“I want to do this,” the short brunette says, crossing her arms over her chest. She puts on a proud expression, a sure sign of ‘you don’t own me and you won’t tell me what to do’, but beyond that, as her friends, they can see her determination.
Santana is sitting across of her, at the other side of the wooden table in the tiny coffee-shop, and she raises an eyebrow; she’s drumming her fingers on the table as the three waits for their orders and her patients is wearing thin. She needs her coffee boost to deal with Rachel Berry any earlier than one in the noon, and the latter’s odd life-changing decisions are definitely too much right now. “Are you sure about that, midget? You can’t get up one morning and change your mind about it - it’s not one of your hideous sweaters that you can just pull off, or, ya know, let Kurt here burn. It’s a tattoo. It’s forever.”
Kurt, sitting on Santana’s left side, shifts his gaze between the two girls; they’re having a silent - probably deadly, so he’s glad he’s out of the fire range - conversation with their eyes and glares. He can’t believe Rachel would go through it either, but hey - after a year of living with her in the city of their dreams, he finds out he never truly got to know certain sides of her on a daily basis, despite her being his best friends. They both grew and matured, and maybe a tattoo is just the next item on the list along with taking the subway for the first time and having an apartment of their own.
“I’m a star for forever, Santana,” Rachel huffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “And it’s not like I’m asking for a snake all the way down my leg - which if I did, will still be none of your business, as it is my body and you have nothing to do with it whatsoever. I’m a star, and if I want people to believe in that, I need to believe in that. I need to have a permanent reminder.”
Santana titles her head to watch Kurt, and they gaze at each other for a good moment, wordlessly debating whether Rachel has finally gone truly mad or if this was just another method of upboosting her self-esteem. Eventually, Santana breaks the eye-contact and nods once. “Fine, Berry. I’ll call one of my friends and we’ll make something work. One small gold star on your wrist and that’s it, capisce? I don’t want them to have to handle your screams of pain any longer than necessary.”