Being hung over sucks.

I mean, yeah, last night was awesome. I did my first keg stand. Two cute jocks from Carmel High School rock-paper-scissored over me. Zizes hilariously emasculated Puck by drinking him under the table and then held him in a victory headlock.

But the downside to nights like these? The exhausting hangover that follows. The vomiting, the headaches, the cravings for junk food; It's kind of like being pregnant all over again. I can't decide if it's worth it.

"Remind me again why we do this to ourselves?"

"Because it's fun," Santana mutters.

I take that sarcastically because Santana is laying face first on the table, buried underneath her arms. The only part of her head that's visible is her hair, which is snarled and disheveled. She looks miserable.

"This doesn't feel fun."

"Just shut up, and drink your coffee," she snaps.

Jerk. For once though, I don't mind the rudeness at all. I'm glad she feels as crappy as I do.

I don't mean that in a spiteful way or anything, it's just that misery loves company. There's nothing worse than being around someone who is cheerful and happy when you're hung over.

And who wants to listen to that?

"Ooh look! Milk shots!" Brittany exclaims as she grabs a packet of coffee creamer off the table. She peels the lid off and drinks it in one gulp while me and Santana exchange nausea-tinged looks of horror.

"Do you want to try a milk shot?" Brittany offers.

"Um, no. I think I'll pass."

The thought of doing a shot of creamer made me feel a bit queasy.

"Oh well, more for me. I love shots. I could do shots of anything. I can do a shot of of tequila, rum, vodka, milk, apple juice, orange juice, pickle juice…"

Ew. I start tuning out her babbling. Her upbeat attitude was really turning the volume up on my headache. Also, watching her take multiple shots of those single-serving coffee creamers was making my stomach churn dangerously. But that's what I'm talking about. While rest of us could barely hold our heads up, Brittany, on the other hand, was little Miss Sunshine, drinking straight coffee creamer.

I can't figure out why she's not on the verge of death like me and Santana. She drank like a champ at the party. The girl polished off half a box of wine practically by herself last night. She even stuck a straw in it and told everyone it was her juice box.

Then it dawned on me.

"Brittany, are you still drunk from last night?"

She flashes an impish grin at me.

"Maaaaaybe!"

Son of a bitch. She drank so much last night she's not even hung over yet. I'm half-impressed and half-appalled. That kind of binge drinking takes dedication.

Santana groaned audibly. "Jesus, Brit, I don't think that's normal."

Brittany just shrugged and moved closer towards Santana. They were sitting side by side now, not even an inch of space between them. She tipped her head over and started using Santana's shoulder as a pillow. It was kind of cute.

Most people probably think its sweet how close of friends Brittany and Santana are, but I know better. I'm not stupid. I've hung around the two of them enough to catch on to the fact that their friendship was more than platonic. I've walked in on them doing thing you don't even want to know about. Seriously.

It's kind of weird though, because I feel like I'm the only one who notices there's something else going on there. Originally, I thought their hookups were just a natural progression of their super tight friendship and rampant promiscuity. You know, girls just having some fun. More Katy Perry and less Melissa Etheridge.

Now, I'm not so positive. Like, I'm pretty sure they're in love. I'm in a minority on this though. Everyone else seems to think they're just friends. Just really, really good friends.

One time while I was with Finn I tried bringing up the fact that Brittany and Santana have a thing for each other.

"Don't you think it's weird how Brittany and Santana make out all the time? They act like they're dating."

"Nah," He said offhandedly. "I just think they ran out of guys to hookup with."

Okay, true, they have slutted their way around the entire student body. But I still don't buy it. I'm probably the closest friend they have outside each other, even if it does border frenemy territory. I think that's why I spot all the little stuff no one else does. The lingering touches, they way they hang all over each other, the whispered conversations they have that are so close their lips brush against each other's ears. There's definitely something more going on there.

I mean, it's not like I care or anything. They're big girls and they can do what they want. It's just that sometimes I feel like a third wheel.

Like now for instance. Brittany's whispering something into Santana's ear just low enough that I can't fully hear them. It must be funny, because they're both having a hard time choking back their laughter.

I start to slouch into my seat, feeling a bit awkward because I'm left out of the joke. I wish our food would get here faster. I'm hungry.

Santana's thinking along the same lines because she pipes up from her face down position.

"I don't know why we always go to this diner for hang over breakfast. The service is so slow."

"Because it's tradition," Brittany simply answers. "We've been doing hangover breakfast here since freshman year."

"Well, maybe we should go somewhere with faster service. I'm starving. I could eat like a truck full of pancakes right now."

"When I was younger, I wanted to grow up and be a fire truck."

Santana paused for a beat.

"I think you mean firefighter," she corrected

"No, I mean fire truck. A big, shiny, red fire truck."

I couldn't help but crack up. That chick is just straight up weird.

Now, Brittany is telling us how exactly she expected to achieve her childhood dream of being a fire truck, while Santana is trying to explain to her how that's biologically impossible. The words "fire truck academy," was used.

I feel a surge of affection bubble up for these two while I listen to them talk. All that drama between us with the Cheerios and Glee sort of melted away after the cease-fire haircut of sorts in New York. The three of us started hanging out again, like old times, only without the rivalry. We had a lot of fun together in the glory days pre-pregnancy. Messing around together after Cheerio practice, slushing unpopular losers, ditching class to head to the mall.

Then it hits me: I missed them.

Oh God. I actually missed the company of Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce. Bitchy mean girl and the airhead extraordinaire.

Jesus. Maybe I'm still a little drunk too.

"Okay, fire trucks aside, I still think we should consider changing the location of hangover breakfast. I mean, c'mon! This wait is ridiculous, right, Quinn?"

"I'm down for whatever," I shrug.

Truth is, I don't really care where we have hangover breakfast, as long as we have it.

The whole process is cathartic, you know? We stuff our faces full of greasy food all while laughing about the events of the previous night. We remind ourselves about all the funny things we forgot, or were too blacked out to remember. We tease each other and talk about cute boys and make bitchy comments about other girls. Hangover breakfast always has a way of making me feel better even after the roughest night.

But I don't say any of this aloud. Instead I just sip my coffee, which incidentally, has no cream in it thanks to Brittany.

"We could just have breakfast at my house next time," Brittany suggests. "My parents won't care about us being hung over."

"Yeah, that's cause they're hippies," Santana helpfully adds. "We could be tripping on acid and the only thing your mom would care about is if we didn't disturb the karmic chi of the living room."

Brittany's parents are hippies? Well, this explains why Brittany is such a unique little snowflake.

Before I can ask any questions about her hippie parents, Santana tucks her hair behind her ear enough so that I catch a glimpse of a brand new hickey on her neck. I think I have a pretty good idea of who gave it to her.

"Sorry for the wait, ladies," The waitress says as she brings out our plates of food. It's veritable feast of pancakes, waffles, eggs, bacon, french toast, sausages, and home fries. Between the three of us we've ordered almost the entire breakfast menu.

"Finally!" Santana says as she savagely stabs at the plate of pancakes closest to her, wolfing down her food almost indecently fast. Brittany doesn't even bother with forks and knives as she tears into the french toast with her fingers.

Normally, I'd make a comment here about how they're eating like they were raised in a barn, but I'm too busy digging in to these waffles to care. It's like heaven in my mouth.

"Wanna to try some, Brit?" Santana asks, offering up a forkful of pancakes. "It's really good."

Brittany leans over to snatch the morsel of food with her teeth, but every time she gets close, Santana playfully moves the fork just out of Brittany's reach leaving her snapping at the air. The fork finally stops moving and hovers a few millimeters away from Santana's lips. Brittany quickly seizes the pancake bite leaving her lips inches away from Santana's. They locked eyes for a couple of seconds.

I watch, curiously. For a minute, I think they're going to kiss right there at the table, but then they don't. The moment passed and they're back to eating from their respective utensils.

That was strange.

There is something is up between them. They're acting weird. Well, weirder than usual, anyway.

Take last night for instance. Santana and Brittany's drunken make outs sessions are a staple at parties. Normally, the dynamic duo would have put on a show for all the guys and made out right in the middle of the room. Santana loved the type of slack jawed attention girl on girl make outs got her.

Only, there was none of that last night. Oh, I'm sure Brittany and Santana hooked up. I saw them sneak upstairs holding hands being all giggly and totally obvious. Except this time it was private and there was discretion involved.

I wonder if I should broach the subject with them. Santana was always down to spill the dirty details about her conquests when it came to guys. But when it came to Brittany she was unyieldingly tight-lipped. And Brittany only ever alluded to their relationship in offhand comments that didn't always make a whole lot of sense.

If I'm going to ask them about it, this is probably the best time to do it, I decide. That's one of the perks of hang over breakfast. Discussions about last night's hook ups are fair game.

"So, that was some party last night," I begin as casually as possible. "A lot of crazy stuff went down."

Brittany nodded in agreement.

"Totally. Tina puked in her purse and Mike Chang managed to fit his whole head in a condom last night on a dare. He almost suffocated."

Wait. What?

"Yeah," Santana confirmed. "Also, how hilarious was it when Mercedes shaved Sam's head, then started sprinkling his hair on everyone calling it 'magical fairy dust'?"

"Is that why I kept finding blonde hair in my cups?" Brittany asked, looking relieved. "I thought I was going bald."

What the hell? I don't remember any of this and I wasn't even that drunk.

"Where was I when this all happened?"

Santana smirked at me as she stole a piece of bacon from Brittany's plate.

"You were too busy macking it with Puck's friend, you remember, that Carmel jock. He looked like he was trying to eat you."

Santana made a crude imitation of the jock complete with a pucker face and kissy noises, which Brittany found so hysterical that she sprayed the table with a mouthful of eggs. Now they were both roaring with laughter at my expense.

I made a face at them. He wasn't a good kisser, but he was cute and he kept telling me how pretty I looked. It was a nice ego boost.

"I notice that you have a little souvenir from last night, Santana," I said taking the plunge as I pointed to my neck in the same spot she had a hickey. "Better be more careful Brit, looks like your girlfriend bruises easily."

The laughter died almost instantly. Brittany and Santana exchanged guilty looks. For a second, I wonder if I crossed some kind of line. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut.

"Looks like we've been outed, Brit-Brit," Santana says rather casually.

"Oh, well, it was bound to happen eventually. Pass the toast, will you Quinn?"

Are you kidding me? After years of sneaking around and insisting that their hookups were only to titillate boys, the only thing they say to me after finally calling them out is pass the toast? Unbelievable!

"Okay spill. It's been driving me nuts. What exactly is up between you two? Are you guys best friends, girlfriends, fuck buddies…?"

"Uh… D, all of the above?" Santana replied. "We're dating. We made it official at the beginning of summer."

They've been together for two weeks and they didn't bother mentioning it to me? I feel a little snubbed.

"Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were all friends again."

"I wanted everyone to know," Brittany answered mildly. "I'm proud to have Santana as my girlfriend. But she needs a little more time before coming out, and I respect that."

Santana gave Brittany a look of gratitude as she squeezed her hand.

"Listen, I don't like it either, but we live in Bumble Fuck, Ohio. People here are dumb, intolerant, and cruel. Look at what happened to Kurt. I'm just not ready for that kind of publicity yet. Plus, my parents are old school. They would flip a shit if they found out and send me away to boarding school or therapy or something. They still think I'm a virgin, forget about telling them I'm a lesbian."

"Okay fine, I get it. But you didn't have to keep me in the dark. I've known for ages that you guys had a thing for each other."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Well as long as were making this all about you…"

"We weren't sure if you'd be supportive or throw holy water on us and convince us to pray the gay away," Brittany said, flippantly.

I bristled at that remark. I have always been openly supportive of gay rights. Just because some Christians are loudmouth homophobes doesn't mean we all are.

"You know, I've been a huge LGBT advocate since forever and have always personally supported Kurt through his struggles. And just so you know, Jesus never had a problem with gays, and neither do I. Furthermore, since I've known both of you, I've never made a disparaging comment at the questionable nature of your relationship. Not once. Not even after the time I found you two spooning at my slumber party, or the time I caught you walking out of the same Cheerio's shower stall naked, or the time-"

"Pipe down, Goldilocks!" Santana interrupted impatiently. "We get it, we should have told you sooner. At least you're the first person we told about our relationship. Isn't that enough?"

"But you didn't tell me about it," I sulked. "I had to guess. You only confirmed it."

"Same difference," Santana shrugged.

Brittany was positively beaming as she wrapped her arms around Santana and kissed her cheek.

"I like not being a secret. I can kiss you and cuddle you all the time now in front of Quinn," Brittany said as she nuzzled into Santana's neck.

Santana didn't look as comfortable with the public display of affection as Brittany did. She didn't pull away, but she only half heartedly returned Brittany's hug. Her eyes kept darting around the diner to see if anyone was watching them.

I have a feeling that Santana's coming out process may be longer than Brittany anticipates.

Suddenly, I feel something ghost up my calf. I figured it was just my purse strap that was dangling off the booth, so I moved my bag to the table. But a few seconds later, the feeling returned and it was unmistakable: Someone's toes were sliding up my leg. Alarmed, I looked down to find Brittany playing footsie with me.

"What the hell, Brittany?" I yelped as I slid clear across the booth.

"Oops." Brittany said flushing with embarrassment. "Wrong foot."

Santana is laughing, thoroughly amused at my discomfort. She slips her had hand into Brittany's and their fingers lace under the table. Her subtle affection is charmingly adorable.

I can't help but feel a bit jealous. I know I decided to focus on me this summer and not worry about being in a relationship, but I still kind of wish I had what they had. Except, you know, with a boy.

"So, are you going to tell the rest of Glee club?"

Brittany looked delighted at the prospect while Santana shifted in her seat.

"Eventually." Santana says.

"You know they won't care. In fact, they'll probably be happy for you."

"I know." She agrees. "But telling everyone in Glee is like telling the whole school. No one is capable of keeping their big mouths shut in that club."

She has a point. The baby drama of last year didn't stay under wraps for too long with the Glee club poking their nose where it didn't belong.

"I won't say anything." I assure them as I reach for my keys and cell phone and drop a ten dollar bill on the table. That should be more than enough to cover my share plus tip.

"Bailing already?" Santana asks.

"Yeah. I promised my mom I wouldn't be late for my SAT prep class again."

Santana looked scornful.

"When did you turn into such a nerd?"

I glare at her. I know for a fact she's just as worried as I am about her scores. College is competitive, and no one wants to be a Lima loser.

"Pots and Kettles, Santana. A little birdie told me about your private SAT tutoring you have twice a week."

Santana shoots an accusatory look at Brittany who suddenly became preoccupied with her cell phone. The only reason why Brittany told me about Santana's tutoring was because she had no idea what the 'sat test' that Santana was studying so hard for was. Honestly, that girl worries me sometimes.

"Whatevs. Hit me up later. My parents are out of town for the week and I just picked up an eighth of bud."

The offer was incredibly appealing . I'm not a stoner, but I enjoy toking up every once in a while. Plus, Santana's house unsupervised was a ton of fun. Flat screen TVs, surround sound, in ground pool, and a bottomless liquor cabinet.

"I'll text you." I tell her as I get up from the table. I pushed my sunglasses down from the top of my head to the bridge of my nose. Even before I walk away, their heads are bent low absorbed in conversation with each other, already forgotten about me.

I blew my bangs out of my face feeling vaguely annoyed. Typical.

AN: Thank you to annakmorgan for the beta. I appreciate all the reviews and criticism I can get!