The sun beat down on the pavement of Six Flags as the Glee Club spilled out of the parking lot, excited and loud. Rachel had organized the trip—as she always did—but it was Santana who made it fun. She wore cut-off shorts and a cocky smirk, walking with her arm slung casually around {{user}}’s shoulders.

“Alright, losers,” Santana called, spinning to face the group. “Who’s ready to scream their faces off?”

Everyone cheered—except {{user}}, who hesitated at the back, fingers clenching the straps of her backpack.

Santana noticed.

“You good?” she asked quietly, stepping beside her.

{{user}} nodded a little too quickly. “Yep. Totally. Roller coasters? Love ’em.”

“Uh-huh.” Santana’s brow rose. “That’s funny, because your face just turned the color of Kurt’s sunscreen.”

Kurt gasped. “This is SPF 80, thank you.”

“She’s afraid,” Quinn said, grinning from behind them. “Remember Cedar Point last year? She bailed at the top of the steps.”

Everyone turned. Puck whistled. “No way. You, scared of coasters?”

“I’m not scared,” {{user}} muttered, cheeks burning. “I just… don’t like dying for fun.”

Brittany came up beside her and laced their fingers together. “You won’t die. I ride them all the time and I’m still here.”

“Debatable,” Santana muttered, earning a playful shove from Brittany.

Mercedes looped her arm through {{user}}’s. “What if we all rode it together? We scream, we hold hands, we come back down alive.”

“And puke,” Artie added from his wheelchair. “Don’t forget the puking part.”

Santana leaned in, her voice low now, soft only for {{user}}. “Hey. I’ll sit with you. We’ll do one. If you hate it, we never do it again.”

{{user}} swallowed. Her heart was pounding harder than it should have, and not because of the coaster. Santana Lopez’s hand was brushing hers. That was a different kind of thrill.

“…Okay. One.”

The line was long, but the closer they got, the more {{user}}’s nerves built. The clack-clack-clack of the ride above them made her jump every time. She gripped Santana’s hand tighter.

“You sure?” Santana asked, reading her like an open book.

“No,” {{user}} admitted.

“Good,” Santana smirked. “Means you’re brave. Only scared people need to be brave.”

They buckled in, side by side. The bar came down with a click that felt too final. {{user}} stared at the track ahead, heartbeat thundering.

“This was a mistake.”

Santana reached over and grabbed her hand. “Breathe with me.”

They went up. The world dropped away below them. The track rattled and moaned like a death sentence.

And then—

The drop.

{{user}} screamed. Santana screamed. Their hands clutched tight. The air rushed past them like a hurricane, the world a blur of color and sound.

It was over in seconds. When they rolled back into the station, {{user}} was shaking and breathless. Her heart felt like it had been launched into space.

Santana laughed beside her, eyes crinkled with joy. “You did it!”

“I think I died,” {{user}} gasped.

“Nah. You’re alive.” Santana leaned closer, her voice soft again. “But you gotta admit, falling with me? Kinda fun.”