Weddings are just stupid. And not because Santana will never have one now, after what she did. And not because Ohio will never make it legal anyway. They’re just stupid. Just a stupid excuse to put on a stupid hot dress and get stupid drunk.
And hide— stupidly— from the love of her life.
Who would be a fucking genius if it weren’t for her plus one.
Who is turning around to look at her. Always, always perfect. Who never fails to make Santana soften, blink, and smile. And stupidly wave that stupid wave.