through the bars of a rhyme, 4/8
title: through the bars of a rhyme (4/8)
fandom: glee
pairing: santana lopez/brittany pierce
rating: T
summary: She was tall, lean, and blonde and Santana barely caught a glimpse of her as she bounced down the steps, but it was enough. AU.
just the same.
Santana spent the weekend texting Brittany, avoiding Sam, and studying for some ridiculous AP Biology exam on Monday. She may or may not have looked Brittany up on YouTube and watched the girl move in ways she literally thought were impossible and should also probably be illegal. Not only could Brittany dance, but the girl could flip, too, like she had tiny trampolines taped to her tennis shoes. The little kids in the video stared at her with such unadulterated awe and respect it was closing in on disgusting.
That’s why, when Santana strolled into school Monday morning on Sam’s arm and turned a corner just in time to see some stupid hockey jock slushie Brittany right in the face, her first reaction was disbelief.
Her second reaction was to murmur some excuse to Sam and swiftly follow Brittany down the hall and deep into McKinley.
Later, she wished that second reaction had been her fists.
-
Santana’s hands were sticky and dyed red, a brand new experience for her. She felt the sickly sweet smell burning into her skin, like the cheapest perfume she’d ever touched.
Brittany stood drenched in front of her, miserable and stoic. Santana felt awful to the tips of her toes as she carefully brushed away lumps of freezing slushie from the girl’s shoulders. They were hidden away in an empty bathroom, the stall locked securely after them.
Santana’s formerly pristine white Cheerio sneakers stood next to Brittany’s bright purple Chucks, both pairs stained by drips of bright red slushie. Chunks of ice slid from Brittany’s hair down to her shirt, leaving angry red trails like veins against her skin.
“I’m sorry.” Santana said, again. Her fingers were soft and careful as she brushed the paper towel against Brittany’s skin. It was almost like she couldn’t bear to touch Brittany.
“I know, Santana. It’s not your fault.” Brittany tried to catch Santana’s eyes with her own, but the girl was staring intently at the red in her hair and avoiding her gaze. “Santana.” Brittany said once, and their eyes finally met.
Santana’s were guilty and embarrassed, but Brittany wouldn’t let her look away.
“I’ll be fine. It tastes kind of good, anyway.” Brittany lied, a small, tired smile forming on her mouth. They stared at each other for a moment, a battle of some sort, though neither knew just what they were fighting.
“Join the Cheerios.” Santana said. Her hand paused on Brittany’s collarbone. Brittany tilted her head. “You won’t get slushied ever again. And we can hang out at practices. Plus, you can dance.” Her gaze was serious and Brittany nodded once.
“Okay. Can I drive your sweet ass car to football games sometimes?” Brittany asked. Santana smiled affectionately, the feeling warm in her eyes.
“You can drive my sweet ass car for no reason at all.” She promised. The last of the slushie splattered from Brittany’s collar to the ground, splashing red onto Santana’s calves and Brittany’s jeans.
“Oops.” Brittany said, grimacing. She tucked her fingers under her shirt, ready to strip it off, and Santana suddenly realized the stall was just really tiny and she should probably get out, like now- She fumbled with the door handle, but managed to escape.
She just barely caught of glimpse of Brittany in the mirror, unabashedly stripping her top off, and wondered why her face had suddenly turned fifteen shades darker.
-
It had gotten dark without either of them realizing it. The windows in the room stood like inky mirrors along the wall, the wooden floors and the glare on them glowing in the squares, reflected back and to infinity against the floor length mirrors on the other side of the room. Brittany was digging in her bag when Santana turned to her.
"Hey, we should run it one more time and head out. It's getting late." Santana tried to shrug away the exposed feeling that was creeping up her spine. Brittany unscrewed the top of her water bottle and stood up in one long, graceful motion.
Since Santana had discovered that Brittany was a dancer, she felt kind of ridiculously dumb for not noticing it before. All Brittany did was dance.
"Okay, let's do that last number one more time." They had been practicing for two days now and it shouldn’t have surprised Santana, but Brittany picked up the routines effortlessly. Brittany tossed the bottle back in her bag, hit a button on the CD player, and skipped over to Santana, spinning her so she could look at them both in the mirror.
Santana stood a couple inches shorter than Brittany, but she was dark and smoky where Brittany was soft and blonde. They stood, Brittany smiling, Santana staring, something in her gaze unsure, until the music kicked in. Then, not for the first time that night, Brittany took her by surprise.
It wasn't one of the Cheerio mixes they'd been practicing for the past couple hours. It was some dirty, bumping hip hop song that made her think about dancing at one of Puck's 'parties' and all the CDs she hid from her mom in her car. Brittany caught her gaze, her eyes playful for a moment before turning utterly focused. Her body snapped into place, her arms popping up.
Santana flushed without really thinking about it and took a step back.
Brittany was sweet, unassuming and kind- but this dance was none of these things. Santana had seen great dancers. She had also seen Brittany dance enough to recognize her natural style. This was something way beyond that. Her movements were utterly technical and composed. Brittany had turned to the mirror and Santana watched her blonde hair swirl, her body snapping into position without hesitation.
The rap turned unexpectedly smooth, the hook kicking in like a smoky night, and Brittany was suddenly in front of her, one hand held out.
The focus and certainty hadn’t left her gaze and Santana found it impossible to resist.
She was nowhere near the dancer that Brittany was, but when the girl was spinning her close and rocking their hips, she could almost fake it. Brittany’s fingertips barely brushed Santana’s waist, but they felt like bits of fire against her skin. This close, Santana could smell her, something sweet and light, and it mixed in with the softness of her bare skin. It was an altogether intoxicating experience and it terrified Santana straight to the bone. That adrenaline left her shaking and completely pliable to Brittany’s hands.
She found herself in front of Brittany, the girl’s fingertips soft against the bare skin of her hips. They drug her down, moving her body sensually to the sound, her heart beating an uneven rhythm in time. Brittany’s hands danced up Santana’s sides and ran quickly down her arms before entangling their fingertips, pulling her closer. Brittany pressed their hands to Santana’s stomach, just above her hipbones.
Santana could hear Brittany just behind her, panting a little with the exertion, closing the gap between them by millimeters. There was an awful squirming in her stomach and lightness in her legs and she couldn’t find it in her to move or respond or flee. She just let it happen, watching, almost horrified, as Brittany erased the distance and they were left basically grinding, hips rocking slowly to the beat, pressed so tight. Brittany’s cheek brushed her ear and Santana felt her breathe in, about to speak, and suddenly they were too exposed and too open and she pulled away, dropping Brittany’s hands like they hurt it.
It didn’t help any. She still felt helpless and bereft even after she had put a good five feet of distance between them.
“San?” Brittany’s voice was a little lost. Santana took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to take normal steps toward the opposite end of the room.
“What was that?” Santana tried to make her voice light, but even she could hear the tightness in it. Brittany padded over to her.
“I hit the wrong button on the CD player, I think.” Brittany shrugged. She sat down on the floor next to her bag. “It was a routine for my last hip hop class. Did you like it?” She was smiling at Santana, looking a little shy and a little amused. Santana’s heart was still stuttering but she managed to nod.
“You’re amazing.” She said, honestly, the flush on her cheeks darkening.
Their eyes met and Santana watched Brittany’s warm into happiness, the corners of her eyes crinkling up. She wished she could wash away the awful thrill under her skin because it was the only thing keeping her from being perfectly happy in that moment.
-
"Sorry I couldn't come over last night." Sam mumbled from behind a mouthful of ham sandwich. His warm hand landed on her knee and he squeezed, once. "Coach has been keeping me late so I can pick up the plays before the season starts." Santana shrugged. She was staring out at the empty football field, the sun hitting the white lines almost painfully. Her protein milkshake sat forgotten by her right hand.
"It's fine." She thought about telling him that she had been at Brittany's house last night, anyway, but the words didn't seem to want to form and she just looked away instead. He was watching her face intently. He swallowed the last of his lunch and she braced herself.
"Are you okay? You seem a little...stressed out lately." She didn't look into his eyes because she knew what she would see there: compassion, affection, concern. He was right, though. She had been distant and cold and mostly frustrated over the past week. She wished she could put a name to it, but the word sat on the back of her tongue, in the recesses of her brain. She had been spending all of her time with Brittany, but neglected to tell her best friend or her boyfriend that the girl even existed.
“I’m fine.” She said, reaching down for her milkshake and taking a sip just to avoid the questions she knew he would have. He seemed to hesitate, but finally accepted her answer. She stole a glance at him. He used to hold such an appeal for her. He was handsome, that was obvious. She thought, maybe, she was falling in love with him. Falling in love with someone, finally. But the same old discontent was creeping in and he no longer seemed like such a prize.
She was starting to resent him because he couldn’t make her feel the way she wanted to. She wanted to flush at his touch or get excited when he called. She didn’t want true love, or some stupid garbage like romance, she just wanted to get turned on when her boyfriend’s hands ran down her sides. It was painfully frustrating.
“Let’s go to class.” She said. She was tired of the silence brewing between them.
-
“He’s been so needy.” Santana spit out in a whisper, her voice easily carrying past two desks to Quinn’s ears. The classroom was dim and the projector flickered at the front, shining some old film onto the wall. Santana was slumped in her seat, arms folded across her chest, eyes leveled. They shared the last row in the back of AP Western Civilizations and they spent the majority of it pretending like they weren’t actually there.
“At least he cares.” Quinn shot back. Something about the statement rang oddly in Santana’s head.
“Yeah, but what if I don’t?” Santana mused out loud. She turned her head to judge Quinn’s expression.
“Look, he’s not cheating- he’s not even interested in anybody else. Just give it some time.” Quinn suggested, her words pointed. “Maybe you’re just coming out of the honeymoon stage.” The truth was, Quinn recognized Santana’s words for what they were: confusion. She’d seen Santana go through the same thing with every boy she’d ever dated. There were easily recognized stages: affection, familiarity, annoyance, resentment. Somewhere in the last two, the relationship would inevitably end and Santana would be on the ready again, looking for someone else to occupy her time. Quinn wondered if anyone in Lima would ever be good enough for Santana, but at the same time she had a creeping feeling she knew what was really going on.
“I don’t think-“
“Santana, Quinn, I am sorry to interrupt but I would really like to take somewhat coherent notes on the film we are currently supposed to be watching, so if you wouldn’t mind saving your personal conversation for a more appropriate venue, I would greatly appreciate it.”
Two pairs of eyes leveled on Rachel Berry, who was bent over her notes in the desk that separated the two Cheerios.
“Look, Berry-." Quinn started, the acid in her voice already biting through the air.
“Sorry, Rachel.” Santana quickly interrupted, rolling her eyes a little. “But this is way more important than a stupid video on peanuts our teacher is sleeping through.” She flicked her gaze toward their teacher, who was in fact face down on his desk. Rachel looked about ready to argue this point, but Santana gave her a look. She shut her mouth abruptly, thinking better of it.
“Fine. But I believe I may be of some help here.” She hesitated, clearly aware of Quinn’s unfaltering glare at the back of her head. “I have noticed you’ve become friends with the new girl, Brittany Pierce, and if I may be so-“
“What does that have to do with anything?” Santana cut her off, the harshness of her tone surprising even herself. Quinn looked up, curious, and even Rachel looked a bit taken aback. Santana’s fierce gaze suddenly melted to blank.
“I merely meant-“
“What is Manhands talking about?” Quinn asked, tilting her head just a fraction.
“Brittany”, Santana waved her hand dismissively. “She’s in my art class and I’ve been showing her around.” Quinn gaze had narrowed with suspicion.
“Why have I not heard about this yet?” She iced. Santana refused to drop her gaze, but she recognized the look in Quinn’s eyes and the firm set of her shoulders.
“Because she’s not really important. To get back on subject, Sam and I are supposed to have picnic Thursday night and I don’t think I can-“
“No, let’s stay on this one. Why do you look so cornered?”
“I agree with Quinn.” Rachel added. She was also inspecting Santana like some sort of experiment. “You do look rather flustered.” Santana huffed and rolled her eyes, turning away from the two girls.
“I don’t look like anything, I’m just stressed about Sam. Anyway, Quinn, it’s not my fault you don’t know who she is- she’s trying out for Cheerios this afternoon. I guess your position as head Cheerio must be slipping.” She sent one challenging look Quinn’s way and watched as the girl’s eyes narrowed.
She surprised herself, sometimes, with how unerringly cruel her insults could be. It was beginning to become less of a shock, though, because it seemed like she needed to toss one out every day now.
Quinn was silent, though, and she counted that as one simple blessing.
-
The sun was setting slowly on the fence across the football field. Santana picked idly at her fingernails, the muscles in her shoulders tense. She was perched on the railing of the bleachers, her white cheerleading trainers planted flat against the metal fencing. It creaked when her feet pressed down. Her hands dropped to her sides, fingers curling under the edge of the bar, and her eyes found Quinn across the field. She was completely still, her back ramrod straight.
Santana could practically smell the fear radiating off of the freshmen kneeling before her.
The rest of the Cheerios were already inside, relieved to be finished an hour early for the first time in their careers. Coach Sylvester had ‘fresh meat to fry’, or something similar to that statement. Anyway, she’d disappeared, leaving Quinn to mercilessly destroy the freshmen in her wake.
Santana was waiting, patiently. Or, not so patiently, if you judged by the way her legs were swinging restlessly in the wind, her fingernails tapping softly against the aluminum.
Tennis shoes sounded lightly against the steps and Santana turned, her entire body relaxing when she saw Brittany bouncing toward her.
“I’m in!” The girl laughed, but that fact was evident by the bright white and red Cheerios uniform tight on her body. It took Santana about two seconds to swing onto the ground and catch Brittany in her arms. The girl was heavier than she looked, but Santana was stronger, and when Brittany wrapped endlessly long legs around her waist, Santana held her up and close. Brittany was laughing in her ear when Santana finally spun to a stop and let the girl slide down. Santana grinned brilliantly and they stared at each other for a moment, that same tension seeping between them. It hung like a shroud around them, hiding them from view.
The tension was beginning to feel comfortable. Maybe, even- right.
Santana just stepped forward and wrapped Brittany in another hug, knowing, somewhere, that was all she could do.
“Do we really have to drink protein shakes for every other meal?” Brittany asked, her nose crinkling up in distaste when they finally separated. Santana nodded as they turned to walk away from the bleachers.
“It’s not so bad.” She said, reaching blindly for Brittany’s hand without thinking about it. At the last moment, that familiar fear manifested and she hesitated. Their pinkies brushed, though, and Brittany wound hers around Santana’s. The resulting thrill shot straight down to Santana’s toes and back up again. Her ears felt warm. “You want to come over? We can run through some of the routines again.” Brittany nodded.
Santana wasn’t sure why Brittany’s pinky linked with hers was making her feel free, but the reason behind all of it was beginning to crystallize in her mind. She felt daring and exposed in the middle of the football field, but content and thrilled in the same moment. Fuck if these feelings weren’t unusual for her but strangely similar to something she’d heard about, somewhere.
The word spun through her head before she could snap it down and imprinted itself on every thrill in her body, making her tense with disbelief.
Crush.
-
Claiming her seat beside Brittany in their matching Cheerios uniforms made her happier than she had expected. That unfamiliar glimmer in Brittany’s gaze might have had something to do with that, though. Santana reached out and Brittany linked their pinkies.
Not for the first time, Santana wondered why she had met this girl earlier in her life. They seemed somewhat destined to become friends and once they had, everything else started to fall into place.
“You want to come over and dance tonight?” Brittany asked, looking up from her paper dolls. Santana could feel her eyes, but her own stayed trained on the wood before her.
“I can’t. I have a date with Sam.” The words hung heavy between them the moment they left Santana’s mouth.
“Oh. Okay.” Brittany turned back to her art. The exchange strung between them, pulling down hard on both. Santana was the first to break- would probably always be the first to break, when it came down to it.
“I think I’m going to dump him.” She offered, glancing up to study Brittany’s reaction. This time, Brittany kept her eyes glued to the table.
“Really?” She finally looked over at Santana, reading past all the bravado and hidden emotions. Santana shrugged.
“He’s not really worth my time. I’m pretty sure he’d rather play video games than make out with me.” She muttered, looking away again. She wasn’t doing this for Brittany by a long shot, not in her conscious or subconscious or whatever the fuck told her what to do. But she was hoping, somewhere else, that the news would click with Brit.
“I’m sorry.” Brittany said, and it was exactly what should have come out of her mouth but they both sort of knew that she didn’t mean it.
“Don’t be-." Santana rolled her eyes. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not.”
“Oh. I’m not sorry then. Good luck.” Brittany’s attention was back on her dolls and Santana took the moment to
smile affectionately, watching the way her hands were careful with the scissors but for some reason kept lobbing off the poor dolls’ left feet. It shouldn’t have charmed her, but god did it ever.
-
Sam and Santana shared the back of his dad’s pickup truck with a mostly empty picnic basket and a span of stilted conversations strung between them. He swung his legs easily, letting them hit the underside of the truck and back out front again. Her whole body was tense, gaze aimed dead ahead.
“I’m thinking about driving into Columbus this weekend for that Comic Exchange, do you want to come with?" He looked toward her expectantly but she stared blankly ahead.
“I think-." Santana bit down hard on the words that had been about to leave her lips, something along the lines of ‘we should break up’ or ‘we should stop lying’. It was too harsh and she couldn’t believe she’d almost let the words out between them. He was staring now.
“You think what?” He sounded defeated. He’d always been good at reading her moods and unfortunately tonight was no different. She glanced down at her hands, resting calmly in her lap, preparing, but he spoke before she could elaborate. “No, you know what, I think I got it.” He slid off the bed of the truck. “Or- I don’t get it, because you won’t talk to me anymore so I have no idea what’s going through your head, but I’m pretty sure you’re breaking up with me.” His stare was accusing and she had absolutely no defenses against it.
He must have seen the truth painted clearly in her eyes because he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and turned away from her.
“It’s just not working. I think we’re in different places right now.”
“You know, I thought we were different. Everyone said you would get bored and leave, but I thought we really had something.” He rocked back on his heels, his eyes on the ground.
“We do, Sam. You are different. I just don’t think I’m in the right place for a relationship right now.” Santana stepped to the ground. He was studying her, his eyes inscrutable, and she wanted to shy away from the knowledge there. She crossed her arms defensively. “Look, I’m gonna go. I hope we can still be friends, or whatever.
“Or whatever, Santana.” Sam said, but his voice wasn’t cruel or harsh. She clicked away; her head tilted down until she thought about it and lifted her nose to the sky. Her Mustang growled to life and she hesitated, just for second, her eyes flickering back to Sam, before peeling away from his house.
The night stretched out, long and lonely, before her.
fandom: glee
pairing: santana lopez/brittany pierce
rating: T
summary: She was tall, lean, and blonde and Santana barely caught a glimpse of her as she bounced down the steps, but it was enough. AU.
just the same.
Santana spent the weekend texting Brittany, avoiding Sam, and studying for some ridiculous AP Biology exam on Monday. She may or may not have looked Brittany up on YouTube and watched the girl move in ways she literally thought were impossible and should also probably be illegal. Not only could Brittany dance, but the girl could flip, too, like she had tiny trampolines taped to her tennis shoes. The little kids in the video stared at her with such unadulterated awe and respect it was closing in on disgusting.
That’s why, when Santana strolled into school Monday morning on Sam’s arm and turned a corner just in time to see some stupid hockey jock slushie Brittany right in the face, her first reaction was disbelief.
Her second reaction was to murmur some excuse to Sam and swiftly follow Brittany down the hall and deep into McKinley.
Later, she wished that second reaction had been her fists.
-
Santana’s hands were sticky and dyed red, a brand new experience for her. She felt the sickly sweet smell burning into her skin, like the cheapest perfume she’d ever touched.
Brittany stood drenched in front of her, miserable and stoic. Santana felt awful to the tips of her toes as she carefully brushed away lumps of freezing slushie from the girl’s shoulders. They were hidden away in an empty bathroom, the stall locked securely after them.
Santana’s formerly pristine white Cheerio sneakers stood next to Brittany’s bright purple Chucks, both pairs stained by drips of bright red slushie. Chunks of ice slid from Brittany’s hair down to her shirt, leaving angry red trails like veins against her skin.
“I’m sorry.” Santana said, again. Her fingers were soft and careful as she brushed the paper towel against Brittany’s skin. It was almost like she couldn’t bear to touch Brittany.
“I know, Santana. It’s not your fault.” Brittany tried to catch Santana’s eyes with her own, but the girl was staring intently at the red in her hair and avoiding her gaze. “Santana.” Brittany said once, and their eyes finally met.
Santana’s were guilty and embarrassed, but Brittany wouldn’t let her look away.
“I’ll be fine. It tastes kind of good, anyway.” Brittany lied, a small, tired smile forming on her mouth. They stared at each other for a moment, a battle of some sort, though neither knew just what they were fighting.
“Join the Cheerios.” Santana said. Her hand paused on Brittany’s collarbone. Brittany tilted her head. “You won’t get slushied ever again. And we can hang out at practices. Plus, you can dance.” Her gaze was serious and Brittany nodded once.
“Okay. Can I drive your sweet ass car to football games sometimes?” Brittany asked. Santana smiled affectionately, the feeling warm in her eyes.
“You can drive my sweet ass car for no reason at all.” She promised. The last of the slushie splattered from Brittany’s collar to the ground, splashing red onto Santana’s calves and Brittany’s jeans.
“Oops.” Brittany said, grimacing. She tucked her fingers under her shirt, ready to strip it off, and Santana suddenly realized the stall was just really tiny and she should probably get out, like now- She fumbled with the door handle, but managed to escape.
She just barely caught of glimpse of Brittany in the mirror, unabashedly stripping her top off, and wondered why her face had suddenly turned fifteen shades darker.
-
It had gotten dark without either of them realizing it. The windows in the room stood like inky mirrors along the wall, the wooden floors and the glare on them glowing in the squares, reflected back and to infinity against the floor length mirrors on the other side of the room. Brittany was digging in her bag when Santana turned to her.
"Hey, we should run it one more time and head out. It's getting late." Santana tried to shrug away the exposed feeling that was creeping up her spine. Brittany unscrewed the top of her water bottle and stood up in one long, graceful motion.
Since Santana had discovered that Brittany was a dancer, she felt kind of ridiculously dumb for not noticing it before. All Brittany did was dance.
"Okay, let's do that last number one more time." They had been practicing for two days now and it shouldn’t have surprised Santana, but Brittany picked up the routines effortlessly. Brittany tossed the bottle back in her bag, hit a button on the CD player, and skipped over to Santana, spinning her so she could look at them both in the mirror.
Santana stood a couple inches shorter than Brittany, but she was dark and smoky where Brittany was soft and blonde. They stood, Brittany smiling, Santana staring, something in her gaze unsure, until the music kicked in. Then, not for the first time that night, Brittany took her by surprise.
It wasn't one of the Cheerio mixes they'd been practicing for the past couple hours. It was some dirty, bumping hip hop song that made her think about dancing at one of Puck's 'parties' and all the CDs she hid from her mom in her car. Brittany caught her gaze, her eyes playful for a moment before turning utterly focused. Her body snapped into place, her arms popping up.
Santana flushed without really thinking about it and took a step back.
Brittany was sweet, unassuming and kind- but this dance was none of these things. Santana had seen great dancers. She had also seen Brittany dance enough to recognize her natural style. This was something way beyond that. Her movements were utterly technical and composed. Brittany had turned to the mirror and Santana watched her blonde hair swirl, her body snapping into position without hesitation.
The rap turned unexpectedly smooth, the hook kicking in like a smoky night, and Brittany was suddenly in front of her, one hand held out.
The focus and certainty hadn’t left her gaze and Santana found it impossible to resist.
She was nowhere near the dancer that Brittany was, but when the girl was spinning her close and rocking their hips, she could almost fake it. Brittany’s fingertips barely brushed Santana’s waist, but they felt like bits of fire against her skin. This close, Santana could smell her, something sweet and light, and it mixed in with the softness of her bare skin. It was an altogether intoxicating experience and it terrified Santana straight to the bone. That adrenaline left her shaking and completely pliable to Brittany’s hands.
She found herself in front of Brittany, the girl’s fingertips soft against the bare skin of her hips. They drug her down, moving her body sensually to the sound, her heart beating an uneven rhythm in time. Brittany’s hands danced up Santana’s sides and ran quickly down her arms before entangling their fingertips, pulling her closer. Brittany pressed their hands to Santana’s stomach, just above her hipbones.
Santana could hear Brittany just behind her, panting a little with the exertion, closing the gap between them by millimeters. There was an awful squirming in her stomach and lightness in her legs and she couldn’t find it in her to move or respond or flee. She just let it happen, watching, almost horrified, as Brittany erased the distance and they were left basically grinding, hips rocking slowly to the beat, pressed so tight. Brittany’s cheek brushed her ear and Santana felt her breathe in, about to speak, and suddenly they were too exposed and too open and she pulled away, dropping Brittany’s hands like they hurt it.
It didn’t help any. She still felt helpless and bereft even after she had put a good five feet of distance between them.
“San?” Brittany’s voice was a little lost. Santana took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to take normal steps toward the opposite end of the room.
“What was that?” Santana tried to make her voice light, but even she could hear the tightness in it. Brittany padded over to her.
“I hit the wrong button on the CD player, I think.” Brittany shrugged. She sat down on the floor next to her bag. “It was a routine for my last hip hop class. Did you like it?” She was smiling at Santana, looking a little shy and a little amused. Santana’s heart was still stuttering but she managed to nod.
“You’re amazing.” She said, honestly, the flush on her cheeks darkening.
Their eyes met and Santana watched Brittany’s warm into happiness, the corners of her eyes crinkling up. She wished she could wash away the awful thrill under her skin because it was the only thing keeping her from being perfectly happy in that moment.
-
"Sorry I couldn't come over last night." Sam mumbled from behind a mouthful of ham sandwich. His warm hand landed on her knee and he squeezed, once. "Coach has been keeping me late so I can pick up the plays before the season starts." Santana shrugged. She was staring out at the empty football field, the sun hitting the white lines almost painfully. Her protein milkshake sat forgotten by her right hand.
"It's fine." She thought about telling him that she had been at Brittany's house last night, anyway, but the words didn't seem to want to form and she just looked away instead. He was watching her face intently. He swallowed the last of his lunch and she braced herself.
"Are you okay? You seem a little...stressed out lately." She didn't look into his eyes because she knew what she would see there: compassion, affection, concern. He was right, though. She had been distant and cold and mostly frustrated over the past week. She wished she could put a name to it, but the word sat on the back of her tongue, in the recesses of her brain. She had been spending all of her time with Brittany, but neglected to tell her best friend or her boyfriend that the girl even existed.
“I’m fine.” She said, reaching down for her milkshake and taking a sip just to avoid the questions she knew he would have. He seemed to hesitate, but finally accepted her answer. She stole a glance at him. He used to hold such an appeal for her. He was handsome, that was obvious. She thought, maybe, she was falling in love with him. Falling in love with someone, finally. But the same old discontent was creeping in and he no longer seemed like such a prize.
She was starting to resent him because he couldn’t make her feel the way she wanted to. She wanted to flush at his touch or get excited when he called. She didn’t want true love, or some stupid garbage like romance, she just wanted to get turned on when her boyfriend’s hands ran down her sides. It was painfully frustrating.
“Let’s go to class.” She said. She was tired of the silence brewing between them.
-
“He’s been so needy.” Santana spit out in a whisper, her voice easily carrying past two desks to Quinn’s ears. The classroom was dim and the projector flickered at the front, shining some old film onto the wall. Santana was slumped in her seat, arms folded across her chest, eyes leveled. They shared the last row in the back of AP Western Civilizations and they spent the majority of it pretending like they weren’t actually there.
“At least he cares.” Quinn shot back. Something about the statement rang oddly in Santana’s head.
“Yeah, but what if I don’t?” Santana mused out loud. She turned her head to judge Quinn’s expression.
“Look, he’s not cheating- he’s not even interested in anybody else. Just give it some time.” Quinn suggested, her words pointed. “Maybe you’re just coming out of the honeymoon stage.” The truth was, Quinn recognized Santana’s words for what they were: confusion. She’d seen Santana go through the same thing with every boy she’d ever dated. There were easily recognized stages: affection, familiarity, annoyance, resentment. Somewhere in the last two, the relationship would inevitably end and Santana would be on the ready again, looking for someone else to occupy her time. Quinn wondered if anyone in Lima would ever be good enough for Santana, but at the same time she had a creeping feeling she knew what was really going on.
“I don’t think-“
“Santana, Quinn, I am sorry to interrupt but I would really like to take somewhat coherent notes on the film we are currently supposed to be watching, so if you wouldn’t mind saving your personal conversation for a more appropriate venue, I would greatly appreciate it.”
Two pairs of eyes leveled on Rachel Berry, who was bent over her notes in the desk that separated the two Cheerios.
“Look, Berry-." Quinn started, the acid in her voice already biting through the air.
“Sorry, Rachel.” Santana quickly interrupted, rolling her eyes a little. “But this is way more important than a stupid video on peanuts our teacher is sleeping through.” She flicked her gaze toward their teacher, who was in fact face down on his desk. Rachel looked about ready to argue this point, but Santana gave her a look. She shut her mouth abruptly, thinking better of it.
“Fine. But I believe I may be of some help here.” She hesitated, clearly aware of Quinn’s unfaltering glare at the back of her head. “I have noticed you’ve become friends with the new girl, Brittany Pierce, and if I may be so-“
“What does that have to do with anything?” Santana cut her off, the harshness of her tone surprising even herself. Quinn looked up, curious, and even Rachel looked a bit taken aback. Santana’s fierce gaze suddenly melted to blank.
“I merely meant-“
“What is Manhands talking about?” Quinn asked, tilting her head just a fraction.
“Brittany”, Santana waved her hand dismissively. “She’s in my art class and I’ve been showing her around.” Quinn gaze had narrowed with suspicion.
“Why have I not heard about this yet?” She iced. Santana refused to drop her gaze, but she recognized the look in Quinn’s eyes and the firm set of her shoulders.
“Because she’s not really important. To get back on subject, Sam and I are supposed to have picnic Thursday night and I don’t think I can-“
“No, let’s stay on this one. Why do you look so cornered?”
“I agree with Quinn.” Rachel added. She was also inspecting Santana like some sort of experiment. “You do look rather flustered.” Santana huffed and rolled her eyes, turning away from the two girls.
“I don’t look like anything, I’m just stressed about Sam. Anyway, Quinn, it’s not my fault you don’t know who she is- she’s trying out for Cheerios this afternoon. I guess your position as head Cheerio must be slipping.” She sent one challenging look Quinn’s way and watched as the girl’s eyes narrowed.
She surprised herself, sometimes, with how unerringly cruel her insults could be. It was beginning to become less of a shock, though, because it seemed like she needed to toss one out every day now.
Quinn was silent, though, and she counted that as one simple blessing.
-
The sun was setting slowly on the fence across the football field. Santana picked idly at her fingernails, the muscles in her shoulders tense. She was perched on the railing of the bleachers, her white cheerleading trainers planted flat against the metal fencing. It creaked when her feet pressed down. Her hands dropped to her sides, fingers curling under the edge of the bar, and her eyes found Quinn across the field. She was completely still, her back ramrod straight.
Santana could practically smell the fear radiating off of the freshmen kneeling before her.
The rest of the Cheerios were already inside, relieved to be finished an hour early for the first time in their careers. Coach Sylvester had ‘fresh meat to fry’, or something similar to that statement. Anyway, she’d disappeared, leaving Quinn to mercilessly destroy the freshmen in her wake.
Santana was waiting, patiently. Or, not so patiently, if you judged by the way her legs were swinging restlessly in the wind, her fingernails tapping softly against the aluminum.
Tennis shoes sounded lightly against the steps and Santana turned, her entire body relaxing when she saw Brittany bouncing toward her.
“I’m in!” The girl laughed, but that fact was evident by the bright white and red Cheerios uniform tight on her body. It took Santana about two seconds to swing onto the ground and catch Brittany in her arms. The girl was heavier than she looked, but Santana was stronger, and when Brittany wrapped endlessly long legs around her waist, Santana held her up and close. Brittany was laughing in her ear when Santana finally spun to a stop and let the girl slide down. Santana grinned brilliantly and they stared at each other for a moment, that same tension seeping between them. It hung like a shroud around them, hiding them from view.
The tension was beginning to feel comfortable. Maybe, even- right.
Santana just stepped forward and wrapped Brittany in another hug, knowing, somewhere, that was all she could do.
“Do we really have to drink protein shakes for every other meal?” Brittany asked, her nose crinkling up in distaste when they finally separated. Santana nodded as they turned to walk away from the bleachers.
“It’s not so bad.” She said, reaching blindly for Brittany’s hand without thinking about it. At the last moment, that familiar fear manifested and she hesitated. Their pinkies brushed, though, and Brittany wound hers around Santana’s. The resulting thrill shot straight down to Santana’s toes and back up again. Her ears felt warm. “You want to come over? We can run through some of the routines again.” Brittany nodded.
Santana wasn’t sure why Brittany’s pinky linked with hers was making her feel free, but the reason behind all of it was beginning to crystallize in her mind. She felt daring and exposed in the middle of the football field, but content and thrilled in the same moment. Fuck if these feelings weren’t unusual for her but strangely similar to something she’d heard about, somewhere.
The word spun through her head before she could snap it down and imprinted itself on every thrill in her body, making her tense with disbelief.
Crush.
-
Claiming her seat beside Brittany in their matching Cheerios uniforms made her happier than she had expected. That unfamiliar glimmer in Brittany’s gaze might have had something to do with that, though. Santana reached out and Brittany linked their pinkies.
Not for the first time, Santana wondered why she had met this girl earlier in her life. They seemed somewhat destined to become friends and once they had, everything else started to fall into place.
“You want to come over and dance tonight?” Brittany asked, looking up from her paper dolls. Santana could feel her eyes, but her own stayed trained on the wood before her.
“I can’t. I have a date with Sam.” The words hung heavy between them the moment they left Santana’s mouth.
“Oh. Okay.” Brittany turned back to her art. The exchange strung between them, pulling down hard on both. Santana was the first to break- would probably always be the first to break, when it came down to it.
“I think I’m going to dump him.” She offered, glancing up to study Brittany’s reaction. This time, Brittany kept her eyes glued to the table.
“Really?” She finally looked over at Santana, reading past all the bravado and hidden emotions. Santana shrugged.
“He’s not really worth my time. I’m pretty sure he’d rather play video games than make out with me.” She muttered, looking away again. She wasn’t doing this for Brittany by a long shot, not in her conscious or subconscious or whatever the fuck told her what to do. But she was hoping, somewhere else, that the news would click with Brit.
“I’m sorry.” Brittany said, and it was exactly what should have come out of her mouth but they both sort of knew that she didn’t mean it.
“Don’t be-." Santana rolled her eyes. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not.”
“Oh. I’m not sorry then. Good luck.” Brittany’s attention was back on her dolls and Santana took the moment to
smile affectionately, watching the way her hands were careful with the scissors but for some reason kept lobbing off the poor dolls’ left feet. It shouldn’t have charmed her, but god did it ever.
-
Sam and Santana shared the back of his dad’s pickup truck with a mostly empty picnic basket and a span of stilted conversations strung between them. He swung his legs easily, letting them hit the underside of the truck and back out front again. Her whole body was tense, gaze aimed dead ahead.
“I’m thinking about driving into Columbus this weekend for that Comic Exchange, do you want to come with?" He looked toward her expectantly but she stared blankly ahead.
“I think-." Santana bit down hard on the words that had been about to leave her lips, something along the lines of ‘we should break up’ or ‘we should stop lying’. It was too harsh and she couldn’t believe she’d almost let the words out between them. He was staring now.
“You think what?” He sounded defeated. He’d always been good at reading her moods and unfortunately tonight was no different. She glanced down at her hands, resting calmly in her lap, preparing, but he spoke before she could elaborate. “No, you know what, I think I got it.” He slid off the bed of the truck. “Or- I don’t get it, because you won’t talk to me anymore so I have no idea what’s going through your head, but I’m pretty sure you’re breaking up with me.” His stare was accusing and she had absolutely no defenses against it.
He must have seen the truth painted clearly in her eyes because he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and turned away from her.
“It’s just not working. I think we’re in different places right now.”
“You know, I thought we were different. Everyone said you would get bored and leave, but I thought we really had something.” He rocked back on his heels, his eyes on the ground.
“We do, Sam. You are different. I just don’t think I’m in the right place for a relationship right now.” Santana stepped to the ground. He was studying her, his eyes inscrutable, and she wanted to shy away from the knowledge there. She crossed her arms defensively. “Look, I’m gonna go. I hope we can still be friends, or whatever.
“Or whatever, Santana.” Sam said, but his voice wasn’t cruel or harsh. She clicked away; her head tilted down until she thought about it and lifted her nose to the sky. Her Mustang growled to life and she hesitated, just for second, her eyes flickering back to Sam, before peeling away from his house.
The night stretched out, long and lonely, before her.