She was perched on the crumpled hood, her right arm reaching through the broken windshield as her long fingers stroked the side of the man's jaw. He groaned, a thin trickle of blood coming from a small gash on his forehead, his dark curly hair matted with sweat. A light sheen covered his neck and soaked into his white t-shirt. He attempted to move his legs, wincing when a sharp pain shot up his back.

The woman smiled to herself, running her index finger further down his neck and over his erratic pulse; he was panicking. She could feel it just beneath her fingertips, and could smell it in the air. It was very distinct, like metal and rust.


It sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine as she continued to watch him struggle. The man was trapped in the front seat of his black Camaro, his hands gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles turning a lighter shade of white.

Coughing dryly, he looked around the dark and dank alley for any sign of life; for someone he could call. But as luck would have it, the damp street was completely deserted.

He turned his head back to the front of his car. A small flame was coming from the engine under the twisted metal of the hood, the glass of the windshield blown out.


He let out an aggravated sigh and whimpered, choking back his laboured breaths. Smirking to herself, she let a chuckle escape her upturned lips. It was times like these that she wished they could hear her laughter. She always thought her job would be that much more satisfy if they knew she was enjoying herself.

The air around her shifted, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Her smirk grew wider as she continued to run her fingers along the man's skin, leaving behind dark purple bruising with her toxic touch.

"Having fun, Santana?"


That soft voice met her ears and sent tingles up her back. She could smell her from her spot on the hood. It was like sunlight but cold, the air around her turning icy. She didn't bother looking up, sensing those bright hazel eyes watching her from high above.

"A little far from home, aren't we?" Santana taunted, her gaze still on the man in front of her. She jumped down from the bonnet, her black knee-high boots crunching against the wet asphalt and broken glass. She paced over to side door, the man breathing heavily from the front seat, his head lolling back on the vinyl headrest. She took a step back and watched him, hearing the quiet rattle of a metal grate to her right. The other woman was balancing on the fire escape of one of the surrounding high-rises, her legs dangling over the edge.

"I could say the same to you," she intoned, slipping lithely off the platform and hitting the hard ground. Her laced heels clicked against the wet pavement as she approached the car. She straightened her white pinstripe waistcoat, and opened the side door, her short blonde hair brushing against her angular jaw. With a backward glance at Santana, she settled down on the man's lap and pressed a cold hand to his chest. His shoulders went slack instantly, and his breathing levelled out. She brought her other hand up and ran it along his jaw, that strong smell of rust fading into the night air.

"Why do you always have to ruin my fun, Quinn?" Santana pouted playfully, leaning up against the side of the car. She adjusted her tight black dress as a small smile graced Quinn's pink lips, her palm held over the man's heart.

"It's sort of my job, remember?" she murmured, her eyes still on the man beneath her.

Santana kicked off from the metal door and saddled up beside her. Quinn ignored their close proximity, concentrating on the work of her hands. Santana just watched her ministrations for a moment before leaning in, the cold from her skin washing over her."Oh yeah," Santana husked right in her ear, before jumping into the backseat.

She leant forward and began running her hands gently through sweat soaked hair, the man groaning and his eyes flicking into the back on his head. Quinn looked up at her, her bored expression causing Santana to chuckle darkly.

"Would you stop that if I asked nicely?"

"Probably not," she teased. "But by all means try."

She continued to play absently with his hair, each brush of her fingers causing him to cry out in pain. Santana watched Quinn try to ease his suffering, the skin of his neck a faded blue where her fingers had grazed over the bruises, before it settled back to tan. She kept her gaze on those hands as they moved lower, her curiosity spiking.

"Have you ever wondered what would happen if I touched you?" Santana mused, almost thoughtful.

It was something she'd heard whispers about back home; the forbidden touch. But Santana didn't know anyone who had actually done it before. It was always in the back of her mind though, ever since she first met Quinn. It intrigued her, watching her day after day. Her touch could calm any human, her skin warm to the touch. But to her it was as cold as ice and said to be quite painful. It was something many of her kind feared to do; touch an archangel. But Santana wasn't like the others. She was more curious and experimental.

Call it a death wish.

There was a time when demons were at war with Quinn's kind. So naturally, not many would even speak to their guardian, let alone engage in witty banter with them. But it had been this way between them for decades. And though she'd never admit it out loud, Santana rather liked having her around. It made the torment she spread more satisfy at the very least. She was still watching her when Quinn's eyes flicked up. They searched her face for a moment, before she extended her hand, her other still resting on the man's jaw.

"Want to try it?" she asked, feigning innocence.

Santana could feel the burning cold as she held her pale hand out. It radiated in the air between them and stung her bare skin slightly. She eyed it carefully, keeping her fingers on the man's scalp and away from Quinn. Just for a split-second Santana contemplated reaching out and grazing the soft skin, finally feeling what it was that was so feared among her kind. But after a beat, she huffed and shook her head, her fingers making little knots with the man's curls.

"I'm okay," she mumbled.

Quinn laughed breathily and withdrew her arm. She sat back against the steering wheel with a knowing smirk, Santana quirking an eyebrow at her expression. Quinn simply shrugged as sirens echoed in the distance, Santana's head snapping toward the sound.

"Oh, come on. Really?" she grumbled, dropping the tiny dreadlock she was making. "You never play fair."

Quinn just continued to grin and got up from the man's lap. Santana jumped out of the backseat and began walking down the dark alleyway. The archangel knew perfectly well that Santana couldn't get anywhere near the police, or any other emergency service for that matter; it's where her jurisdiction ended.

"And I was so close to calling the Reaper, too."

"That man's an ass," Quinn muttered. She had appeared right beside her, keeping a good pace as they neared the busy Downtown street.

"You'd be an ass too if you had to play janitor to all us lesser demons," Santana replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "It wasn't exactly in the job description when he applied."

She could see the distant lights of the flickering streetlamps, and the silhouettes of people walking past. Santana stopped just before they hit the end of the alley and turned on Quinn, her eyes glancing down to her watch.

9:46 pm.

"That guy probably had a family, you know?" Quinn voiced, her tone conversational.

"It's your job to care, Princess," Santana jested, pushing her leather jacket back down over her wrist. "I don't. Remember?"

"At least not for human life."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Santana asked, a slight scowl coming across her lips at Quinn's tone. She eyed her in the dim light, that teasing smirk still on her face.

"Nothing," Quinn shrugged innocently.

Santana just shook off the comment and flexed her shoulders. Two great wings appeared, the air stirring in their wake. They glistened in the limited light; the dark feathers an almost blue. She took a step closer to Quinn, her expression remaining smug.

"So a little black bird told me there was a prom up town," Santana told her with a sly grin. "Want to be my janitor for the night?"

"Do I really have a choice?" Quinn deadpanned, spreading her own. They were a soft white and slightly smaller than Santana's, Quinn keeping them folded close to her body.

"Not if you don't want to get a spanking from Daddy," Santana taunted, before taking to the sky.

"I love a good prom," Santana grinned, her hands resting on her hips. "Do you know how many unwanted teen pregnancies I've caused at these things?"

"Yep, I was there for most of them."

"...wanky," she breathed.

The pair looked out over the crowded ballroom. The ceiling stretched a hundred feet in the air, with dark wood panelling lining the high walls. Couples and groups of friends, in gowns and tuxes, danced to the heavy beat pumping from the speakers mounted on the dark wood. Others were seated at large red linen tables, chatting and laughing amongst themselves, while a few were scattered by the refreshments and out towards the hotel's hallway.

"Why don't you ever try to stop me from breaking the seal, so to speak?" Santana asked curiously as she merged into the crowd of teens. She brushed a hand over the lower back of a girl dancing with her boyfriend. The redhead flinched, grabbing discreetly at her abdomen.

Someone's not having sex tonight.

"I can't kill humans, remember?" Quinn answered after a beat. "You were essentially creating life, so," she shrugged, placing her hand to the girl's shoulder. Santana watched her face relax with a shake of her head. "My father is the only one who can step in when you decide to have a little fun, I'm just the messenger."

"Gotta love that loophole," Santana quipped, taking a seat on one of the tables at the edge of the ballroom and folding her legs beneath her. Quinn sat down next to her, crossing her legs at the ankles and looking out over the dance floor.

Santana watched all the smiles on their perfectly made-up faces, rolling her eyes in discontent. She couldn't stand to be around this much mortal happiness. It made her chest ache uncomfortably and her hands itch. It wasn't natural. She glanced over her shoulder at two girls talking lowly amongst themselves at the table they were sitting on. Santana reached out a finger and grazed it lightly over one of their hands. She turned back around with a grin just as she heard a faint whimper escape the girl's lips.

Much better.

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be human?" Santana asked. "So fragile and doomed."

"I think there's something beautiful about mortality," Quinn murmured thoughtfully. "Everything is more sacred and thrilling when it doesn't last forever."

"Okay, just stop before I upheave on your Monolo's."

A look of disgust crossed her features. Quinn had always viewed their way of life as something to admire. It made Santana sick. She would talk about them as if their tiny existence held meaning beyond the trivial, like they were somehow better than the higher beings with their silly little emotions and attachments.

They're pathetic.

"Face it, Santana," Quinn said. "You envy them."

"They're just my play things, there's nothing enviable about them," Santana spat. "It's like one of them envying the life of a sheep."

Santana sat back on her hands, and watched as a couple broke away and wandered off the dance floor. Her eyes followed them out of the crowd as they took the stairs two at a time and headed toward the lobby. Her attention was still on the pair when Quinn spoke right in her ear, her jaw clenching at her words.

"You envy them, Santana," Quinn whispered, her cold breath stinging her cheek. "Because they are free to love whom they choose, and you cannot."

Santana let out a strangled breath and turned her gaze to the woman who was sitting forward, her eyes searching the crowd once more. All these cryptic little sound bites were starting to get on Santana's nerves. She narrowed her gaze, but she wouldn't meet her eye. Quinn remained nonchalant and uninterested, her attention on the dance floor.

"Whatever. Are you coming?" Santana muttered, hopping off the table and stalking after the couple. "Kind of in the mood to ruin someone's life."

The boy groaned loudly and rocked his hips forward, the girl whimpering beneath him. He gripped the dark sheets with both hands and leant down, kissing a path along her neck. She threaded her fingers through his slicked back hair, her laboured breaths filling the small hotel room. He pulled back after a minute, placing a desperate kiss to her lips, the girl moaning softly.

"I love you," he panted against her mouth, before dropping his face into the crook of her neck once more. Santana just rolled her eyes and shifted on the red couch. She and Quinn were sitting on the loveseat to the side of the bed, a small table lamp to their left illuminating the couple. They'd been watching them ever since they stumbled into the room and began undressing, the pair falling into bed.

"I've never understood how these girls just fall for that shit," Santana muttered. "It's pathetic."

"It's called love, Santana," Quinn offered in a bored tone, picking at her nails.

"It's called a guy just wants to get his rocks off, Quinn."

She crossed her legs and drummed her fingers on the armrest just waiting for the moment of release so she could get to work. It was always the same, night after night. The boy would whisper sweet nothings in the girl's ear, and she would fall for it hook, line, and sinker. He would leave in the middle of the night and brag to his friends at an after party across the hall. It was inevitable at these dances. Santana didn't understand why they just weren't honest with each other, and acknowledged this for what it was.

What happened to sex just being sex?

"That might be how it works below, but love exists where I'm from," Quinn said, looking up from her nails. "And it exists for these two as well."

"We have love," Santana said, crossing her arms over her chest, before letting out a low chuckle. "Albeit, it might be a little rougher than what you're used to."

"You're not capable of love, Santana," Quinn countered, turning on her with a daring quirk to her brow. "It's not even in your nature to care, remember?"

Santana knew what she was doing. She could see it in her eyes and in the way her lips turned up at the teasing words. She had been alluding to it all night, but Quinn was never one to come right out and say something. She would just dance around it until the other person was forced to speak up, or give up in frustration. And it wasn't knew behaviour either. She'd been doing this for the better part of the last few months. Only hinting and teasing, never truly broaching the subject. But Santana wasn't going to humour her. If she wanted to talk about it, she was going to have to ask.

Not that there is anything to talk about.

It's a curiosity.

That's it.

"We're capable, Q," Santana said with a grin. "The alternative is just more fun."

Quinn shook her head with a chuckle, and diverted her gaze back to the couple. The light-haired boy had laced his fingers through the girl's and was holding them gently above her head. He brushed the fingers of his other up her neck and through her dark hair, leaning down to reattach their lips. His touch was so soft and caring, Santana gritting her teeth at the imagery once again being forced down her throat. She looked down to Quinn's hand that was resting gently on the cushion between them, the icy cold seeping through the thin material of her black dress.

"But seriously, Q," she edged, her eyes meeting hazel in the dim light. "Have you never been curious?"


"You know," she pressed. "About what would happen if fire met ice?"

Quinn's eyes flicked down as Santana's hand hovered over her wrist. She could feel the cold on her open palm. It was uncomfortable, but manageable, Santana moving further up Quinn's bare arm. She followed her hand as she brought it back down, Santana getting within an inch of her. Her eyes were on Quinn's hand. She itched for those fingers to just brush across her skin, to feel the sting that would surely come with it.

"A few times," Quinn murmured. "But we'll never know, right?"

Santana paused over the woman's hand and looked up into those eyes. She swallowed thickly, the expression on Quinn's face making her skin prickle uncomfortably. Santana wasn't sure if she was just messing with her again, or if the lust she saw behind those eyes was genuine.

"Right," she half choked.

Without breaking eye contact, Quinn leant forward, closing the distance between them on the couch. Santana's breath died in her throat, her hand hovering inches from her face, testing the air. She kept her eyes on those fingers, Quinn's soft voice barely registering.

"You're a lot of things, Santana. But you're nothing if not curious," Quinn husked. "And sadistic."

Santana stayed motionless as Quinn placed the tip of her index finger on the bare skin of her neck and dragged downward. It burned, the icy touch radiating out to her shoulder and down her arm. She clenched her jaw against the sharp pain, taking in shallow breathes.

"Fuck," Santana groaned, her left hand tightening on the armrest and the nails of her right biting into her palm. The sensation caused a shiver to shoot down her back. But once it dissipated, a strange tightness began in her stomach, twisting and forcing her eyes shut.

Holy shit.

The twisting surged between her legs, Santana gripping the armrest tighter as her head feel back on the couch. Quinn removed her finger once it hit her collarbone and sat back with a shake of her head. She flicked her eyes back to the bed as the boy collapsed on top of his girlfriend, both breathing heavily. But when Santana's eyes snapped open, they trained on Quinn, the line she drew down her neck still tingling and spreading to the rest of her skin.

"Aren't you curious too?" Santana asked slightly breathless as she tried to regain her composure.

That felt fucking amazing.

"I don't take pleasure in pain like you do," Quinn intoned without looking at her.

"Or are you afraid that Daddy might be watching and ground you?" Santana teased while holding out a hand. Quinn flicked her eyes back to her and stared her down. Santana half expected her to fold, but her features were void of all emotion.

"Are you going to ruin their lives, or were we just here for the show?"

Santana dropped her hand back to her lap and huffed, her mood turning sour. She crossed her arms over her chest again and just stared at the couple that had fallen asleep in each other's arms.

"It's no fun if they love each other."

Santana was lying back on the small wooden merry-go-round, gripping the slightly rusted poles with both hands. The cool metal sent a shiver down her back, Santana letting a frustrated sigh escape her full lips. The numbing cold that stung her palms only made her think of Quinn and the woman's icy touch. Ever since they left the hotel an hour ago, Santana had been wondering if this fixation was beginning to take a step past curiosity, and to a place she wasn't sure she should go. The place Quinn had been alluding to for the past few months.

She had always been drawn to her, ever since she'd shown up sixty years ago. Her visits weren't as often back then, once every six months if Santana was lucky. But they slowly became more frequent until they were once a week, twice if she was being too indulgent with her victims. Then there were times where Santana found herself pushing the bounds just so Quinn would show up. She didn't ever ask herself why. It was something she chose not to think about. No demon wanted to entertain the possibility of having anything in common with humans, especially caring about someone other than themselves. That emotion served no purpose back home. Lust. Now that was an emotion that her kind knew well. And it was the emotion Santana was trying her best to convince herself the ache in her chest was caused by.

She huffed, her eyes on the stars above. The sky was a clear deep blue, the tiny specks swirling as the merry-go-round spun. The full moon had cast blue light on the secluded park, the slight breeze rustling the leaves of the nearby Maple trees. It was quiet, the odd hooded figure skulking in the shadows, waiting for their next victim. Santana could see her friend, Noah, a few steps behind one of the figures, his heavy combat boot kicked up against the brick wall of an abandoned building behind him. He locked eyes with her, but didn't do more than nod, before going back to staring at the sky.

The pair would usually convene in this park every few weeks. Noah was in charge of petty crime and theft, and if Santana was in a particularly good mood, she would add sexual assault into the mix. Quinn was there to stop Santana most of the time, but as balance would have it, she couldn't prevent them all.

Santana tilted her head back until she spotted her, Quinn swinging back and forth twenty feet away from her. Her eyes were on Noah, waiting for him to make a move. She was toeing the ground with the tip of her high heel, Santana watching her as the wheel came to a stop.

After a moment those hazel eyes flicked down to Santana, her view flipped from where she lay back on the circular platform. She regarded her with a tight smile, her expression guarded. It hadn't changed since they'd left the dance. She was still void, and it made Santana think that her mind was still on what happened between them in the hotel room. It definitely seemed to have affected her more than she was letting on.

She must have felt it too.

"You're not so different from me, Q," Santana supplied off-hand, turning her eyes back to the stars. She watched as one shot across the sky, her hands still on the cold metal. "You can't keep claiming you're not."

"And how are we the same, Santana?"

Her tone let the woman know that she was only humouring her. Santana just chuckled to herself knowing Quinn's eyes would still be trained on the man across the park. "We both can't admit to ourselves what's going on."

She could hear the metal squeak of the chains as Quinn swung back and forth gently. Santana sat up and turned to face her. Quinn was staring at her, a slight worry to her brow. But those eyes that trained on Santana were full of hesitancy. The demon knew she would have to be the one to speak up. It could be a hundred years before Quinn would start being honest with herself. And Santana didn't think she could wait that out just because she was being stubborn and proud.

"We've been at this for decades, Quinn," Santana sighed, leaning back on her hands. "You want it too, I can see it in your eyes. They do a pretty shitty job of hiding your emotions."

Santana watched her jaw tense in the dim blue light cast by the full moon. It was subtle, but it didn't escape her notice. She shook her head slightly and cleared her throat, Quinn's eyes dropping to her lap as her pale hands gripped the metal chains. From the corner of her eye she saw Noah give her a warning glance, before he spread his wings and flew off into the night sky. Santana just ignored him and turned back to Quinn, who had stilled on the swing in front of her.

"No, Santana. We're different because I know what is right, and what is wrong," Quinn replied after a beat, still not meeting her eye. "And what you're suggesting is wrong."

"I think you're the one that envies them, Q," Santana shot back.

Quinn swallowed thickly, before pulling her gaze up from her lap. She was worrying her teeth against her bottom lip, those perfect almond eyes faltering slightly. "I never said I didn't."

The man dozed restlessly beneath the stark white sheets of the hospital bed. His laboured breaths could be heard from down the hall, his chapped lips grimacing as he slept. He had all manner of machines hooked up to him, the beeping of the heart monitor filling his tiny room. Both women stood at the end of his bed, Santana reading his chart that lay open on the nearby trolley. Her eyes flicked down the page until she found what she was looking for.

Pancreatic Cancer.

She paced to his side, Quinn watching her with a sad set to her mouth. She understood it was his time, though Santana knew she didn't approve that he had to suffer in the end. But she kept her distance on this one, her hands gripping the railing at his feet. Santana placed a hand to his chest, feeling the cancer in his stomach and lungs as well. She moved lower, pressing her fingers to his abdomen, and watched him choke back his breaths, his monitor spiking. She could hear Quinn let out a heavy sigh behind her, before she felt the room grow colder.

Long pale fingers spread across his forehead and covered his eyes. The machine flat lined as Santana turned to see Brittany, a friendly smile on the taller woman's lips. She was one of Quinn's kind, here to guide those destined for above into the next life. Santana shuffled back, steering clear of her hands. She knew what would happen to those who touched them; she didn't need to be told twice. Getting in the way of an escort was a death sentence for any demon. It was the same for archangels that tried to intervene with the Reaper. It was absolute; they never argued it.

Brittany placed her hand down upon the old man's, gripping his gnarled fingers. Santana nodded to Quinn and exited the room, making her way down the dimly lit corridor. A nurse rushed towards them, turning into the man's room, her sneakers squeaking against the polished linoleum. Santana chuckled humourlessly to herself, knowing it was too late for her to save him. She turned to Quinn, the woman's expression downtrodden and empty.

"I didn't make the rules, Q," Santana shrugged half-heartedly. "Do you think my father is overjoyed when Brittany shows up instead of Jesse? It's the beautiful and thrilling mortality you love so much. Stop being such a wet rag about it."

"It's not that," she murmured.

"I know," Santana smirked as they passed through the glass sliding doors of the hospital's exit.

All archangels felt a certain heaviness around death, just as demons did around life. But Santana knew that wasn't all it was. She could practically hear the gears turning in Quinn's head. Santana was getting to her, her smirk only growing at that fact.

They had made it to the small garden outside the hospital's entrance when that icy cold aura Quinn gave off had faded into the night air. Santana spun on her heel to find she had stopped walking a few feet back. Her eyes were fixed on the damp pavement, before they flicked up to Santana, a defeated set to her brow.


"Fine what?" Santana asked, trying to hide her smile.

"Don't be a bitch about it," Quinn retorted, taking a seat on the nearby garden ledge. Santana just chuckled lowly and made her way over to her as she fiddled with her fitted waistcoat. She cleared her throat, before holding her arm out, that cold pale skin almost glowing in the moonlight.

Santana sat down next to her on the brick riser and shuffled closer. Wetting her lips, she placed her fingers to the crease of her elbow and slowly dragged them downward, leaving behind faint red lines in their wake. Her fingertips tingled against her cool skin, but it was nothing like what she'd felt earlier in the night. Santana looked up into Quinn's eyes to try and gauge her reaction to the touch. The girl's jaw was clenched, her brow furrowed against the burn. She let out a strangled breath and tipped her head back.

"Holy shit," she whimpered as she neared her wrist. Her hand was in a tight fist, Quinn swallowing heavily. Santana was transfixed by her reaction. The woman's shoulders sagged and her eyes flicked back down to her. Black had completely eclipsed hazel, Santana's fingers stilling against her wrist.

Then without any thought of consequence, Santana surged forward, using her other hand to thread her fingers through soft blonde hair. Quinn gasped, their lips meeting in a searing kiss. It was like an explosion, the addictive sting spreading down her neck and not stopping until it hit the top of her knees. The wind whipped around them as their wings expanded at their own accord, both arching high and stirring the air. Santana didn't pay any mind, taking Quinn's bottom lip into her mouth, pale hands grabbing at her jacket. Santana ignored Quinn's protests, pulling in closer and letting that twisting sensation hit her stomach and then pool between her legs.

It was painful at first, Santana's every muscle clenching at the intense sting. She could feel Quinn's jaw tighten beneath her fingers, the woman groaning into her mouth against the burn that was surely spreading over her cold skin. But it soon turned from a sting to a tingling, then straight to a burn for both of them. It was like rolling thunder, the wind kicking up and blowing their hair around their faces. Quinn's hands pulled at her leather jacket as she shuffled closer on the brick ledge, moaning softly. Santana slid her hand down her neck, her lips pulling desperately over Quinn's, neither of them wanting this feeling to stop. It was like a drug, both of them wanting more.

The sky suddenly lit up, a crack of lightning shaking the ground around them even though it was a clear night. Quinn jerked back, her wings retracting instantly and her eyes shooting above in a panic. She was completely breathless as she swallowed thickly, her gaze falling back on Santana. Coughing, she brought her hand to her mouth, wiping absently at her flushed lips.

"Shit," she cursed under her breath.

Santana just laughed, Quinn narrowing her eyes at her. "Oops," she shrugged with a teasing grin.

"Thanks a lot," Quinn huffed as she got up from the ledge. She hadn't made it two steps when she spun around and regarded her with a raised brow. "Wait, where's your angry summons? Shouldn't there be like a manhole steaming, or car alarm going off?"

"Funnily enough, this actually counts as me making someone miserable," Santana shrugged all nonchalant. "Go figure."

"Whatever," Quinn muttered. "Just do me a favour and put away your toys after playing with them. Just this once."

"I make no promises," Santana jested.

"If I say please?"

The smallest of smiles teased at her lips, before they broke out into a wide grin. Santana's chest ached at the sight, internally scolding herself for letting Quinn affect her emotions like that. It was so…human.

"Fine," Santana said, rolling her eyes. "It's no fun when you're not here to play with me, anyway."

"Thank you."

Quinn spread her soft white wings, before turning on her heel and taking off into the night sky, the air growing warmer in her absence. Santana stared after her even though she knew she would be long gone by now.

She brought her hand up, and worried her fingers across her bottom lip. She smiled to herself, the delicate skin still tingling from their kiss. Dropping her hand, she leant back against the rough brick, her eyes turning once again to the starry sky.

"We're so fucked."

Part two coming soon...