A/N: This is an AU Quinntana fic. I do not own Glee or the songs used; they belong to Ryan Murphy and The Weeknd (maybe Frank Ocean), respectively.
Can't you see?
It won't mean a thing to me
I've been doing this too long
Baby girl, I've felt it all
So watch out
If you try to play your luck
Ain't nobody gonna care enough
To catch you fall
The words came out so smooth and sure.
So don't you fall in love
Don't make me make you fall in love
Don't make me make you fall in love with a girl like me
Like me
'Cause girl I'm just a bird
I'm just another bird
Don't make me make you fall in love with a girl like me
Like me
The audience cheered, but the singer has heard it so many times. She just waves flashes a fake smile and turns to head backstage, but not before noticing the tears streaming down an audience member's face.
I warned her.
"Santana!"
"Santana! Over here!"
"How does it feel being back in the states?!"
"It feels fine. It feels the same every time they stamp my passport. Can you please move?" The paparazzi move out of the way, the blinding camera flashes never stopping. Santana Lopez made her way to her car, never turning around to see who was following her. Her best friend/manager/lead dancer/choreographer slid into the car, after Santana opened the door, and waited for her to get behind the wheel.
"Still leaving heartbroken girls in the crowd, huh?"
"They don't listen, Britt. I sing that song all the time and I tell them to their faces that they shouldn't plan 'forever' around me. I say that to every girl I meet," Santana started the car a drove out of the parking lot and let her custom made sports car slide into the New York traffic.
"You never said that to me."
"We have been friends since we were born. You, Brittany Susan Pierce, are my best friend and the only person I will ever promise forever to," Santana took her right hand off the gear shift and reached for Brittany's hand, giving it a light squeeze. "No other person has ever cared about me enough to stay with me, and I will never give you the 'Not the One' speech, I recite to everyone else. Okay?"
"I love you too, San," Brittany turned to smile at her friend. Santana placed the blonde's hand underneath hers on the gear shift, changed gears and sped down the street.
"Hey, B! I'm gonna go get in the shower. Listen for the pizza guy, and then take the food upstairs," Santana called from the bedroom of the condo she shared with Brittany.
"Ok," Brittany put one of her ear buds in her ear and danced through the apartment, until she heard a knock at the door. Grabbing the $40 Santana left on the coffee table, twirled towards the front door and paid their usual pizza guy and waited for him to get back on the elevator.
Once she noticed he was gone, she grabbed her keycard and walked to hidden elevator that sat behind a door labeled Authorized Personnel Only. Once in the elevator, she swiped the card and waited patiently as it moved up to the very top floor, where Santana's hideout was located. The two- story penthouse apartment was off-limits to anyone who didn't have a keycard; the button for the first floor of the penthouse could only be accessed by emergency services. The paparazzi that followed Santana and Britt didn't know she bought the penthouse as well, so they always had a place to escape to when they began stalking her much smaller, more public condo.
She placed a couple slices of pizza on two plates and waited for her best friend to enter the apartment. Brittany turned on the TV in the kitchen and saw the video footage of Santana's performance from that night. The host of the talk show was saying something about how Santana is a heartbreaker and how her music and playgirl lifestyle are a reflection of that. No, it's a reflection of having her heart broken.