It happened, it's over now. I'm not going to discuss it any more than I have to." Taking a bite, Kurt moaned and sunk in his chair. "Oh my God, Santana, you have to try this. Here, have a bit-" He grabbed her spoon and cut a bit off, holding it out for her to eat, only to have it batted out of his hand.

"Absolutely not. Get it away from me, get it away from me now, Hummel, before I vomit all over your Dolce & Gabbana shoes." Santana was repulsed, ignoring the other patrons who had turned to see what caused the clatter, and pushed her chair backwards from the table.

"Geez, what is up with you? It's just cake." Kurt couldn't understand where the hell that reaction had come from. Satan never used to be that grouchy. How much had changed since he'd been away?

"No. It's never just cake. It is never just cake. Remove it. Remove it from the area," Santana demanded, waving her hand at him to do as she said. She couldn't have it there. It was too much. It needed to go. Just looking at it made her nauseous.

"Christ, Santana, I can't eat any faster." Kurt rolled his eyes at her dramatics but did as she asked, trying to eat as much of it as possible. He hadn't come all the way over for her to just walk out on him.

"Shove all of it in your mouth. God only knows you've had bigger things in there. Faster, faster, before I hurl," Santana continued to bark.

Only once Kurt's plate lay empty did she pull her chair back in and pick up her coffee for a drink. She no longer had to have an available exit in case her stomach decided to expel its contents.

"Do you want to explain why I just had to scoff my cake down? I wanted to enjoy it." Kurt was practically pouting, an unhappy frown marring his face, but it was definitely not enough to make Santana feel guilty.

"That word is banned. Don't ever use it again. It's banned from now on. Next time you use it, if I don't hurl up all over you, I will beat you so hard you'll wish I had." The threat was not empty, as Kurt noted seeing the seriousness in her eyes. What the hell was going on? What was the big deal?

"You're really freaking me out," he said, shaking his head. He wouldn't dare admit to being worried about her.

"Your choice of food is making me sick. We're even," Santana replied, unfazed by his whining.

Kurt huffed back in his chair at her response and awaited some kind of explanation. It was like trying to get blood from a stone. She seemed reluctant to talk about it, which just piqued his curiosity further, and he knew there was a story to be told.

"So what's the big deal about the C-A-K-E?" he finally asked, knowing Santana would never fill in the details if he didn't.

"My new roommate," she grumbled, her lip curling at the mere thought. "She won't stop baking them for me."

"How is this a bad thing?" Kurt couldn't find any fault with that, and actually wished his roommate would do more things like that.

"Because cake in moderation is great, cake all the time is fucking horrific." Apparently that was all he was going to get, so Kurt tried again.

"Okay, not really painting the picture I'm looking for. Fill me in a little more please. You've either forgotten or don't care that I've been in L.A. and therefore have no clue what's been going on with you."

"She's been with me for about a month and a half and in that time I've had seven cakes. Seven. She didn't even bake the first one until after her third week! Seven, Hummel, seven!" That had awoken the beast, and Kurt raised his eyebrows at the outburst.

"Alright, I get it, seven cakes. Why is she baking so much? How did this even start?"

"She broke the sink-" Santana began.

"How did she break the sink?" he asked, interrupting her.

"Shit if I know. She said something about dancing, acrobatics and there not being enough room in her bedroom. Whatever. She broke the sink." It made no sense when explained to Santana so she wasn't going to even try explaining it to Kurt.

"How does one break a sink?" he pondered, taking a sip of his coffee. "Surely that's quite difficult. I mean, how was it broken?"

"She took the tap right off, and the sink itself broke in half. Literally haven't got a fucking clue how she did it, but my $800 sink was trashed." That was such a sad day.

"Oh my God, you paid $800 for a sink?!" Kurt gasped, appalled by such frivolous spending.

"Oh my God, you paid $400 for that shirt?" Santana gasped back mockingly, pointing at said catastrophe on show. Turning up his nose at how loud her question had been, attracting several onlookers, he glanced at his shirt and then conceded.

"Point taken."

"Thank you." Santana grinned triumphantly as she sipped her coffee. "Anyway, she trashed the sink, almost flooded the apartment, it was a big mess. I get home to my kitchen in a fucking state, the plumber had been, the sink was still there though, and on the counter was a note and this cake. Written across the cake in green icing, it said 'I'm sorry I destroyed your kitchen'. The note went into more detail."

"She was hiding from you, is that why she left you a note?" Amusement danced across Kurt's lips and Santana wanted to throw her coffee over him. Not everyone was afraid of her, jackass.

"No," she grounded out, considering again to drench him in her drink. Sadly, it would probably improve his hideous shirt and she'd be out of a coffee. "She works late. She's on some stage performance thing, no clue, I don't listen. So, I ate her fucking cake, ordered a replacement sink, and left it at that."

"And obviously there were more cakes to come."

"Hell yeah. About three days later, I got another cake and note. This time, she was apologising for coming in wasted off her ass and destroying the lamp in the living room." That was an even worse day. Santana fucking loved that lamp. It was sorely missed.

"What lamp?" Kurt was frowning at trying to think of the last time he'd been in Santana's apartment.

"The 'gaudy' one I hide every time your ass comes over."

"I thought Brittany took that with her!" Kurt exclaimed, slapping his hands on the table.

"No, I kept it. Well, before what's her face trashed it." Just thinking about it had Santana pouting. That lamp had been with her throughout college, through Brittany, and even through her lonely months. It was a constant feature in her life, and now it was lying in some landfill in pieces.

"She's already gone up in my estimation," Kurt declared, grinning proudly.

"Shut up, I liked the lamp. My apartment, my choice, my lamp." Narrowing her eyes, she sunk back in her chair and pursed her lips. Maybe she could replace it with something similar.

"It was hideous. She did you a favour."

"I actually think she broke it on purpose, but I can't prove it," she muttered, wondering just how said lamp had been shattered into a million pieces. It was almost like her roommate had picked it up and lobbed it at the wall.

"She sounds crazy. Are you sure it's safe to live there?"

"Oh yeah, definitely. She's a complete psycho, but not the serial killer type." Well, at least Santana hoped she wasn't. The girl didn't send out that vibe, but it can be hard to tell.

"Yeah, you haven't filled me with much confidence here, and as much as I am pained to admit it, you dying because your roommate is a looney tune would suck."

"Aww thanks!" Santana was actually surprised by his kind words, and he gained a few points for that. Sadly, his next words ruined it.

"I don't get paid until the end of the month and right now my budget does not include a funeral appropriate outfit. It would be completely inconvenient."

"Lovely," she replied dryly, ignoring Kurt's serious tone.

"So that's one for the sink, one for the lamp, what else did she break?" he asked after a drink of his coffee.

"She hasn't broken anything else, touch wood," Santana said, patting the table. "She baked me one for the one month anniversary of us living together." Kurt raised his eyebrows at that in his classic 'are you serious?' look. "I know. Then she baked me one for doing her laundry."

"You did her laundry?" Satan was actually helping out other people, what had the world come to?

"Totally was accidental. I saw clothes in the hamper, did it on a whim, didn't even realise they were hers." Shrugging, she tried to brush it off as nothing, but yeah, that wasn't likely to happen. Despite it being an accident, it was too 'nice' an action for someone like her.

"And after the laundry?"

"She baked me one for ordering her vegan take out when I was getting mine."

"She's vegan? You're eating vegan cake?" Shooting Kurt a disgusted look, Santana shook her head and scoffed.

"No. She makes it with eggs and shit, so she can't even eat the damn things." It made absolutely no sense to her why the girl didn't just make ones they could both eat, or why she had to bake in the first place.

"Are they any good?" That would be the deciding factor, Kurt thought. If his roommate was making crappy cakes and he was expected to eat them, then it would never last.

"Oh hell yeah. They're fucking awesome. Like food orgasms, but I've had about 7 cakes in the month and I can't, I just can't have anymore." No matter how good they were, the sickly sweet taste wasn't so orgasmic after the fifth one, and after the seventh, Santana's stomach was completely protesting.

"Have you told her this?"

"Pft. No." Why the hell would she tell the girl?

"Why not?"

"I don't wanna-" Santana cut her sentence short and shrugged. She really didn't want to explain to Kurt Hummel, of all people, why she didn't want to tell her psycho roommate to stop baking.

"You don't want to what?" Kurt was so not done with that sentence, even if Santana wanted to pretend she had never started it. He was looking at her like he smelt blood in the water and it was useless to fight, so she sighed and gave in.

"I don't want to hurt her feelings," she mumbled. "She's actually a pretty good roommate, minus the sink and the lamp, and all the damn cakes. But she is, she's a good roommate, and I'm worried that if I tell her then she'll want to move out or something." Santana didn't worry about nobody, but yeah, the fact her roommate wasn't a psycho and could pay her rent on time ever month meant she cared, kinda.

"Let me get this straight, she destroyed your $800 sink, almost flooded the kitchen that same day, smashed that gaudy lamp you loved so much, possibly on purpose, and seems to be on a mission to give you diabetes before your thirty, yet she's still a good roommate?" This was completely baffling to Kurt, and he was convinced something fishy had gone down while he was out of town.

"Shit, when you say it like that, it doesn't sound great, but yeah. She is. She is a good roommate." She didn't know why she was trying to justify the situation, but she still found herself doing just that.

"How?" If Santana was screwing her, that would make perfect sense, but so far Kurt had heard no hints towards such a relationship taking place between the two of them.

Taking a sip of her coffee, Santana shrugged and began to ramble out all the good things about her roommate.

"She leaves me extras in the fridge when she knows I'm working late, and tacks a note on the fridge door so I know they're there." The first time that happened, it had been such a shock Santana didn't know how to say thank you the next day.

"She is also ridiculously tidy, and sees no problem with tidying my shit up, too. She doesn't bother me when I'm chilling out. If I'm sitting in the lounge playing Xbox and drinking beer, she'll sit down with me, crack open one herself and read a book or whatever. She doesn't care, and if there is something on she wants to watch while I'm playing, she'll politely ask me to record it when I get to the next save point. If I can't do that, then it's no big deal. No big deal, Kurt. And it's not, she missed some movie she wanted to watch because I forgot to record the damn thing and she just smiled at me and said she'd catch it another time."

"Did you bake her a cake for forgetting to do that?" That would be the polite thing to do.

"What? No. Of course not." Santana didn't bake, and she wasn't going to start just because of her roommate. The cakes were her idea, not Santana's. It was not a quid pro quo system.

"Did you at least make it up to her?"

"Well, yeah, I felt guilty. She was excited about it and I fucked up. I needed to fix it." Even though her roommate had been so relaxed about it, her conscience told her to make it up to the girl somehow.

"What did you do?" Kurt was ready and waiting with his judgement, she just knew.

"I went out and bought the damn movie for her." It had been a bugger to find, and she'd wanted to order it but that would have taken days, so she took to the shops instead.

"Awww!" Okay, so that was actually nice of Satan, and Kurt couldn't help but smile at her. Who knew she had it in her?

"Stop it. I just didn't want her slitting my throat in my sleep or something," Santana groaned, rolling her eyes at him.

"I thought you said she wasn't the serial killer type?"

"She's not. She's vegan. She can't even stand the idea of someone cracking an egg let alone taking a knife to my throat. She looks at me like I've murdered someone every time I make scrambled eggs. Totally kills my mood for greasy breakfast food. How she's even baking me these damn cakes is beyond me." It was a mystery, but one Santana didn't want to find out.

Kurt watched as Santana frowned in thought and knew there was something different about this roommate. The true test would be whether she made the cut. After Santana's last roommate, a fiery redhead who Santana was convinced was stealing from her, a new system had been put in place. Any subsequent roommate would get a trial period of three months. It was enough time for Santana to get the feel of them properly, and short enough that if they were a train wreck she wouldn't have to endure them for too long.

"So are you thinking she'll make the cut? It's already been two months, right?"

"Two months, yeah." Two very interesting months.

"And?" Her answer either meant he was going to have to start paying attention next time she mentioned the roommate, or if he was going to put this in his memory as 'another crazy Santana lived with'.

"And yeah, she'll make the cut, if she wants to stay that is. I mean, she might flip her lid or something after I ask her to stop baking cakes. She might not stay." It was a possibility, one Santana didn't like.

"You want her to, though." That much was clear from how she spoke about the girl.

"Yeah, she's easy." Kurt smirked and chuckled under his breath, causing Santana to shoot him a glare in aggravation. "Not like that you asshole. I haven't slept with her." So that ruled that out, Kurt thought, surprised Santana hadn't made a move.

"You've thought about it though."

"Obviously." Of course she had, her roommate was attractive, and they lived with each other. Such close proximity every day meant there was bound to be some lascivious thoughts now and then.

"When do I get to meet her?" Kurt asked, deciding enough was enough. Whether Santana knew it or not, this girl was going to be sticking around for a lot longer than she maybe anticipated and he definitely wanted to get to know her.

"Shit, really?" Santana really hadn't expected Kurt to be interested. He wasn't bothered by the last roommate, so why was this one any different?

"Yes, really. I need to meet the woman who finally was able to rid you of that hideous lamp. I should buy her a gift in thanks."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny."

"No, seriously, when do I get to meet her?"

"Eh…I don't know. She's pretty private. I don't want to make her uncomfortable or anything, so maybe in a few weeks or something." Kurt's eyes widened in surprise at having to wait so long and he went to protest but she shut him down. "Don't give me that look, she is. She's a private person. The apartment is like her sanctuary or something. I don't ask."

"Who are you and what have you done with Santana Lopez?" That was it, the person before him was not Santana Lopez. He was sitting with an imposter. She'd been abducted while he was in L.A.

"What do you mean?" Santana was frowning in confusion, wondering what the hell he was on about.

"Since when did you ever care about someone's privacy?"

"What? She a good roommate. I don't want to jeopardize anything." And she didn't. She kinda liked the girl there, and it meant her mortgage payment was paid in full each month, so why would she want to cock that up?

Her roommate was doing her a huge favour by living with her, whether the girl knew it or not. Santana had initially bought her apartment with Brittany, when the two of them were still going strong and thinking about starting a life together. It hadn't lasted, and when Brittany was offered a job in L.A. she just couldn't turn down, Santana was left paying everything herself.

It would be worth it in the end, when it was hers completely, but until then she needed to rely on someone else to help out. It was actually Kurt who had suggested she get a roommate when her pay check wasn't going to cover the payment needed, and it had taken her a while to warm up with the idea. Once the mortgage had eaten into her savings, though, she didn't have an option.

Finding a suitable roommate was hard, especially when she was asking for so much. Given her age, it also felt a little peculiar. Most of her friends were settling down, getting married and having kids, not seeking roommates. But low and behold, after two disasters before her, Rachel Barbra Berry walked into her life needing a place to stay.

It took them a while to work out the kinks, learn each other's behaviour and routines, but they had it down perfectly now. Of course, there were still teething problems, like the goddamn cakes, but those could be overlooked. The rent made up for that, to some extent.

"You need to tell her about the cakes, it'll only get worse otherwise."

"I know, I know. How the hell do you tell someone that though? She's being nice, which is weird in itself, but if I tell her to stop I come over as the asshole."

"When really she's the asshole for baking them?" Kurt was confused, this wasn't making sense. Santana normally had no problem with teling people what she thought about someone or something, so what was the issue now?

"No. No, she's not an asshole. She's sweet, fucking crazy, but sweet."

"I really need to meet this girl."

"You will, eventually." Santana was dreading that meeting. The longer she could prolong it, the better it would be.

"I better, or who knows? I might just pop over one night with a bottle of wine and introduce myself." That earned Kurt a filthy glare and he sunk back in his chair. Turned out Satan still had it.

"You do that and I will email that porno you and Blaine shot to Sebastian. God only knows he'd love to see it."

"So, I'll just wait for an invite then."

"Yeah, I think so." Santana smiled sweetly at him, pleased that she could still scare the shit out of people.

After finishing up their coffee, and with plans to meet same time next week, Kurt suggested a little window shopping. Somehow Santana ended up being dragged along, but she really couldn't complain too much. It was either that or sit at home by herself. She'd take the lesser of the two evils, even if it meant Kurt's questionable fashion advice being harped in her ear for three hours straight.

*0*0*

One week later, it was Santana who burst in through the café door late. Kurt had been waiting for fifteen minutes, and after three texts, each one spliced with rambling Spanish curses, he knew it was better to wait than to leave. After all, there was a story to be told, and it sounded like a good one.

Grabbing her coffee, Santana strode over to Kurt's table in the back and took a seat. She was so wound up from her morning she felt like there was steam coming out her ears. She just couldn't wrap her head around what the hell was happening.

Kurt sat patiently and waited, it was only going to be a matter of time before she exploded and revealed all. So, taking a tentative sip of his coffee, he rose his eyebrow in question and Santana sighed and shook her head roughly.

"You'll never believe what she's gone and done." Of course, she being the roommate, who else? It seemed that was all Santana had to talk about lately, and if he wasn't interested before, he certainly was now. He'd never seen her so worked up over a girl since college.

"What did she do?" He was not going to guess. It really could have been anything. "Though, before you answer, can you just explain how you're still living with her? I thought she was a good roommate, yet you bitch about her like she's the devil."

"No, she's not that bad. She's just fucking crazy," Santana replied, knowing her roommate really wasn't that bad, despite her whining.

"Explain." Rolling her eyes at his demand, Santana sunk back in her chair and counted to ten before even attempting to start.

"I told her about the cakes, right? I said that they were too much for me and I couldn't eat them anymore. So she smiles and says it's totally fine, and she was completely calm about the whole thing-"

"And then you caught her standing over your bed while you were sleeping?" Kurt suggested, cutting in.

"What? No. Of course not. No." Shaking her head, Santana dismissed that thought and moved on. "She's not that fucking crazy. Anyway, I wake up this morning to these." Reaching into her bag, Santana pulled out a small metal tin and shoved it at Kurt. He accepted it grudgingly, just knowing he was going to bruise from her violence.

"What are these?" he asked, opening up the tin.

"They're 'I'm sorry' cookies," Santana replied, her words tasting like gravel in her mouth. She could hardly believe the ridiculousness of the situation. It was almost too much to handle.

"I'm sorry cookies?"

"Yep." Santana pursed her lips and shook her head at her roommates audacity and cheek.

"She made you 'I'm sorry' cookies?" Kurt asked again.

"Yep." It really wasn't fucking rocket science, he should have got it by now.

"What is she apologising for?" For all Kurt knew, the girl could have trashed another one of Santana's beloved, but hideous, belongings.

"The cakes," Santana spat, that word like poison to her lips. Kurt tried to hide his smile behind his coffee cup but was failing miserably, and he knew he had been caught from the glare he was receiving.

"It is not funny, you jackass. She's totally taking the piss! And this isn't even the tip of the iceberg," Santana cried, waving her hand at the tin before him.

"Oh?" He knew as soon as he'd asked he shouldn't have. Santana's eyes lit up with pent up energy, and she fired out her rant in one.

"Yeah! My worktops are covered in muffins, cookies, gingerbread men, and pastries. It's like a fucking bakery up in there! I don't even know how the fuck she's doing it. She gets in after midnight, and I know she's not baked anything in the day, and then I wake up to fricking éclairs on the counter top and muffins by the coffeepot. I mean, does she have an army of elves or gnomes slaving over the oven every night? What is happening in my apartment? Did she open up shop somewhere? Really, who the fuck is she, Betty fucking Crocker?!"

"Okay, calm down for a minute. Take a breath." As amused as he was, Santana's spiel was attracting curious eyes, and he didn't want them getting chucked out.

"She can't even eat half of it," Santana whined, shaking her head. "Why, Kurt, why is she doing this to me? Am I not a good roommate?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Their brief stint as roommates had been painful, and he was still scarred. The girl needed to learn to put on more clothes. Not everyone wanted to see so much skin.

"Shut up," Santana grumbled, sulking over her coffee. She was exhausted, the muscles in her neck beginning to ache and the start of a headache coming on. She really just wanted to go home and sleep, but if she did she'd be faced with what's her faces bake sale in the front room, and she was not ready to deal with that.

"Is she still going to make the cut?" Kurt asked, breaking the silence.

"I don't know anymore. Can I live like this? I honestly think she's punishing me, but I don't know what I've done. Do you think she knows I was stealing her shampoo, could that be it?"

The girl before his eyes was pathetic, and it was almost frightening to see. Whoever this roommate was, she had some special power to be able to reduce Santana to a whining mess without alcohol involved.

"I honestly don't have a clue, but you should talk to her."

"Why? If I do she'll probably end up baking me something extravagant in apology." Shuddering at the thought, Santana bit back the urge to vomit all over the floor.

"Maybe ask her not to."

"You try saying no to those eyes and that pout."

Yeah, Santana Lopez was in way over her head, and she didn't even know it. Smiling to himself, Kurt was excited to see how this would pan out. Either she'd lose her rag and verbally crucify the girl, or she'd whine and cry and beg her to stop. Both would be amusing to see.

"These cookies are actually really good. Can I keep them?"

"No, get your own damn cookies." Snatching back the tin, Santana grabbed one form the top and took a bite. Despite how sickly she felt, she just couldn't stop. She was doomed.

*0*0*

Thursday night came round, and Santana was alone in her apartment. Sitting in the living room with some crappy cop show on for background noise, she was huddled over her laptop working. She had a lot of shit to get done, and not enough time to do it. However, she was out of beer and she only did her best work at home three beers in so that had to be rectified.

Getting up off the couch, she briefly wondered if her colleagues, and students, knew she did her best marking after getting liquored up. Those old bastards in her department were probably doing the same, and from what she'd read so far, some of her students had to be stoned while writing these papers. Therefore, it was only fair she joined the party.

Opening the fridge, she noticed her roommate's leftovers and inspected them quickly. If there was anything worth eating, she could maybe sneak some and replace it later. Thankfully, there was a Tupperware box one shelf down with a post-it note attached, which had her name on it. God, she fucking loved her roommate sometimes. The woman wasn't even around and yet she fed her. What kind of heaven was this?

If only there was sex involved in this semi-agreement, then she'd have met her perfect woman. And nope, she wasn't even going to think about that revelation. Not touching that topic with a ten foot pole.

With the food in hand and beer in the other, Santana began to make her way back to the living room when the phone started ringing. No way was she answering it. The machine could pick it up. She screened her calls for a reason; most weren't for her, and it was weird talking to your roommate's father when she wasn't around. It was even creepier when he called back the next day and sounded totally different. What was up with that?

Taking a seat, she began flicking the channels when the recorded message started, and after the beep a cheery and chirpy voice rang through the apartment.

"Hey Rach! It's Avery, I'm calling about tomorrow night's get together. Turns out, I will be able to make it, and I'm really looking forward to seeing the new place. I think Gabby and Claire are also coming with me. Anyway, call me back and let me know you've got this. See you then! Bye!" The answering machine beeped once before going silent, and Santana sat frozen.

Holy shit, she'd forgotten.

Scrambling for the phone, she dialled Kurt's number as fast as she could. He couldn't have plans on a Friday night, he just couldn't. He needed to be there for her. He was a total spaz when it came to socialising anyway, and if he ever wanted to meet her roommate he'd cancel whatever lame plans he had and be there for her in her time of need. Damn right.

"Hello, Anderson and Hummel residence, how can I help you?" Blaine answered, sounding far too pleasant for her mood right now.

"Ugh, fucking hell, Warbler, learn to answer the phone like a normal person. Put Kurt on." She had no time for pleasantries, not that she'd waste them on Blaine anyway.

"Evening to you, too, Santana."

"Whatever, just get Kurt." Seriously, could the man not tell she was in a hurry? She needed to know if Kurt had plans because if he did she was going to have to get desperate and start calling her other friends, the non-existent ones.

Listening for Kurt, Santana heard Blaine walk through their apartment, opening and closing doors, and passing a blaring TV on the way. Sounded like they had been watching the same crappy cop show she'd been watching. Good to know she was right, the ex-boyfriend did it. Didn't they always?

"The devil's on the phone," Blaine called, and Santana frowned.

"The devil? Oh!" She could hear the confusion in Kurt's voice, and then his laughter as he realised who Blaine meant. Bitches obviously didn't think she could hear them. They'd totally pay for that later. "Hey Santana, how's it going?"

"It's going fucking grand," she replied dryly.

"What's the roommate done now?" Kurt asked exasperatedly. Pft. What was he complaining about? Since he's been back he's fucking loved hearing about her crazy roommate's antics.

"She actually hasn't done anything." Really, Santana couldn't blame the girl for having an active social life and actual friends.

"So why the call?" He sounded suspicious, and she would have been, too.

"You wanted to meet her, right? Well, now you can." Her voice was a little too fake, but that didn't seem to matter.

"Really?" Kurt sounded far too excited about this. Maybe she should hang up now and forget all about it. God only knows he'd embarrass her somehow.

"Eh…yeah." She'd committed, there was nothing she could do. She could not back out. "We're having this thing on Friday night. She has the night off for some reason. Something about her understudy's grandmother coming in or whatever and yeah, I tuned her out after that. She has the night off, she's never met my friends, I've not met hers. We're having a thing."

"Next Friday?"

"No, this Friday."

"Oh good Lord. What, was I not invited or something? Is that why you're asking me the night before?"

"No, I totally forgot about it. She rambles, and she talks in paragraphs and it's really confusing to keep up with her. Seriously, fucking motor mouth, and not in the good way."

"Gee, and you wonder why you have a hard time keeping friends with statements like that."

"Shut up. Are you coming or not? You're like the only friend I have, and she seems to have like twenty or something coming." Okay, the answering machine only mentioned three, but there were definitely others. She was sure of it.

"Of course I'm coming. I'm not passing up the chance to meet her. It might never happen again. Heck, I'll even drag along Blaine to make you look more popular."

"Oh wow, a night with the wonder twin, now I can't wait." Fucking hell, she should have just hung up when she had the chance.

"Be quiet, he'll score you points. Unless you want to look like the loser with no friends surrounded by her roommates twenty odd friends?"

"Okay, I'll be nice to the Warbler. Just make sure he doesn't trash talk me to anyone who'll listen."

"The two of you have a relationship I'll never understand."

"The two of you have a relationship I'll never understand," Santana replied, shaking her head.

"That is complicated and we're not going to discuss it any further." Pft, pussy.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I got to go. Be here at seven. Bring classy booze." Hanging up, Santana dropped the phone back in the cradle and sighed.

Two, she had two friends coming tomorrow. That wasn't bad. It wasn't great, either, but she couldn't be picky. Though, it was not going to be enough, and fuck it, she needed to call some more people. Maybe she could blackmail some into attending. Fucking score, that would get her at least one more.

An hour and a half later, after countless threats and much grovelling, she had scored a total of five people attending tomorrow night's get together. That seemed satisfactory, a good amount, suggesting strong friendship ties and a closely bonded group. Didn't matter if that was complete bullshit, they could fake it for a night.

Satisfied with her work, Santana settled back in with her laptop and got back down to business, only to have the phone ring again. The answering machine picked it up, and the colour drained from her face with each passing word.

"Hey Rachel! Jesse said you're having a get together this Friday, so me and the boys thought we'd stop by and see your new place. Greg, Tom, Shaun, Mike and Matt will be coming with me. We'll get there around nine, give me a call with your address. See ya!"

Fuck, she was going to look like a total loser. Why it mattered what her roommate thought of her, she didn't know, but it was still enough to have Santana sighing hopelessly. There was just no way she could match the number of friends her roommate had, and really, where the fuck had all her friends gone? She used to have loads. What happened?

Pitiful, the whole situation was pitiful, and if she thought for one second she could get away with cancelling the whole thing, she would. However, her roommate was a force to be reckoned with, using her best abilities, those eyes and those goddamn pouty lips of hers, and there was just no way Santana could say no to that face.

She wouldn't want to disappoint the girl anyway, especially not when she hadn't agreed to stay longer than three months yet. No, Santana needed her to pay her mortgage. Keeping her around had nothing to do with the regular meals, the company, and the crazy antics that kept her more amused than annoyed. It was purely financial reasoning as to why she had to keep her roommate sweet. Only for the rent. Definitely.

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