Fic: There's A Golden Ring and I Want You
Title: There's A Golden Ring and I Want You
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: R
Word Count: 10k
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Summary: Santana has never really understood the point of weddings. Sort of post-Furt fix-it fic.
Spoilers: Through 2x09
Notes: Thanks to dealan311 for encouraging me to post this even though it's been totally jossed and is about five months too late. Title is ripped from the song For You by Duncan Sheik and is full of awesome so everyone should give it a listen.
Santana has never really understood the point of weddings. Marriage, for the most part, is a useless, mechanical exercise for sappy fools who are too blinded by endorphin-ridden delusion to remember divorce statistics. Weddings, therefore, are even more ridiculous than the concept they represent - celebrating something so transient and foolish.
She likes the receptions though. The part where everyone is high on second hand love sickness and too much champagne and some terrible wedding singer that will forever be Adam Sandler in her head sings cheesy songs all night. No one feels like an idiot for busting out on the dance floor because everyone else is doing it too and there’s something freeing in those two hours they spend at some random banquet hall. Yeah, she likes that part.
But in order to get to all that fun stuff she has to sit through an hour of ridiculousness. Some of the time (depending on whether or not the reception has an open bar) that hour of ceremony in which the bride and groom lavish love and trite platitudes on each other is worth it. Most of the time it's not.
So when she finds out she not only has to go to Burt and Carole’s wedding, but she has to stand up for it, she’s not exactly pleased. For one, she’ll be expending all her energy during the ceremony when she clearly needs to be saving it for the dance hall at the reception and secondly, she can't snooze through the vows like she usually does.
Whatever. She’s just not looking forward to it. Especially since all of glee is pretty much paired up into dates and yeah, sure, Puck will go with her and they’ll probably fuck later in the church or something, but for some reason it’s irking her that she doesn’t have a legit date to this shindig. Maybe it’s still lingering irritation from Rachel’s earlier rebuke of not including her in their little girl power pow wow. Don’t they realize that if they’re going to get anything done they’re going to need Santana? Idiots.
Anyway.
She hates weddings. Which is actually super inconvenient because her best friend, most trusted companion, number one partner in crime, Brittany S. Pierce? Brittany loves weddings. Like, borderline obsessed loves them.
It’s been that way since they were kids and a five year old Brittany instructed Santana on the ins and outs of playground marriages, pushing a makeshift ring onto Santana’s finger and forcing a younger and much shorter Finn Hudson to read out their wedding vows.
Brittany’s got this box in the corner of her closet that only Santana knows about. It’s filled with old bridal magazines, cut outs of dresses Brittany liked, notebooks filled with planning ideas and a scrap of paper nearly illegible with Santana and Brittany’s names scrawled in crayon. Occasionally Brittany will pull the box out and run her fingers over its contents in reverence. Santana tells her that she’s being stupid, but she never stops Brittany - just watches in contemplative silence, unable to resist smiling as Brittany pulls out that scrap of paper representing their fake marriage contract.
So, while Santana rolls her eyes at the news of the upcoming wedding, Brittany practically vomits joy over everyone.
Actually, Santana had a really, really hard time not smiling at the adorable way Brittany jumped up with excitement when she found out they were performing at the wedding.
But that doesn’t matter because it doesn’t change how Santana feels about the whole thing. Especially since smack in the middle of her enjoyment of Brittany’s obvious happiness is the realization that Brittany’s going to this wedding with Artie and Santana will be going with Puck and something deep in her gut, this ache she desperately wants to get rid of, makes her feel like that’s so not how things are supposed to be.
Not that there’s anything she can do to change that.
--
From a distance, Santana watches Brittany push Artie down the hall, her lip curling up a little without realizing it. She feels off balance and exposed, vulnerable without Brittany next to her.
Puck slams his shoulder into the row of lockers in front of her, obscuring her view. "Yo."
There's an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she's kind of grateful that the sight of Brittany is gone. "What do you want?"
Glancing over his shoulder like he knows exactly what has Santana in a foul mood, he smirks. "You want me to push him down some stairs?"
Guess he does know. "Aren't you guys like friends now?"
Puck shrugs. "Yeah, sort of. He does my math homework and I don't beat him up."
"Exactly." She turns back to her locker and tries to remember what she came here for.
"I'm just trying to help."
"I don't need that kind of help," she grumbles, running her fingers over her textbooks. "I can push him down some stairs myself."
Puck laughs and adjusts the strap to his backpack, slung over his shoulder. "S'not like you to sit around and fucking cry about stuff."
Slowly turning, she gives an incredulous glare. "I'm sorry, why are you here again?"
"Free period. You want to fuck?"
She lets out a sigh of relief, her previous grief forgotten. "Yes," she breathes, shutting her locker and grabbing him by the shirt in one swift motion.
They find an empty classroom, tucked away in the corner of the school, that hasn't been used for actual teaching in years. It's full of old desks and books and supplies no one has looked at in forever.
He pushes her against the wall, trails his hand under her skirt to pull her spanks down and that ache, the one right below her ribs, starts to subside a little.
The entire thing comforts her in the way only true familiarity can. His hands are warm against her skin and his body fits against hers just like it always has and even though they don't press their lips together, his head tucks into her shoulder and she feels content. He makes her come like someone that's been doing it for years and she breathes easy into the stale air of the empty classroom, forgetting about Brittany for long, peaceful moments.
But then it's over and they're readjusting their clothing, Puck pulling his backpack back over his shoulder and smirking at her as he grabs for the door handle. They walk back out into the school, into reality, Puck to the left and Santana to the right and the ache is back, settling sharply in her chest, worse than before.
--
There's a disconnect between sex and love. It's a disconnect Santana's never had a problem with before; she had a system worked out. One column is for people she sleeps with, people good for a nice orgasm, but are never really her friends. The other column is for people she doesn't sleep with, but feels any kind of affection for. Any people that she likes for something other than getting off. The first list is long. The second is short.
Maybe it's dysfunctional, but it works and her life is better for it. Everything is black and white, nothing gets confused, no one gets hurt.
Puck threatened to fuck all that up when they actually tried to have a real relationship. They managed to salvage the system because they have an understanding and Puck appreciates the tenuous relationship between sex and feelings almost as well as Santana does.
Brittany did fuck it all up and she didn't even try to do it.
Brittany kisses her right before high school and in the back of her head, with her eyes closed, Santana can see the columns jumbling together, the whole system threatening to fall down.
Fear makes people do some crazy things. That's what Santana tells herself. It's self-preservation and Brittany should understand that.
Instead, here they are with everything so messed up and confused and Santana needs to make some choices.
--
They still hang out just like before except there’s this huge elephant in the room that neither of them ever acknowledge. Santana senses it like a heavy weight on her chest and really, this is exactly why it’s easier to keep everyone separate. She wishes with deep longing that she had never slept with Brittany that first time.
It’s a fleeting wish though because she’s not sure she wants to live a life in which she doesn’t know what Brittany’s lips feel like against hers or what her hair smells like in the early hours of morning. And just thinking that way spins her back into a loop of wanting to have never known Brittany ever and the whole thing starts all over again.
All that indecision inside her leads to this moment, right now - Brittany’s sitting on her floor, painting her toenails this ridiculous shade of purple and babbling on about Artie and double dates and a whole host of things Santana really doesn’t care about at all.
“The bridesmaids dresses are really pretty,” Brittany comments, her chin propped on her knee as she stares at her toes.
Santana flips the page of her magazine and folds open the full-page perfume ad. “You saw them?”
“I made Kurt show me,” she says like interacting with Kurt is something she normally does.
She laughs. “Let me guess. They’re some unnecessarily violent shade of pink or rainbow. I swear that kid vomits gay over everything.”
Brittany glances up at Santana with this look she’s never really seen before, but it’s gone so fast that Santana doesn’t have time to identify it.
“They’re pretty,” Brittany says softly. “I like them.”
“Of course you do,” Santana grumbles.
--
Santana hates weddings, but one thing she doesn't hate is performing. It's why Cheerios is so intoxicating and why she shows up to glee practice everyday on time. She loves performing so much that she forgets things like how totally lame most of the members of glee are and that it doesn't help her bitch status if she's caught smiling and laughing with them too often.
When she finds out that they’re going to be performing at the wedding it actually helps to alleviate some of her trepidation about the whole thing. It will definitely serve to make the ceremony more interesting and maybe she won’t even need to snooze through the whole thing.
The dresses they have to wear are actually not hideous like she expects. Brittany gives her this small look of smugness when Santana runs her fingers over the fabric, eyebrows raised.
“Told you,” Brittany says softly as she passes by.
They get dressed and ready and Santana likes how the dress fits her despite being a little creeped out that Kurt knew her measurements without having to actually like...measure her or something. There’s a flower in her hair and she can feel this tingling of anticipation over her skin at the idea of performing soon and everything is kind of great until she sees Brittany talking to Artie in a hushed whisper out in the hallway.
Brittany should be next to her right now. They should be helping each other get dressed and Santana should be rolling her eyes at whatever stupid fantasy wedding Brittany is going on about and Brittany should be fingering the flower in Santana’s hair and telling her how pretty she is.
Instead, Brittany’s outside giggling at something Artie’s saying and flicking her fingers against the lapels of his suit and Santana’s left scowling at her reflection in the mirror wondering when she started caring about such stupid things.
She does what she does whenever she can’t deal with something. She leaves.
--
She doesn’t know why she does it. Maybe it’s her unending distaste for Rachel Berry or her need to ruin anything stable and good in her vicinity. Maybe it’s because she’s bored or maybe it’s because she likes seeing Finn Hudson squirm.
It could be a number of reasons, but the why isn’t so important.
Finn is standing in front of a mirror with his clip-on tie and the most bewildered expression on his face and something in Santana’s stomach tightens uncomfortably. Running her hand over the dress across her abs and swallowing she wills the feeling away. Of all the people to ruin her system, Finn Hudson is not going to be the one.
She took his virginity. And that’s all it was.
Now he can serve another purpose, but she’s got to get him back within her grasp. This was all so much easier when he had fallen off the social ladder and broken into pieces. It’s harder now that he’s putting up a good fight with Sam Evans for king, but not impossible. The cracks are showing and Santana can exploit them.
She tries being nice at first even though the act fits her like a glove two sizes too small and Finn’s sort of adorably oblivious through the whole thing. It pisses her off. This guy is so crippled by innocence and naiveté and she really wants to trample all over it. Why he’d want to drag, Rachel Berry, that social time bomb, around with him she has no idea, but he’s adamant about it. And the more fight he puts up, the more she wants to lash out.
She has this awesome weapon sitting in her arsenal, this one secret she knows would destroy two people and she hasn’t used it. Standing in front of Finn right now, with the lingering memory of Brittany and Artie in the back of her head, she’s not so sure why she hasn’t. It’s not like her.
Finn continues to argue with her, spewing nonsense about love and feelings, and she grinds her teeth at the words, arms crossing over each other as she finally pulls out the one threat that will shut him up.
“Maybe I’ll tell her,” she says, this act, the one where she spits venom, this one feels like an old friend, wrapping itself around her like a warm blanket. “I mean if you two broke up, we’d be free to see each other, right?”
Rachel interrupts them before she can get an answer, and the sound of her voice is like a chill, ripping the warm familiarity of threatening someone off of her as she turns away from Finn and walks away. For a split second, when she sees the fear in Finn’s eyes at Rachel’s entrance and spins to see her, she considers telling the short irritating girl right then and there her big secret, but something stops her.
It’s not like she wants to actually date him anyway.
Well, she’s not sure really knows what she wants; she just knows it’s not what she has now. It feels a lot like wanting what she can’t have.
--
Mike Chang is staring into a discarded mirror, leaned up against the hallway wall, when she passes and she arches his eyebrow to see him struggling with his tie too. What is it with the guys in their high school?
“You’re kidding me.”
His head snaps up and he stares at her, wide-eyed, for a second before shrugging helplessly. “I’ve never had a clip on before. It’s weird,” he mumbles.
She rolls her eyes and walks over to him wondering how it became her job to do this when all these guys have girlfriends don’t they? He slouches down for her and she grabs his tie, flipping his collar up to get it on.
“Why isn’t Tina doing this right now?”
“I don’t know where she went.”
“Probably off trying to find her crippled ex-boyfriend,” Santana grumbles because she just needs to be mean to someone and Mike’s got the unfortunate position of being in front of her right now.
“What?” He exclaims shooting upward. Thankfully she’s done adjusting his tie. She lets out a sigh.
“I was kidding,” she concedes, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Sorry. I’m sure she’s not. I saw her with Quinn trying to get their makeup done.”
Mike lets out an audible sigh of relief. “Why would you say that?”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Whatever, we have to go line up. I’m sure Berry’s freaking out right now.”
She turns to walk away, but Mike’s voice stops her. “Artie’s not over her, you know.”
“What?” She glances back, her face screwed up in confusion. Why do people feel the need to talk to her about the most inane things?
“Tina,” Mike clarifies, buttoning his suit coat. “Artie’s not over her. This thing with Brittany is just a fling.”
“I’m sorry. Explain to me why the hell I care about any of that,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
Mike smiles, but there’s a sadness to the expression. He walks past her. “You know why.”
Santana’s left scowling at her reflection in the mirror.
--
She finds Puck roaming the hallways near the girls dressing room.
He notices her and his eyes light up. “Hey I’m trying to find the communion wine or whatever, wanna help?”
She grabs him by the lapels of his jacket, dragging him into an empty Sunday school classroom and shutting the door behind her with an echoing thud.
“Hey, whoa, chill out.” He shrugs out of her grasp and straightens out his clothing. “Dude, it’s not in here,” he says, looking around.
“We’ve got fifteen minutes before the ceremony starts,” she tells him.
Confusion clouds his face for a few seconds before it clears and he’s leering at her. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she repeats with a nod.
Hooking her fingers in the waistband of his pants, she pushes him against the wall and flips open the top button, deftly unzipping him as he latches his lips onto her neck and palms her ass.
He’s hard in no time and she’s on her knees, sucking him off fast and hurried as she stares up at him indecently, his hands gripping the wall as to not mess up her hair. Frustration bleeds out of her when he comes, jerking forward and crying out, gasping for air.
Wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she smiles and pats him on the stomach, walking out of the classroom without another word.
--
They line up at the entrance to the chapel and Santana manages to smile at Brittany, her hands propped on the handles to Artie’s wheelchair. The pain she usually feels at the sight is dulled by the taste of Puck in her mouth and the sting still lingering in her knees.
Brittany turns a bright smile towards her. “Hey, where have you been?”
“Around,” she comments mildly, running her nail over the corner of her lip and winking when Artie turns towards her curiously.
There’s not time to say anything else because Rachel is fluttering around all of them, muttering something about timing, tuning and a ton of stuff Santana’s thinking of decking her for. Then the music starts to play from the chapel, and Santana’s heart starts to pound in time with the beat as Finn steps out to start their performance.
Puck comes up beside her, adjusting his tie and smiling down at her conspiratorially. He moves his head around, mockingly, with the music and shimmies his shoulders a bit and she laughs. Things are so easy with Puck, comfortable.
It’s not long before Brittany is pushing Artie out the doors in front of him and Puck gives her a nod as they dance out with the rest of the group.
Halfway down the aisle, Puck and Brittany change places, and her best friend is suddenly next to her, dancing in sync with Santana’s steps and motions, and she feels something click, like pieces coming together. It’s this satisfying hum that goes right through her and that ache she normally feels swells up.
There's this moment, fast and fleeting, when everything sort of stutters. Brittany's next to her, singing her part, a bright smile, wide blue eyes and crazy blonde hair, and they're standing together in front of the altar. Brittany twirls and their eyes lock and Santana's heart skips a beat, the music snapping off in her ears for a second, and this feeling flutters up in her stomach that threatens to bowl her over.
Nearly a millisecond and it's gone. They're taking their places up at the altar with everyone else and belting out the last notes of the song as Burt and Carol make their way towards them. Santana's not even sure something actually happened.
Vows are exchanged and from her position on the right side of the altar, Santana can see the adoring looks between Finn and Rachel, between Sam and Quinn and even between Mike and Tina. Despite standing right between Puck and Brittany, two people who probably know her the best, she feels totally alone.
She spends the rest of the ceremony with this uncomfortable tug right near her ribs and tries to ignore the urge to run away.
--
“You look pretty.” The voice is soft and happy behind her, so Santana twirls to locate its source. Brittany’s standing at the doorway of this bathroom she stole away into, on the top floor of the church. She had to get away from Rachel Berry’s jabbering about vocal cues and dance steps before she slammed the girl’s head into a sink.
“Thanks.”
Hands held together in front of her, Brittany waltzes into the room and smiles at Santana’s reflection in the mirror in front of them. “I like weddings,” she comments, plucking a little at Santana’s hair. “Everyone dresses up so pretty.”
"Yeah, I know."
“I know you know,” Brittany replies.
“I know you know I know,” Santana says, momentarily amused.
“I know you know-”
“We got it, Britt.”
Brittany hums, but doesn’t say anything else. She just stands there next to Santana.
“Why are you in here?” Brittany tilts her head curiously. “We’re supposed to be going into the big room for the party.”
“I know,” Santana sighs.
“I know you know,” Brittany says brightly.
Santana cuts that off from repeating with a laugh and a please stop wave in Brittany’s direction.
Brittany picks at the fabric of Santana’s dress and stares at it, running the material through her thumb and index finger. “I don’t think I’d want this color at my wedding,” she muses.
Santana looks down at the color and purses her lips together. “It’s not that bad, really.”
Blue eyes snap up to connect with hers. “You like it?”
“I’m just saying it’s not bad.”
“What color would you want?”
Santana shrugs, confused. “What does it matter?”
“Well I don’t want a color at my wedding that you don’t want at yours.”
“Britt, you’ve known what you want at your wedding since we were six.”
Brittany drops Santana’s dress and tucks an errant strand of Santana’s hair behind her ear. She has to fight not to swat the hand away. “I know,” she says, lowly.
“So it shouldn’t matter what I think,” she explains unnecessarily.
“I care what you want.”
Santana rolls her eyes. “Why don’t you go ask Artie,” she grumbles, unsure why the words come out nearly the second after she hears them.
“Why would I ask Artie?” Their eyes connect in the mirror and Santana swallows dryly, backpedaling rapidly in her mind.
“Aren’t you guys like dating or whatever?”
Brittany laughs. “Yeah, so?”
“Yeah so...”
“I’m not going to marry Artie,” Brittany says. “That’s dumb.”
Santana twirls to look at her. “Well,” she starts, pausing and looking around for a second, “what?”
“Why would I marry Artie?” Brittany looks about as disgusted with the suggestion as Santana feels.
“I dunno.”
Brittany pokes her in the temple and chuckles. “You’re dumb.”
“Whatever.”
“You’re like really dumb,” Brittany says again, this time her face growing serious. “I just like pushing him around and sitting on his lap. He’s kind of boring during sex, but whatever.”
Santana shifts uncomfortably, the memory of watching Brittany with Artie the last few weeks settling like rocks in her stomach. Her jaw clenches and she licks her lips, the lingering taste of Puck just barely noticeable.
“Then why are you dating him?”
Brittany shrugs and bumps their shoulders together. “I don’t know. Why are you dating Puck?”
“I’m not,” Santana argues, crossing her arms over her chest.
“You said the other day that you were.”
“I’m not,” Santana repeats, this time more vehemently.
There’s no reaction on Brittany’s face, not that Santana expects one. “Seems like you’re not dating a lot of people,” Brittany says, the words cold and almost bitter. It sounds so foreign coming out of Brittany’s mouth that it takes Santana a moment to register.
Brittany’s walking towards the door and out of the bathroom before Santana can even utter another word.
--
Finn gives this nauseating speech about learning how to be a man or something, Santana’s not really sure. Her leg bounces up and down under the table as she watches Artie smile adoringly at Brittany and waits impatiently for the part of this speech where she actually gets to sing and dance.
A heavy hand lands on her leg, stilling it, and she exhales sharply, turning to look at Puck. Eyebrows raised, he laughs a little under his breath, leaning in close to whisper, “What the hell has your panties in a twist?”
“Bored,” she mutters.
He laughs again, shrugging one shoulder. “Dude, two minutes and we’ll be up there getting our jam on.”
She breathes a little easier. “Yeah.”
Sure enough Finn ends his speech a few minutes later and the band starts up, Puck standing and winking at her. “See you on the dance floor, babe.”
Smiling, she turns to see him take his place behind Finn and watches as the boys start up the song, Finn belting out the lyrics in Kurt’s direction. She takes a deep breath, waits for him to finish his line and she jumps up at her cue, moving on to the dance floor with the rest of the girls.
Brittany looks over as they’re moving into place and for a second it’s just like back in the church, when time skipped a beat and her heart stopped, but then it’s over just as fast, like it never happened and Santana’s feet are moving, her mouth opening and she’s singing.
It’s like it always is when she’s performing, eyes on her and the music pumping through her limbs. She feels happy, free, unencumbered by the weights of reality and when Puck smiles at her, she smiles back, laughing as she dances around him.
--
The weird thing about being best friends with Brittany is that even when they have strange, passive aggressive spats (it happens way more often than most people assume), they usually just roll away within a few hours and they’re back to acting like nothing is wrong.
So even though Santana’s pretty sure Brittany was mad at her for something during the Hummel-Hudson wedding, the next day, Brittany shows up at her door, bright smiles, blonde hair and laughter as she pushes Santana back into the house and pulls them both up to Santana’s room.
Brittany sticks her hand in her jacket and pulls out three little bottles of nail polish. “I found a bunch of funny colors,” she exclaims, face lit up. “You want to paint our toes different colors?”
Santana laughs, reaches out to pick up one of the bottles and nods a little. “Yeah.”
--
Brittany acts like everything is fine and normal so well that Santana finds herself believing it. She believes it so much that she slips up one evening when they’re sitting on Brittany’s bed, watching a movie. It’s just instinct more than anything else that makes her hand slide up Brittany’s thigh. She can’t help but touch Brittany when she’s this close; it feels wrong not to.
Brittany lets it happen, doesn’t say anything until Santana’s hand shifts upward.
“We can’t,” Brittany whispers, setting her hand on top of Santana’s and turning sad eyes towards her.
Santana makes a face. “Can’t what?”
“Have sex,” Brittany answers, her voice even quieter.
Santana shakes her head in denial. “I wasn’t trying to-”
“Santana,” Brittany says sadly, moving Santana’s hand off her thigh. “I have a boyfriend.”
Jaw clenching, Santana’s stomach turns over in a quick burst of anger. Her arms cross over her chest and she turns her eyes towards the movie, but she doesn’t see any of it.
She leaves the room when the credits roll without saying another word to Brittany. She feels her best friend’s sad, desperate stare on her back the entire way home.
--
They’re walking towards class when Santana loses it.
Maybe it’s weird that not having sex with her best friend puts her all out of sorts, but she can’t help it. She feels like this vital part of her life is missing, and being with Brittany doesn’t feel right with all the distance between them.
She can’t take it anymore. Quick trysts with Puck only fill her up so much, and it’s not long before her palms are nearly itching with the urge to touch Brittany. It bubbles up inside her until she can barely think about anything else and she’s grabbing Brittany’s arm in the hallway before she can even think about what she’s doing.
Brittany’s wide-eyed when Santana faces her in the empty classroom. “Are you okay?”
Adrenaline pumps through her veins because she’s not exactly sure how to approach the situation or what to say or even what she wants to say. Her heart pounds, and she just needs things to be different than they are. She needs to feel like her world is normal again.
Words have never been Santana’s strong suit; she’s always been a woman of action. So, instead of answering Brittany’s question, or spouting out her feelings, she steps forward, pushes Brittany against the closed door and presses their lips together.
Brittany gasps, but the sound is swallowed up by Santana’s mouth. It’s long moments, lips slanting against each other, before Brittany puts her hands on Santana’s cheeks and pulls her away.
“Stop dating Artie,” Santana orders, her words harsh and out of breath.
Brittany shakes her head, staring seriously into Santana’s eyes. “Why?”
Santana swallows, licks her lips and lets her eyes flicker down to Brittany’s mouth. “Because I told you to.”
“That’s not good enough.”
Jerking her head back a little, Santana scowls. “Well then what is?”
“Do you want to date me instead?”
Santana’s brow furrows and her stomach turns over with the implications. Santana would do a lot of things for Brittany - things she wouldn’t do for anyone else - but social suicide isn’t really on that list. “No,” she answers, nearly croaking on the word.
Brittany’s face screws up a little, like a flinch at the answer, and Santana’s stomach tightens uncomfortably. “Let me go,” Brittany says lowly, trying to step forward.
Santana keeps her hands steady on Brittany’s hips, holding her in place as she presses her forehead back against Brittany’s. “No,” she says again, this time more firmly.
“Santana, please,” Brittany pleads and Santana can hear the tears starting to form in the back of Brittany’s words.
“I love you,” Santana confesses in a whimper.
Blue eyes widen a fraction, but it’s the only reaction on Brittany’s face. “I know,” she breathes, frowning, “that’s the problem. This wouldn’t hurt so much if you didn’t.”
Santana doesn’t think that makes a lot of sense, but Brittany’s gone by the time she can say so.
--
Kurt leaves school. He actually leaves.
It’s not that she likes the kid or anything. It has nothing to do with that. Yeah, he’s a Cheerio and that makes her feel a certain kinship with him, but it’s more than that. It’s that his leaving represents everything that she hates about this school, about the world. It’s about everything that’s wrong with her life right now.
She’s silent as Kurt walks away, head held high. She turns to Brittany after he disappears from sight and takes a deep breath. She’s glad she’s not the one that has to leave.
--
The next few days seem to slink by in a haze. Santana only notices they pass because Rachel Berry has a big ”DAYS UNTIL SECTIONALS” countdown posted up in the choir room. Santana watches with disdain as Rachel rips off numbers each day before practice.
For some reason, after her encounter with Brittany in the closet, things don’t just blow over between them like usual. Maybe it’s the I love you that’s hanging out in the open or the way Santana can’t stop hearing Brittany tell her that it didn’t matter.
Brittany spends more time with Artie. Which means she spends less time with Santana. Which means that Santana is left twiddling her thumbs half the time, barely able to figure out what to do with herself without Brittany right there next to her.
Then, of all the things to happen, Schue rips Rachel Berry’s spotlight away from her. He does it in front of the entire club, and she can’t even focus enough on adequately enjoying the look of complete indignation on Rachel’s face. She can’t focus because all she can think about is Brittany dancing with Mike, about how much rehearsal that’s going to take and about that’s one more person that’s going to get more of Brittany than she does.
To say she’s pissed is putting it mildly.
It’s not that she’s jealous of Mike or anything. Mike is about as dangerous as a sedated panda bear, but she can’t help the way anger boils up inside of her when she thinks about it. She’s angry at everyone, at everything. At Brittany, at Artie, at Finn, at Rachel, at Mike, at the world, at her stupid school in the middle of bumfuck Ohio, at herself.
Before she knows it, she’s lashing out, letting all that anger manifest itself into a confession she knows is going to destroy a few targets.
“That’s right, Yentl,” she hears herself spitting out, “your sweetheart? He’s been lying to you. ‘Cause he and I totally got it on last year.”
Silence drops over the club like a bomb before Schue loses it and gets Brittany and Mike to the front to start rehearsals. Santana leans back in her chair, arms over her chest and ignores the empty feeling in the pit of her stomach as she looks at Rachel’s shocked and dismayed expression.
--
“That was mean,” Brittany says as a greeting, leaning a shoulder up against her locker as she watches Santana open her own.
Santana shrugs and focuses on the textbooks lined up in front of her. “Whatever, she deserved to know.”
“Not like that,” Brittany argues.
“Whatever,” Santana repeats.
Brittany sighs, shifts her shoulder down a little and looks at Santana curiously. “What’s wrong?”
Santana turns an incredulous look on her best friend, but Brittany just stares back innocently like she has no idea what’s been going on between the two of them for weeks. Santana doesn’t know what to do so she just shakes her head and gives up. “Nothing. You want to go to the mall later?”
“I can’t,” Brittany answers, straightening up. “I have rehearsal with Mike and then I’m going over to Artie’s.”
It bothers her just how much that bothers her. Slamming her locker shut, she tries to put on a smile. “Have fun,” she says, before walking away.
--
She doesn’t actually see Brittany, aside from class and glee, for the next few days. After the third day of basically not speaking to her best friend, Mike shows up at her locker out of nowhere. The kid is a freaking ninja sometimes.
“Christ, Chang,” she gasps.
“Sorry,” he laughs, shrugging a little and looking completely unapologetic.
“What do you want?”
“Brittany misses you,” he says without preamble.
Rolling her eyes, she glares at him a little. He puts his arms out to the side and shrugs. “I’m just saying.”
“Well don’t,” she says, walking away. He follows her, shifting the strap of his backpack on his shoulder.
“Santana, you should talk to her. Seriously.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Mike sighs. “She’s really nervous about this sectionals thing, you know? She could use her best friend.”
“She’ll be fine.”
“Yeah,” Mike agrees, nodding. “She will be. You know that and I know that and everybody else knows it but Brittany. And she’s not going to believe anyone but you.”
“If she wanted to see me, she could see me.”
Mike shakes his head. “You should talk to her. She’s really scared.”
“Look,” she says, stopping, turning and poking him in the chest, “how about you take care of your relationships and I take care of mine and you get out of my face about it?”
“She’s my friend too,” he replies, voice low and even. “I’m just looking out for her. Get over yourself, Santana.”
Jaw clenched, she watches him walk away.
--
If Brittany is anything, it’s a creature of habit. Which makes it really easy for Santana to track her movements at any given time of day. Brittany has a few different go-to places for feeling scared or nervous so it’s not hard for Santana to find her.
Her plan is to check up on her best friend, see if what Mike said was true, and offer some quick words of reassurance. Then she’ll get out of there before it can get any deeper than that. She feels exposed as it is - confronting Brittany about something emotional in the middle of school makes her shake with anxiety.
The only wrinkle in her plan is that when she gets to her last spot on the list, this classroom Brittany hangs out in sometimes, Artie is already there.
When she spots him, she takes cover in the doorway, pressed against the wall so she can’t be seen, but she can still overhear their conversation. She sneers at a few freshman that look at her curiously and smirks when she sees them scurry away.
Listening to Artie try and reassure Brittany makes her roll her eyes. It’s even worse to hear the way Brittany eats it up like it’s totally fine for her boyfriend to treat her like she’s four.
But Brittany sounds happy, pleased and totally fine by the time Artie is done with his stupid story, and Santana finds herself walking away before either of them can walk out and see her. She’s around the first corner when she spots Puck sauntering towards her, self-assured smirk plastered on his face.
Letting out a small breath of relief, she beelines for him. He winks at her when he spots her and doesn’t protest when she grabs his arm, dragging him towards the school exit and out towards the parking lot.
They’re in Santana’s car in minutes and she’s climbing onto his lap in the back seat, pulling his shirt over his head and trying desperately to stay in the moment. She doesn’t know why it’s all hitting her now, why for some reason her emotions are beating against her ribcage, desperate to come out, but she’s losing the battle and quickly.
Puck must start to notice because he grabs her hands, stopping her from unbuckling his belt. “Babe,” he says, moving his face down to try and make eye contact. “What’s up?”
Breathing through her nose, she shakes her head sharply. “We’re going to fuck in my car,” she answers, tugging a little at his hands. He doesn’t let go, but she’s almost grateful for it. Anger is something to focus on that isn’t everything else she’s feeling.
“Yeah, that much about this I’m down with. Not the part where you’re about to cry.”
“I’m not about to cry,” she argues, but even as she says it her voice cracks a little and she can feel heat spike in the back of her eyes. “Shit.”
Puck’s silent, but he lets go of her hands, letting her swipe them under her eyes as she tries to get control of herself. It doesn’t quite work and tears begin fall in earnest. She laughs a little for lack of anything less humiliating to do. “This is stupid.”
Hands on her thighs, Puck chuckles a little. “Whatever, babe. It’s just you and me here.”
She laughs a little harder, taking a deep breath and finally feeling like she might not start sobbing. She bows her head forward and tries to get her heart to settle.
“What’s up?” Puck asks again, sliding his hands to her hips and squeezing.
“My life is so messed up,” Santana admits, shaking her head.
Puck laughs again, bringing his lips up to her head and pressing them into her hair. “I bet I have you beat,” he murmurs, a smirk in his voice.
It helps, keeping her laughing. “True,” she says.
He wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his chest, squeezing tight. “You’ll be okay,” he says quietly. “High school isn’t forever.”
“Thank God,” she replies, eyes closed.
They stay there, silent for long moments before Puck speaks again. “So are we actually going to get down, or what?”
Laughing again, Santana feels okay for the first time in days.
--
Santana loves performing. She never really gets nervous or scared. It’s an adrenaline rush, a hit of a drug more potent than anything Santana’s ever tasted. Normally, before a big cheerleading match, she’d be thrumming with excitement. She’d go over the routines countless times in her head and she’d spend the night with Brittany, planning just exactly how they were going to celebrate.
The night before sectionals, however, Santana spends it alone and uncharacteristically, she spends it with nerves churning her gut. She’s so tense that when she hears a tapping on her bedroom window she nearly falls off her bed.
“Shit, you scared me,” she gasps, pulling her window open to let Brittany inside.
“Sorry.”
Hand over her beating heart, she looks at her friend curiously. “What are you doing here?”
Brittany shrugs, looking around. “Just didn’t feel right not to be.”
Santana nods, but bites her tongue before she reveals just how relieved she is that Brittany showed up. “Cool,” she manages, striding back to her bed and lying down.
The mattress dips as Brittany joins her, side by side like they’ve been lying for years. It makes Santana feel better almost instantly, a long, content breath escaping her.
“Nervous about tomorrow?” Santana asks after a few moments, turning her head.
Brittany seems to consider the question, eyes trained on the ceiling, before answering, “Yeah, a little.”
“You’re going to be awesome,” Santana whispers, more sure of it than anything.
Brittany turns wide blue eyes towards Santana. “You think?”
“I know,” Santana says with a smile, kicking herself for not telling Brittany earlier.
“Promise?”
“Promise,” she replies, nodding.
“Artie gave me this magic comb, but I lost it,” Brittany confesses.
Santana rolls her eyes. “Ugh,” she groans, sitting up and shaking her head. “Don’t say his name in my bed. Seriously, this is a no-Artie zone.”
“He’s my boyfriend,” Brittany argues, sitting up as Santana stands, pacing away.
“Yeah, well, he shouldn’t be.”
Chin raised slightly, Brittany stares Santana down. “Who says?”
“I do,” Santana replies, incredulous. Has Brittany not been paying attention?
“Why?”
Santana throws her hands up and lets her head fall back against her shoulders, sighing in exasperation. “This again?”
“You don’t want to date me, but you don’t want me to date Artie because you want to have sex with me. You don’t want to date Puck, but you don’t want him to date Quinn or anyone else because you want to have sex with him. You don’t want to date Finn, but you don’t want him to date Rachel because you want to have sex with him.”
Santana’s brow furrows. “Where the hell did that come from? I don’t care who Puck or Finn dates.”
Brittany shakes her head solemnly. “I may be kinda dumb sometimes, but I know some things.”
“Artie’s not right for you,” Santana argues, avoiding Brittany’s point entirely.
Brittany stands, smiles sadly. “At least he wants to date me, not just have sex with me.”
“What do you want me to do, Britt? Date you? Come out to the whole school?”
“Is that so hard?” Brittany asks, shrugging.
Santana stares at Brittany, waiting for the punch line because she can’t see why Brittany doesn’t get it. “Did you not notice that the flamingest flaming queer of Ohio left our school because it was too hard being out?”
Brittany’s head jerks back a little confused. “Kurt?”
“Yes,” Santana deadpans. “Kurt.”
“We’re not Kurt.”
“Yeah, thank you. I realize that.”
“I don’t get it.”
Santana rolls her eyes too. “I realize that too.”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Santana sighs, suddenly tired. “Look, let’s just let it go. We have a big day tomorrow.”
Sighing in response, Brittany looks away, biting her lip and Santana wants desperately to make that look go away. Her palms itch with the urge to grab Brittany and never let go, but she tenses her arms and keeps them in check. “Okay,” Brittany agrees, moving back to the bed and crawling under the covers.
They sleep that night in the same bed, inches apart, but Santana feels like the gulf between them is miles wide.
--
Brittany and Mike kill at Sectionals. And, to be fair, Santana kills it too. Her solo is awesome and she can’t deny how good it feels to be dancing around Brittany while she belts it out. For how out of sync they may be during the rest of the day, right now, on stage, with a microphone in Santana’s hands and a smile on Brittany’s face, they’re completely together.
They take sectionals, an accomplishment Santana obviously attributes to herself, but when she turns to hug her best friend in congratulations, Brittany’s already wrapped up with Artie, smiling and kissing him on the cheek. Santana’s really sick of watching this show from the sidelines.
Puck grabs her from behind, squeezing tightly as he picks her off the ground a little. “Whooooo!”
She laughs, but she doesn’t really feel it and the smile she turns towards him doesn’t feel right. His own smile wavers as he sees her expression and he glances towards Artie and Brittany.
Laughing a little, he shakes his head and pulls her in for a quick hug. “You could fix that if you wanted to,” he murmurs before letting go.
He walks away before his words can register enough for her to hit him and he’s already picking up Rachel in celebration by the time Santana figures it out.
Brittany actually comes over to her as she’s about to go after Puck, slinging sweaty arms around Santana’s neck and pressing their bodies together. “You were awesome,” Brittany lets out, still a little breathless.
“You too,” Santana replies, wrapping her hands around Brittany’s waist, she holds her tight and eyes Artie over Brittany’s shoulder.
For the first time, Santana’s stomach doesn’t turn over as she looks at the guy, and she finds herself smirking at him, his confused expression making her feel better than she has in days.
--
Santana’s been sneaking into Brittany’s room since she was a kid. It’s gotten easier now that she has better control over all her appendages and a body more built for wall-climbing than her pre-pubescent one.
That day after sectionals, when Santana knows Brittany’s not home, she scales the side of Brittany’s house and finds her way into the bedroom just like she’s been doing for years. She goes into the closet on the far wall, moves aside some boxes until she finds what she’s looking for and smiles when she retrieves it. She holds it in her hands for a second, smiling softly.
Putting the boxes back the way she found them, she’s out the window again and making her way back towards her house in minutes.
Yeah, she can fix this. Puck’s not right often, but when he is, he is.
--
She returns that night, but this time she uses the front door, smiling at Brittany’s mom politely as she walks up the stairs towards her best friend’s room.
Brittany’s on the bed when she gets there, head hung over the side of the mattress as she bounces her feet up and down to the beat of some song coming out of the stereo. A confused look crosses her face when she sees Santana enter.
“Hey,” Brittany greets, turning over onto her stomach.
“Hey,” Santana replies.
Brittany looks down towards Santana’s hand and notices the package there, her face looking all the more confused. “What’s that?”
Suddenly nervous, Santana begins to lose confidence in her plan. This always looked so much easier in the movies. “It’s for you,” she manages to get out, thrusting it forward towards Brittany.
Looking shocked, Brittany sits up and moves forward, grabbing for the package. “A present?”
Santana shrugs. “Sort of.”
“What is it?” Brittany turns it over in her hands like she’ll be able to determine its contents just by looking at it.
“Open it,” Santana instructs with a laugh.
Brittany rips into the plain brown wrapping paper with vigor, revealing a small wooden frame. Blue eyes widen as they realize what exactly it is.
“You stole our marriage contract,” Brittany accuses, pouting.
“I had it framed,” Santana counters. “For your room.”
Brittany’s brows come together. “Why?”
Santana shifts back and forth on her feet. “Um,” she pauses for a second, trying to figure out what she wants to say despite having rehearsed it about a million times before coming over.
“I want to date you,” Santana confesses. “I want to.”
Brittany turns startled eyes towards her, but Santana stops her before she can get the wrong impression.
“I want to date you, but I can’t. I can’t and I’m sorry.”
Brittany focuses back on her present, a slight pout forming on her mouth. “Okay,” she sighs.
“Britt,” Santana says, moving forward and kneeling in front of her. “You have to understand.”
“No I don’t,” Brittany argues.
“Okay, maybe you don’t have to, but I’m asking you to.”
Brittany sighs, tracing her finger over the crayon contract.
“I want to, but life doesn’t work that way. Not right now. We can’t just go around telling everyone we’re dating or whatever. I can’t be that kind of girlfriend.”
Brittany opens her mouth to say something, but Santana stops her again.
“I married you when I was five,” Santana tells her, pointing at the frame. “I want to do it again when I’m twenty-five.”
Blue eyes go wide. “Yeah?”
Santana nods. “Yeah.”
Brittany’s face splits into a wide grin. “Really?”
Santana laughs. “Really,” she nods.
“Awesome,” Brittany breathes out, dropping the frame on the bed and grabbing Santana’s face with both hands. She presses their lips together and Santana can feel Brittany’s smile against her mouth.
“I want doves at my wedding,” Brittany whispers in between kisses. “And a cake made of twinkies.”
Santana laughs as she pushes into Brittany’s body, spreading them out over the bed and feeling more and more whole the longer Brittany’s touching her. “Why don’t we talk about that in a few more years?”
“Okay,” Brittany agrees, scratching her nails into Santana’s hair and pulling out her ponytail. “What do you want to talk about now?”
“I don’t,” Santana replies, smirking as she slides her hand up Brittany’s side.
Brittany smiles back and pulls Santana back into a kiss.
Touching Brittany again like this feels like a sudden breath of fresh air, like her world is finally making sense again. Everything in her head starts to go hazy as her fingers trace over Brittany’s skin, blue eyes darkening as they stare up at her. Her mouth presses against the warm skin of Brittany’s neck and as she breathes in against the coconut scent of Brittany’s favorite soap.
Later, with her head between Brittany’s legs and her tongue flicking against Brittany’s clit, Santana’s stomach tightens at the way Brittany’s thighs tremble, and the way her fingers tug insistently at Santana’s hair. When a sharp gasp breaks through the room and Brittany’s hips shoot up, Santana thinks that if she had to do this for the rest of her life, she’d be perfectly okay with that.
--
They go to school the next day and Santana’s feeling on top of the world. She’s feeling so good that she can barely contain her smile. It gets worse when she spots Brittany at her locker, but it falters a little when she sees Artie next to her. She realizes then that she never really cleared up that part of the situation with Brittany.
The look on Artie’s face, however, makes her feel a little better. He looks confused and hurt at the same time and that can only mean a few things.
She approaches them and puts her hand on Brittany’s back briefly to announce her presence.
Artie practically sneers at her when he finally notices she’s arrived. “Can you excuse us, Santana? We’re having a conversation.”
Brittany’s face looks dismayed and it makes Santana want to do everything, but excuse them. So she doesn’t. “No,” she says, smirking down at him.
Artie turns wide eyes at her, but she moves before he can say anything else, grabbing Brittany by the arm and pulling her around him.
“What was that about?” Santana asks, looping her arm through Brittany’s and glancing over her shoulder at Artie.
“I couldn’t come up with a good excuse to break up with him. He was starting to get kind of mad, but don’t worry I didn’t tell him about us.”
“You’re breaking up with him?” She hates how relieved the question sounds.
Brittany smiles, small and secretive as she stops and turns to look at Santana. “He’s not right for me,” she answers.
Santana laughs a little. “Why’s that?”
“I’m going to marry someone else.”
“You already knew that,” Santana argues, stepping a little closer.
“Maybe,” Brittany shrugs, “but I wasn’t sure.”
“And you are now?”
Brittany tilts her head a little and says in a low voice, “I love you.”
It flips her stomach over, but the feeling is pleasant and Santana never realized how much this mattered to her until just now. “Yeah,” she breathes out, smiling without thinking about it.
She glances down the hallway, left and then right. There are a few people milling about, but none of them are paying her any mind. She presses a quick kiss to Brittany’s lips, so brief that she almost doesn’t feel it, but Brittany’s mouth spreads wide and there’s a warmth in her lips that’s creeping across her skin.
--
It should all be fixed at that point, but she finds out fairly quickly that it’s not.
At first, Santana tries to remain oblivious that it’s not fixed despite how often it becomes obvious. Most people may not notice the little indicators that everything isn’t perfect, but Santana’s known Brittany her entire life.
It’s just little things like the way Brittany stares longingly at Sam and Quinn, holding hands in front of the whole glee club, or how Santana catches her biting her lip in Santana’s direction when people ask about Artie.
She tries to fix it without doing what Brittany clearly wants. She holds her hand extra long when they’re at home and tells her I love you in the dark of the bedroom more often than normal.
They’re at the mall when Santana finally cracks. Brittany won’t stop sighing every time a couple walks past them, arms wrapped around each other and Santana’s arm shakes a little with the desire to make it all better. Her head keeps her arm in check because one of them needs to care about society, but she can’t stop her heart from breaking a little bit at the forlorn expression that crosses Brittany’s face.
They pass this row of gumball and candy machines, and Santana sees something that makes her stop. Brittany looks at her curiously, but Santana just smiles a little and pulls a quarter out of the pocket of her jeans, striding over to the small machine giving out trinkets and the like and puts her quarter in.
It takes her about five quarters to get what she wants. She throws the rest of the little plastic balls away and pops the top off the last one, pulling out a small, cheap ring and walking back to Brittany. Glancing around them for watching eyes, because she can never be to careful, she waits until she’s satisfied no one cares about them before grabbing Brittany’s left hand and sliding the small ring on it.
“What are you doing?” Brittany asks in a small voice, staring at her ring finger.
“You gave me a ring when we were five, it’s only right that I give you one now.”
Brittany’s face scrunches up a little in confusion. “Why?”
“Because I love you,” Santana whispers, still holding on to Brittany’ hand. “And I don’t want you to forget.”
A smile spreads across Brittany’s face and she takes a step forward towards Santana. Santana tenses, seeing the intent in her friend’s expression. She backs away a little before Brittany can follow through and press their lips together and sends an apologetic look at the hurt on Brittany’s face.
A pout begins to form and Santana tries to figure out how this backfired again, but Brittany speaks up. “I want to tell people.”
Santana sighs, looping her arm through Brittany’s and starting to walk again. “I know you do.”
“Just one person,” Brittany argues, staring at Santana. “Can’t we just tell one person?”
“Brittany,” Santana says sadly. The one thing she knows would fix everything and she just can’t bring herself to do it.
“One,” Brittany repeats. “You can even pick who.”
Pursing her lips together, Santana stares straight ahead, feeling herself close to crumbling. Brittany runs her free hand over Santana’s bicep discreetly and Santana finds herself distracted into agreeing just from the feeling of it. “Fine,” she finally says, blowing out a long breath.
Brittany’s small, happy jump makes it all worth it in the end.
--
Once Santana agrees to tell someone, Brittany’s insistent that they do it right away. It’s fine with Santana because then she can just get it done and over with, and she already has the perfect person in mind.
Brittany grabs her hand and laces their fingers together on the stoop of the Hummel-Hudson residence as Santana reaches forward and presses the doorbell. It’s Kurt that answers, thankfully. He stares at them, confused, as he stands in the doorway.
“Hi, Kurt,” Brittany greets brightly.
“HI, Britt,” Kurt says slowly. “Santana.”
“Hummel,” Santana deadpans.
“Are you guys here for Finn? Because he’s not here right now.”
Santana shakes her head. “We’re here for you.”
The look of fear that crosses Kurt’s face almost makes Santana laugh, but the nerves in her stomach stamp it down.
“Okay,” Kurt draws out, eyes glancing back and forth between the two of them.
“We’re dating,” Brittany blurts out, barely able to contain her excitement. Santana rolls her eyes at the sight of her girlfriend practically bouncing up and down next to her.
Kurt’s eyes go wide, confusion still stamped across his face as he nods at her.
Santana sighs. “We’re not telling anyone,” she explains. “Well,” she clarifies, at the look of deeper confusion spreading over Kurt’s features. “We’re telling you because I promised Brittany we’d tell someone, but that’s it.”
Kurt just stares at them blankly so Santana continues on. “If you tell anyone else, especially Finn, I will make your life miserable. I don’t care that you’re another school for the rich and gay these days. I will make you wish you were in another country, understood?”
“Santana,” Brittany chastises softly, bumping her shoulder lightly.
Swallowing thickly, Kurt nods. “Yeah, okay.”
“Okay good,” Santana says, satisfied.
At that moment, the voice of Finn’s mom comes calling out through the house. “Kurt, honey, who’s at the door?”
Santana just glares at him silently.
“No one,” he calls back, his voice cracking a little bit. “Just solicitors.”
Letting out a breath, Santana nods, satisfied. “Okay, bye.”
She turns to leave, but Brittany bounds forward and wraps her arms around Kurt’s neck, squeezing him tightly. She hears Brittany murmur something to Kurt, but she can’t make out the words and seconds later Brittany’s bouncing away, grabbing Santana’s hand and pulling them off the stoop.
“Happy?” Santana asks as she hears the door slam shut behind them.
“Yes,” Brittany says definitively.
Warmth pools in her stomach as she watches Brittany smile, lifting her left hand to stare at the cheap ring on her finger. For the first time in her life, Santana thinks maybe she kind of understands all those sappy, delusional fools that get married.
“I love you,” she says, feeling the need to let the words out.
“I know,” Brittany laughs, her nose scrunching up in mirth. “That’s the best part.”
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Rating: R
Word Count: 10k
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Summary: Santana has never really understood the point of weddings. Sort of post-Furt fix-it fic.
Spoilers: Through 2x09
Notes: Thanks to dealan311 for encouraging me to post this even though it's been totally jossed and is about five months too late. Title is ripped from the song For You by Duncan Sheik and is full of awesome so everyone should give it a listen.
Santana has never really understood the point of weddings. Marriage, for the most part, is a useless, mechanical exercise for sappy fools who are too blinded by endorphin-ridden delusion to remember divorce statistics. Weddings, therefore, are even more ridiculous than the concept they represent - celebrating something so transient and foolish.
She likes the receptions though. The part where everyone is high on second hand love sickness and too much champagne and some terrible wedding singer that will forever be Adam Sandler in her head sings cheesy songs all night. No one feels like an idiot for busting out on the dance floor because everyone else is doing it too and there’s something freeing in those two hours they spend at some random banquet hall. Yeah, she likes that part.
But in order to get to all that fun stuff she has to sit through an hour of ridiculousness. Some of the time (depending on whether or not the reception has an open bar) that hour of ceremony in which the bride and groom lavish love and trite platitudes on each other is worth it. Most of the time it's not.
So when she finds out she not only has to go to Burt and Carole’s wedding, but she has to stand up for it, she’s not exactly pleased. For one, she’ll be expending all her energy during the ceremony when she clearly needs to be saving it for the dance hall at the reception and secondly, she can't snooze through the vows like she usually does.
Whatever. She’s just not looking forward to it. Especially since all of glee is pretty much paired up into dates and yeah, sure, Puck will go with her and they’ll probably fuck later in the church or something, but for some reason it’s irking her that she doesn’t have a legit date to this shindig. Maybe it’s still lingering irritation from Rachel’s earlier rebuke of not including her in their little girl power pow wow. Don’t they realize that if they’re going to get anything done they’re going to need Santana? Idiots.
Anyway.
She hates weddings. Which is actually super inconvenient because her best friend, most trusted companion, number one partner in crime, Brittany S. Pierce? Brittany loves weddings. Like, borderline obsessed loves them.
It’s been that way since they were kids and a five year old Brittany instructed Santana on the ins and outs of playground marriages, pushing a makeshift ring onto Santana’s finger and forcing a younger and much shorter Finn Hudson to read out their wedding vows.
Brittany’s got this box in the corner of her closet that only Santana knows about. It’s filled with old bridal magazines, cut outs of dresses Brittany liked, notebooks filled with planning ideas and a scrap of paper nearly illegible with Santana and Brittany’s names scrawled in crayon. Occasionally Brittany will pull the box out and run her fingers over its contents in reverence. Santana tells her that she’s being stupid, but she never stops Brittany - just watches in contemplative silence, unable to resist smiling as Brittany pulls out that scrap of paper representing their fake marriage contract.
So, while Santana rolls her eyes at the news of the upcoming wedding, Brittany practically vomits joy over everyone.
Actually, Santana had a really, really hard time not smiling at the adorable way Brittany jumped up with excitement when she found out they were performing at the wedding.
But that doesn’t matter because it doesn’t change how Santana feels about the whole thing. Especially since smack in the middle of her enjoyment of Brittany’s obvious happiness is the realization that Brittany’s going to this wedding with Artie and Santana will be going with Puck and something deep in her gut, this ache she desperately wants to get rid of, makes her feel like that’s so not how things are supposed to be.
Not that there’s anything she can do to change that.
--
From a distance, Santana watches Brittany push Artie down the hall, her lip curling up a little without realizing it. She feels off balance and exposed, vulnerable without Brittany next to her.
Puck slams his shoulder into the row of lockers in front of her, obscuring her view. "Yo."
There's an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she's kind of grateful that the sight of Brittany is gone. "What do you want?"
Glancing over his shoulder like he knows exactly what has Santana in a foul mood, he smirks. "You want me to push him down some stairs?"
Guess he does know. "Aren't you guys like friends now?"
Puck shrugs. "Yeah, sort of. He does my math homework and I don't beat him up."
"Exactly." She turns back to her locker and tries to remember what she came here for.
"I'm just trying to help."
"I don't need that kind of help," she grumbles, running her fingers over her textbooks. "I can push him down some stairs myself."
Puck laughs and adjusts the strap to his backpack, slung over his shoulder. "S'not like you to sit around and fucking cry about stuff."
Slowly turning, she gives an incredulous glare. "I'm sorry, why are you here again?"
"Free period. You want to fuck?"
She lets out a sigh of relief, her previous grief forgotten. "Yes," she breathes, shutting her locker and grabbing him by the shirt in one swift motion.
They find an empty classroom, tucked away in the corner of the school, that hasn't been used for actual teaching in years. It's full of old desks and books and supplies no one has looked at in forever.
He pushes her against the wall, trails his hand under her skirt to pull her spanks down and that ache, the one right below her ribs, starts to subside a little.
The entire thing comforts her in the way only true familiarity can. His hands are warm against her skin and his body fits against hers just like it always has and even though they don't press their lips together, his head tucks into her shoulder and she feels content. He makes her come like someone that's been doing it for years and she breathes easy into the stale air of the empty classroom, forgetting about Brittany for long, peaceful moments.
But then it's over and they're readjusting their clothing, Puck pulling his backpack back over his shoulder and smirking at her as he grabs for the door handle. They walk back out into the school, into reality, Puck to the left and Santana to the right and the ache is back, settling sharply in her chest, worse than before.
--
There's a disconnect between sex and love. It's a disconnect Santana's never had a problem with before; she had a system worked out. One column is for people she sleeps with, people good for a nice orgasm, but are never really her friends. The other column is for people she doesn't sleep with, but feels any kind of affection for. Any people that she likes for something other than getting off. The first list is long. The second is short.
Maybe it's dysfunctional, but it works and her life is better for it. Everything is black and white, nothing gets confused, no one gets hurt.
Puck threatened to fuck all that up when they actually tried to have a real relationship. They managed to salvage the system because they have an understanding and Puck appreciates the tenuous relationship between sex and feelings almost as well as Santana does.
Brittany did fuck it all up and she didn't even try to do it.
Brittany kisses her right before high school and in the back of her head, with her eyes closed, Santana can see the columns jumbling together, the whole system threatening to fall down.
Fear makes people do some crazy things. That's what Santana tells herself. It's self-preservation and Brittany should understand that.
Instead, here they are with everything so messed up and confused and Santana needs to make some choices.
--
They still hang out just like before except there’s this huge elephant in the room that neither of them ever acknowledge. Santana senses it like a heavy weight on her chest and really, this is exactly why it’s easier to keep everyone separate. She wishes with deep longing that she had never slept with Brittany that first time.
It’s a fleeting wish though because she’s not sure she wants to live a life in which she doesn’t know what Brittany’s lips feel like against hers or what her hair smells like in the early hours of morning. And just thinking that way spins her back into a loop of wanting to have never known Brittany ever and the whole thing starts all over again.
All that indecision inside her leads to this moment, right now - Brittany’s sitting on her floor, painting her toenails this ridiculous shade of purple and babbling on about Artie and double dates and a whole host of things Santana really doesn’t care about at all.
“The bridesmaids dresses are really pretty,” Brittany comments, her chin propped on her knee as she stares at her toes.
Santana flips the page of her magazine and folds open the full-page perfume ad. “You saw them?”
“I made Kurt show me,” she says like interacting with Kurt is something she normally does.
She laughs. “Let me guess. They’re some unnecessarily violent shade of pink or rainbow. I swear that kid vomits gay over everything.”
Brittany glances up at Santana with this look she’s never really seen before, but it’s gone so fast that Santana doesn’t have time to identify it.
“They’re pretty,” Brittany says softly. “I like them.”
“Of course you do,” Santana grumbles.
--
Santana hates weddings, but one thing she doesn't hate is performing. It's why Cheerios is so intoxicating and why she shows up to glee practice everyday on time. She loves performing so much that she forgets things like how totally lame most of the members of glee are and that it doesn't help her bitch status if she's caught smiling and laughing with them too often.
When she finds out that they’re going to be performing at the wedding it actually helps to alleviate some of her trepidation about the whole thing. It will definitely serve to make the ceremony more interesting and maybe she won’t even need to snooze through the whole thing.
The dresses they have to wear are actually not hideous like she expects. Brittany gives her this small look of smugness when Santana runs her fingers over the fabric, eyebrows raised.
“Told you,” Brittany says softly as she passes by.
They get dressed and ready and Santana likes how the dress fits her despite being a little creeped out that Kurt knew her measurements without having to actually like...measure her or something. There’s a flower in her hair and she can feel this tingling of anticipation over her skin at the idea of performing soon and everything is kind of great until she sees Brittany talking to Artie in a hushed whisper out in the hallway.
Brittany should be next to her right now. They should be helping each other get dressed and Santana should be rolling her eyes at whatever stupid fantasy wedding Brittany is going on about and Brittany should be fingering the flower in Santana’s hair and telling her how pretty she is.
Instead, Brittany’s outside giggling at something Artie’s saying and flicking her fingers against the lapels of his suit and Santana’s left scowling at her reflection in the mirror wondering when she started caring about such stupid things.
She does what she does whenever she can’t deal with something. She leaves.
--
She doesn’t know why she does it. Maybe it’s her unending distaste for Rachel Berry or her need to ruin anything stable and good in her vicinity. Maybe it’s because she’s bored or maybe it’s because she likes seeing Finn Hudson squirm.
It could be a number of reasons, but the why isn’t so important.
Finn is standing in front of a mirror with his clip-on tie and the most bewildered expression on his face and something in Santana’s stomach tightens uncomfortably. Running her hand over the dress across her abs and swallowing she wills the feeling away. Of all the people to ruin her system, Finn Hudson is not going to be the one.
She took his virginity. And that’s all it was.
Now he can serve another purpose, but she’s got to get him back within her grasp. This was all so much easier when he had fallen off the social ladder and broken into pieces. It’s harder now that he’s putting up a good fight with Sam Evans for king, but not impossible. The cracks are showing and Santana can exploit them.
She tries being nice at first even though the act fits her like a glove two sizes too small and Finn’s sort of adorably oblivious through the whole thing. It pisses her off. This guy is so crippled by innocence and naiveté and she really wants to trample all over it. Why he’d want to drag, Rachel Berry, that social time bomb, around with him she has no idea, but he’s adamant about it. And the more fight he puts up, the more she wants to lash out.
She has this awesome weapon sitting in her arsenal, this one secret she knows would destroy two people and she hasn’t used it. Standing in front of Finn right now, with the lingering memory of Brittany and Artie in the back of her head, she’s not so sure why she hasn’t. It’s not like her.
Finn continues to argue with her, spewing nonsense about love and feelings, and she grinds her teeth at the words, arms crossing over each other as she finally pulls out the one threat that will shut him up.
“Maybe I’ll tell her,” she says, this act, the one where she spits venom, this one feels like an old friend, wrapping itself around her like a warm blanket. “I mean if you two broke up, we’d be free to see each other, right?”
Rachel interrupts them before she can get an answer, and the sound of her voice is like a chill, ripping the warm familiarity of threatening someone off of her as she turns away from Finn and walks away. For a split second, when she sees the fear in Finn’s eyes at Rachel’s entrance and spins to see her, she considers telling the short irritating girl right then and there her big secret, but something stops her.
It’s not like she wants to actually date him anyway.
Well, she’s not sure really knows what she wants; she just knows it’s not what she has now. It feels a lot like wanting what she can’t have.
--
Mike Chang is staring into a discarded mirror, leaned up against the hallway wall, when she passes and she arches his eyebrow to see him struggling with his tie too. What is it with the guys in their high school?
“You’re kidding me.”
His head snaps up and he stares at her, wide-eyed, for a second before shrugging helplessly. “I’ve never had a clip on before. It’s weird,” he mumbles.
She rolls her eyes and walks over to him wondering how it became her job to do this when all these guys have girlfriends don’t they? He slouches down for her and she grabs his tie, flipping his collar up to get it on.
“Why isn’t Tina doing this right now?”
“I don’t know where she went.”
“Probably off trying to find her crippled ex-boyfriend,” Santana grumbles because she just needs to be mean to someone and Mike’s got the unfortunate position of being in front of her right now.
“What?” He exclaims shooting upward. Thankfully she’s done adjusting his tie. She lets out a sigh.
“I was kidding,” she concedes, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Sorry. I’m sure she’s not. I saw her with Quinn trying to get their makeup done.”
Mike lets out an audible sigh of relief. “Why would you say that?”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Whatever, we have to go line up. I’m sure Berry’s freaking out right now.”
She turns to walk away, but Mike’s voice stops her. “Artie’s not over her, you know.”
“What?” She glances back, her face screwed up in confusion. Why do people feel the need to talk to her about the most inane things?
“Tina,” Mike clarifies, buttoning his suit coat. “Artie’s not over her. This thing with Brittany is just a fling.”
“I’m sorry. Explain to me why the hell I care about any of that,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
Mike smiles, but there’s a sadness to the expression. He walks past her. “You know why.”
Santana’s left scowling at her reflection in the mirror.
--
She finds Puck roaming the hallways near the girls dressing room.
He notices her and his eyes light up. “Hey I’m trying to find the communion wine or whatever, wanna help?”
She grabs him by the lapels of his jacket, dragging him into an empty Sunday school classroom and shutting the door behind her with an echoing thud.
“Hey, whoa, chill out.” He shrugs out of her grasp and straightens out his clothing. “Dude, it’s not in here,” he says, looking around.
“We’ve got fifteen minutes before the ceremony starts,” she tells him.
Confusion clouds his face for a few seconds before it clears and he’s leering at her. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she repeats with a nod.
Hooking her fingers in the waistband of his pants, she pushes him against the wall and flips open the top button, deftly unzipping him as he latches his lips onto her neck and palms her ass.
He’s hard in no time and she’s on her knees, sucking him off fast and hurried as she stares up at him indecently, his hands gripping the wall as to not mess up her hair. Frustration bleeds out of her when he comes, jerking forward and crying out, gasping for air.
Wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she smiles and pats him on the stomach, walking out of the classroom without another word.
--
They line up at the entrance to the chapel and Santana manages to smile at Brittany, her hands propped on the handles to Artie’s wheelchair. The pain she usually feels at the sight is dulled by the taste of Puck in her mouth and the sting still lingering in her knees.
Brittany turns a bright smile towards her. “Hey, where have you been?”
“Around,” she comments mildly, running her nail over the corner of her lip and winking when Artie turns towards her curiously.
There’s not time to say anything else because Rachel is fluttering around all of them, muttering something about timing, tuning and a ton of stuff Santana’s thinking of decking her for. Then the music starts to play from the chapel, and Santana’s heart starts to pound in time with the beat as Finn steps out to start their performance.
Puck comes up beside her, adjusting his tie and smiling down at her conspiratorially. He moves his head around, mockingly, with the music and shimmies his shoulders a bit and she laughs. Things are so easy with Puck, comfortable.
It’s not long before Brittany is pushing Artie out the doors in front of him and Puck gives her a nod as they dance out with the rest of the group.
Halfway down the aisle, Puck and Brittany change places, and her best friend is suddenly next to her, dancing in sync with Santana’s steps and motions, and she feels something click, like pieces coming together. It’s this satisfying hum that goes right through her and that ache she normally feels swells up.
There's this moment, fast and fleeting, when everything sort of stutters. Brittany's next to her, singing her part, a bright smile, wide blue eyes and crazy blonde hair, and they're standing together in front of the altar. Brittany twirls and their eyes lock and Santana's heart skips a beat, the music snapping off in her ears for a second, and this feeling flutters up in her stomach that threatens to bowl her over.
Nearly a millisecond and it's gone. They're taking their places up at the altar with everyone else and belting out the last notes of the song as Burt and Carol make their way towards them. Santana's not even sure something actually happened.
Vows are exchanged and from her position on the right side of the altar, Santana can see the adoring looks between Finn and Rachel, between Sam and Quinn and even between Mike and Tina. Despite standing right between Puck and Brittany, two people who probably know her the best, she feels totally alone.
She spends the rest of the ceremony with this uncomfortable tug right near her ribs and tries to ignore the urge to run away.
--
“You look pretty.” The voice is soft and happy behind her, so Santana twirls to locate its source. Brittany’s standing at the doorway of this bathroom she stole away into, on the top floor of the church. She had to get away from Rachel Berry’s jabbering about vocal cues and dance steps before she slammed the girl’s head into a sink.
“Thanks.”
Hands held together in front of her, Brittany waltzes into the room and smiles at Santana’s reflection in the mirror in front of them. “I like weddings,” she comments, plucking a little at Santana’s hair. “Everyone dresses up so pretty.”
"Yeah, I know."
“I know you know,” Brittany replies.
“I know you know I know,” Santana says, momentarily amused.
“I know you know-”
“We got it, Britt.”
Brittany hums, but doesn’t say anything else. She just stands there next to Santana.
“Why are you in here?” Brittany tilts her head curiously. “We’re supposed to be going into the big room for the party.”
“I know,” Santana sighs.
“I know you know,” Brittany says brightly.
Santana cuts that off from repeating with a laugh and a please stop wave in Brittany’s direction.
Brittany picks at the fabric of Santana’s dress and stares at it, running the material through her thumb and index finger. “I don’t think I’d want this color at my wedding,” she muses.
Santana looks down at the color and purses her lips together. “It’s not that bad, really.”
Blue eyes snap up to connect with hers. “You like it?”
“I’m just saying it’s not bad.”
“What color would you want?”
Santana shrugs, confused. “What does it matter?”
“Well I don’t want a color at my wedding that you don’t want at yours.”
“Britt, you’ve known what you want at your wedding since we were six.”
Brittany drops Santana’s dress and tucks an errant strand of Santana’s hair behind her ear. She has to fight not to swat the hand away. “I know,” she says, lowly.
“So it shouldn’t matter what I think,” she explains unnecessarily.
“I care what you want.”
Santana rolls her eyes. “Why don’t you go ask Artie,” she grumbles, unsure why the words come out nearly the second after she hears them.
“Why would I ask Artie?” Their eyes connect in the mirror and Santana swallows dryly, backpedaling rapidly in her mind.
“Aren’t you guys like dating or whatever?”
Brittany laughs. “Yeah, so?”
“Yeah so...”
“I’m not going to marry Artie,” Brittany says. “That’s dumb.”
Santana twirls to look at her. “Well,” she starts, pausing and looking around for a second, “what?”
“Why would I marry Artie?” Brittany looks about as disgusted with the suggestion as Santana feels.
“I dunno.”
Brittany pokes her in the temple and chuckles. “You’re dumb.”
“Whatever.”
“You’re like really dumb,” Brittany says again, this time her face growing serious. “I just like pushing him around and sitting on his lap. He’s kind of boring during sex, but whatever.”
Santana shifts uncomfortably, the memory of watching Brittany with Artie the last few weeks settling like rocks in her stomach. Her jaw clenches and she licks her lips, the lingering taste of Puck just barely noticeable.
“Then why are you dating him?”
Brittany shrugs and bumps their shoulders together. “I don’t know. Why are you dating Puck?”
“I’m not,” Santana argues, crossing her arms over her chest.
“You said the other day that you were.”
“I’m not,” Santana repeats, this time more vehemently.
There’s no reaction on Brittany’s face, not that Santana expects one. “Seems like you’re not dating a lot of people,” Brittany says, the words cold and almost bitter. It sounds so foreign coming out of Brittany’s mouth that it takes Santana a moment to register.
Brittany’s walking towards the door and out of the bathroom before Santana can even utter another word.
--
Finn gives this nauseating speech about learning how to be a man or something, Santana’s not really sure. Her leg bounces up and down under the table as she watches Artie smile adoringly at Brittany and waits impatiently for the part of this speech where she actually gets to sing and dance.
A heavy hand lands on her leg, stilling it, and she exhales sharply, turning to look at Puck. Eyebrows raised, he laughs a little under his breath, leaning in close to whisper, “What the hell has your panties in a twist?”
“Bored,” she mutters.
He laughs again, shrugging one shoulder. “Dude, two minutes and we’ll be up there getting our jam on.”
She breathes a little easier. “Yeah.”
Sure enough Finn ends his speech a few minutes later and the band starts up, Puck standing and winking at her. “See you on the dance floor, babe.”
Smiling, she turns to see him take his place behind Finn and watches as the boys start up the song, Finn belting out the lyrics in Kurt’s direction. She takes a deep breath, waits for him to finish his line and she jumps up at her cue, moving on to the dance floor with the rest of the girls.
Brittany looks over as they’re moving into place and for a second it’s just like back in the church, when time skipped a beat and her heart stopped, but then it’s over just as fast, like it never happened and Santana’s feet are moving, her mouth opening and she’s singing.
It’s like it always is when she’s performing, eyes on her and the music pumping through her limbs. She feels happy, free, unencumbered by the weights of reality and when Puck smiles at her, she smiles back, laughing as she dances around him.
--
The weird thing about being best friends with Brittany is that even when they have strange, passive aggressive spats (it happens way more often than most people assume), they usually just roll away within a few hours and they’re back to acting like nothing is wrong.
So even though Santana’s pretty sure Brittany was mad at her for something during the Hummel-Hudson wedding, the next day, Brittany shows up at her door, bright smiles, blonde hair and laughter as she pushes Santana back into the house and pulls them both up to Santana’s room.
Brittany sticks her hand in her jacket and pulls out three little bottles of nail polish. “I found a bunch of funny colors,” she exclaims, face lit up. “You want to paint our toes different colors?”
Santana laughs, reaches out to pick up one of the bottles and nods a little. “Yeah.”
--
Brittany acts like everything is fine and normal so well that Santana finds herself believing it. She believes it so much that she slips up one evening when they’re sitting on Brittany’s bed, watching a movie. It’s just instinct more than anything else that makes her hand slide up Brittany’s thigh. She can’t help but touch Brittany when she’s this close; it feels wrong not to.
Brittany lets it happen, doesn’t say anything until Santana’s hand shifts upward.
“We can’t,” Brittany whispers, setting her hand on top of Santana’s and turning sad eyes towards her.
Santana makes a face. “Can’t what?”
“Have sex,” Brittany answers, her voice even quieter.
Santana shakes her head in denial. “I wasn’t trying to-”
“Santana,” Brittany says sadly, moving Santana’s hand off her thigh. “I have a boyfriend.”
Jaw clenching, Santana’s stomach turns over in a quick burst of anger. Her arms cross over her chest and she turns her eyes towards the movie, but she doesn’t see any of it.
She leaves the room when the credits roll without saying another word to Brittany. She feels her best friend’s sad, desperate stare on her back the entire way home.
--
They’re walking towards class when Santana loses it.
Maybe it’s weird that not having sex with her best friend puts her all out of sorts, but she can’t help it. She feels like this vital part of her life is missing, and being with Brittany doesn’t feel right with all the distance between them.
She can’t take it anymore. Quick trysts with Puck only fill her up so much, and it’s not long before her palms are nearly itching with the urge to touch Brittany. It bubbles up inside her until she can barely think about anything else and she’s grabbing Brittany’s arm in the hallway before she can even think about what she’s doing.
Brittany’s wide-eyed when Santana faces her in the empty classroom. “Are you okay?”
Adrenaline pumps through her veins because she’s not exactly sure how to approach the situation or what to say or even what she wants to say. Her heart pounds, and she just needs things to be different than they are. She needs to feel like her world is normal again.
Words have never been Santana’s strong suit; she’s always been a woman of action. So, instead of answering Brittany’s question, or spouting out her feelings, she steps forward, pushes Brittany against the closed door and presses their lips together.
Brittany gasps, but the sound is swallowed up by Santana’s mouth. It’s long moments, lips slanting against each other, before Brittany puts her hands on Santana’s cheeks and pulls her away.
“Stop dating Artie,” Santana orders, her words harsh and out of breath.
Brittany shakes her head, staring seriously into Santana’s eyes. “Why?”
Santana swallows, licks her lips and lets her eyes flicker down to Brittany’s mouth. “Because I told you to.”
“That’s not good enough.”
Jerking her head back a little, Santana scowls. “Well then what is?”
“Do you want to date me instead?”
Santana’s brow furrows and her stomach turns over with the implications. Santana would do a lot of things for Brittany - things she wouldn’t do for anyone else - but social suicide isn’t really on that list. “No,” she answers, nearly croaking on the word.
Brittany’s face screws up a little, like a flinch at the answer, and Santana’s stomach tightens uncomfortably. “Let me go,” Brittany says lowly, trying to step forward.
Santana keeps her hands steady on Brittany’s hips, holding her in place as she presses her forehead back against Brittany’s. “No,” she says again, this time more firmly.
“Santana, please,” Brittany pleads and Santana can hear the tears starting to form in the back of Brittany’s words.
“I love you,” Santana confesses in a whimper.
Blue eyes widen a fraction, but it’s the only reaction on Brittany’s face. “I know,” she breathes, frowning, “that’s the problem. This wouldn’t hurt so much if you didn’t.”
Santana doesn’t think that makes a lot of sense, but Brittany’s gone by the time she can say so.
--
Kurt leaves school. He actually leaves.
It’s not that she likes the kid or anything. It has nothing to do with that. Yeah, he’s a Cheerio and that makes her feel a certain kinship with him, but it’s more than that. It’s that his leaving represents everything that she hates about this school, about the world. It’s about everything that’s wrong with her life right now.
She’s silent as Kurt walks away, head held high. She turns to Brittany after he disappears from sight and takes a deep breath. She’s glad she’s not the one that has to leave.
--
The next few days seem to slink by in a haze. Santana only notices they pass because Rachel Berry has a big ”DAYS UNTIL SECTIONALS” countdown posted up in the choir room. Santana watches with disdain as Rachel rips off numbers each day before practice.
For some reason, after her encounter with Brittany in the closet, things don’t just blow over between them like usual. Maybe it’s the I love you that’s hanging out in the open or the way Santana can’t stop hearing Brittany tell her that it didn’t matter.
Brittany spends more time with Artie. Which means she spends less time with Santana. Which means that Santana is left twiddling her thumbs half the time, barely able to figure out what to do with herself without Brittany right there next to her.
Then, of all the things to happen, Schue rips Rachel Berry’s spotlight away from her. He does it in front of the entire club, and she can’t even focus enough on adequately enjoying the look of complete indignation on Rachel’s face. She can’t focus because all she can think about is Brittany dancing with Mike, about how much rehearsal that’s going to take and about that’s one more person that’s going to get more of Brittany than she does.
To say she’s pissed is putting it mildly.
It’s not that she’s jealous of Mike or anything. Mike is about as dangerous as a sedated panda bear, but she can’t help the way anger boils up inside of her when she thinks about it. She’s angry at everyone, at everything. At Brittany, at Artie, at Finn, at Rachel, at Mike, at the world, at her stupid school in the middle of bumfuck Ohio, at herself.
Before she knows it, she’s lashing out, letting all that anger manifest itself into a confession she knows is going to destroy a few targets.
“That’s right, Yentl,” she hears herself spitting out, “your sweetheart? He’s been lying to you. ‘Cause he and I totally got it on last year.”
Silence drops over the club like a bomb before Schue loses it and gets Brittany and Mike to the front to start rehearsals. Santana leans back in her chair, arms over her chest and ignores the empty feeling in the pit of her stomach as she looks at Rachel’s shocked and dismayed expression.
--
“That was mean,” Brittany says as a greeting, leaning a shoulder up against her locker as she watches Santana open her own.
Santana shrugs and focuses on the textbooks lined up in front of her. “Whatever, she deserved to know.”
“Not like that,” Brittany argues.
“Whatever,” Santana repeats.
Brittany sighs, shifts her shoulder down a little and looks at Santana curiously. “What’s wrong?”
Santana turns an incredulous look on her best friend, but Brittany just stares back innocently like she has no idea what’s been going on between the two of them for weeks. Santana doesn’t know what to do so she just shakes her head and gives up. “Nothing. You want to go to the mall later?”
“I can’t,” Brittany answers, straightening up. “I have rehearsal with Mike and then I’m going over to Artie’s.”
It bothers her just how much that bothers her. Slamming her locker shut, she tries to put on a smile. “Have fun,” she says, before walking away.
--
She doesn’t actually see Brittany, aside from class and glee, for the next few days. After the third day of basically not speaking to her best friend, Mike shows up at her locker out of nowhere. The kid is a freaking ninja sometimes.
“Christ, Chang,” she gasps.
“Sorry,” he laughs, shrugging a little and looking completely unapologetic.
“What do you want?”
“Brittany misses you,” he says without preamble.
Rolling her eyes, she glares at him a little. He puts his arms out to the side and shrugs. “I’m just saying.”
“Well don’t,” she says, walking away. He follows her, shifting the strap of his backpack on his shoulder.
“Santana, you should talk to her. Seriously.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Mike sighs. “She’s really nervous about this sectionals thing, you know? She could use her best friend.”
“She’ll be fine.”
“Yeah,” Mike agrees, nodding. “She will be. You know that and I know that and everybody else knows it but Brittany. And she’s not going to believe anyone but you.”
“If she wanted to see me, she could see me.”
Mike shakes his head. “You should talk to her. She’s really scared.”
“Look,” she says, stopping, turning and poking him in the chest, “how about you take care of your relationships and I take care of mine and you get out of my face about it?”
“She’s my friend too,” he replies, voice low and even. “I’m just looking out for her. Get over yourself, Santana.”
Jaw clenched, she watches him walk away.
--
If Brittany is anything, it’s a creature of habit. Which makes it really easy for Santana to track her movements at any given time of day. Brittany has a few different go-to places for feeling scared or nervous so it’s not hard for Santana to find her.
Her plan is to check up on her best friend, see if what Mike said was true, and offer some quick words of reassurance. Then she’ll get out of there before it can get any deeper than that. She feels exposed as it is - confronting Brittany about something emotional in the middle of school makes her shake with anxiety.
The only wrinkle in her plan is that when she gets to her last spot on the list, this classroom Brittany hangs out in sometimes, Artie is already there.
When she spots him, she takes cover in the doorway, pressed against the wall so she can’t be seen, but she can still overhear their conversation. She sneers at a few freshman that look at her curiously and smirks when she sees them scurry away.
Listening to Artie try and reassure Brittany makes her roll her eyes. It’s even worse to hear the way Brittany eats it up like it’s totally fine for her boyfriend to treat her like she’s four.
But Brittany sounds happy, pleased and totally fine by the time Artie is done with his stupid story, and Santana finds herself walking away before either of them can walk out and see her. She’s around the first corner when she spots Puck sauntering towards her, self-assured smirk plastered on his face.
Letting out a small breath of relief, she beelines for him. He winks at her when he spots her and doesn’t protest when she grabs his arm, dragging him towards the school exit and out towards the parking lot.
They’re in Santana’s car in minutes and she’s climbing onto his lap in the back seat, pulling his shirt over his head and trying desperately to stay in the moment. She doesn’t know why it’s all hitting her now, why for some reason her emotions are beating against her ribcage, desperate to come out, but she’s losing the battle and quickly.
Puck must start to notice because he grabs her hands, stopping her from unbuckling his belt. “Babe,” he says, moving his face down to try and make eye contact. “What’s up?”
Breathing through her nose, she shakes her head sharply. “We’re going to fuck in my car,” she answers, tugging a little at his hands. He doesn’t let go, but she’s almost grateful for it. Anger is something to focus on that isn’t everything else she’s feeling.
“Yeah, that much about this I’m down with. Not the part where you’re about to cry.”
“I’m not about to cry,” she argues, but even as she says it her voice cracks a little and she can feel heat spike in the back of her eyes. “Shit.”
Puck’s silent, but he lets go of her hands, letting her swipe them under her eyes as she tries to get control of herself. It doesn’t quite work and tears begin fall in earnest. She laughs a little for lack of anything less humiliating to do. “This is stupid.”
Hands on her thighs, Puck chuckles a little. “Whatever, babe. It’s just you and me here.”
She laughs a little harder, taking a deep breath and finally feeling like she might not start sobbing. She bows her head forward and tries to get her heart to settle.
“What’s up?” Puck asks again, sliding his hands to her hips and squeezing.
“My life is so messed up,” Santana admits, shaking her head.
Puck laughs again, bringing his lips up to her head and pressing them into her hair. “I bet I have you beat,” he murmurs, a smirk in his voice.
It helps, keeping her laughing. “True,” she says.
He wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his chest, squeezing tight. “You’ll be okay,” he says quietly. “High school isn’t forever.”
“Thank God,” she replies, eyes closed.
They stay there, silent for long moments before Puck speaks again. “So are we actually going to get down, or what?”
Laughing again, Santana feels okay for the first time in days.
--
Santana loves performing. She never really gets nervous or scared. It’s an adrenaline rush, a hit of a drug more potent than anything Santana’s ever tasted. Normally, before a big cheerleading match, she’d be thrumming with excitement. She’d go over the routines countless times in her head and she’d spend the night with Brittany, planning just exactly how they were going to celebrate.
The night before sectionals, however, Santana spends it alone and uncharacteristically, she spends it with nerves churning her gut. She’s so tense that when she hears a tapping on her bedroom window she nearly falls off her bed.
“Shit, you scared me,” she gasps, pulling her window open to let Brittany inside.
“Sorry.”
Hand over her beating heart, she looks at her friend curiously. “What are you doing here?”
Brittany shrugs, looking around. “Just didn’t feel right not to be.”
Santana nods, but bites her tongue before she reveals just how relieved she is that Brittany showed up. “Cool,” she manages, striding back to her bed and lying down.
The mattress dips as Brittany joins her, side by side like they’ve been lying for years. It makes Santana feel better almost instantly, a long, content breath escaping her.
“Nervous about tomorrow?” Santana asks after a few moments, turning her head.
Brittany seems to consider the question, eyes trained on the ceiling, before answering, “Yeah, a little.”
“You’re going to be awesome,” Santana whispers, more sure of it than anything.
Brittany turns wide blue eyes towards Santana. “You think?”
“I know,” Santana says with a smile, kicking herself for not telling Brittany earlier.
“Promise?”
“Promise,” she replies, nodding.
“Artie gave me this magic comb, but I lost it,” Brittany confesses.
Santana rolls her eyes. “Ugh,” she groans, sitting up and shaking her head. “Don’t say his name in my bed. Seriously, this is a no-Artie zone.”
“He’s my boyfriend,” Brittany argues, sitting up as Santana stands, pacing away.
“Yeah, well, he shouldn’t be.”
Chin raised slightly, Brittany stares Santana down. “Who says?”
“I do,” Santana replies, incredulous. Has Brittany not been paying attention?
“Why?”
Santana throws her hands up and lets her head fall back against her shoulders, sighing in exasperation. “This again?”
“You don’t want to date me, but you don’t want me to date Artie because you want to have sex with me. You don’t want to date Puck, but you don’t want him to date Quinn or anyone else because you want to have sex with him. You don’t want to date Finn, but you don’t want him to date Rachel because you want to have sex with him.”
Santana’s brow furrows. “Where the hell did that come from? I don’t care who Puck or Finn dates.”
Brittany shakes her head solemnly. “I may be kinda dumb sometimes, but I know some things.”
“Artie’s not right for you,” Santana argues, avoiding Brittany’s point entirely.
Brittany stands, smiles sadly. “At least he wants to date me, not just have sex with me.”
“What do you want me to do, Britt? Date you? Come out to the whole school?”
“Is that so hard?” Brittany asks, shrugging.
Santana stares at Brittany, waiting for the punch line because she can’t see why Brittany doesn’t get it. “Did you not notice that the flamingest flaming queer of Ohio left our school because it was too hard being out?”
Brittany’s head jerks back a little confused. “Kurt?”
“Yes,” Santana deadpans. “Kurt.”
“We’re not Kurt.”
“Yeah, thank you. I realize that.”
“I don’t get it.”
Santana rolls her eyes too. “I realize that too.”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Santana sighs, suddenly tired. “Look, let’s just let it go. We have a big day tomorrow.”
Sighing in response, Brittany looks away, biting her lip and Santana wants desperately to make that look go away. Her palms itch with the urge to grab Brittany and never let go, but she tenses her arms and keeps them in check. “Okay,” Brittany agrees, moving back to the bed and crawling under the covers.
They sleep that night in the same bed, inches apart, but Santana feels like the gulf between them is miles wide.
--
Brittany and Mike kill at Sectionals. And, to be fair, Santana kills it too. Her solo is awesome and she can’t deny how good it feels to be dancing around Brittany while she belts it out. For how out of sync they may be during the rest of the day, right now, on stage, with a microphone in Santana’s hands and a smile on Brittany’s face, they’re completely together.
They take sectionals, an accomplishment Santana obviously attributes to herself, but when she turns to hug her best friend in congratulations, Brittany’s already wrapped up with Artie, smiling and kissing him on the cheek. Santana’s really sick of watching this show from the sidelines.
Puck grabs her from behind, squeezing tightly as he picks her off the ground a little. “Whooooo!”
She laughs, but she doesn’t really feel it and the smile she turns towards him doesn’t feel right. His own smile wavers as he sees her expression and he glances towards Artie and Brittany.
Laughing a little, he shakes his head and pulls her in for a quick hug. “You could fix that if you wanted to,” he murmurs before letting go.
He walks away before his words can register enough for her to hit him and he’s already picking up Rachel in celebration by the time Santana figures it out.
Brittany actually comes over to her as she’s about to go after Puck, slinging sweaty arms around Santana’s neck and pressing their bodies together. “You were awesome,” Brittany lets out, still a little breathless.
“You too,” Santana replies, wrapping her hands around Brittany’s waist, she holds her tight and eyes Artie over Brittany’s shoulder.
For the first time, Santana’s stomach doesn’t turn over as she looks at the guy, and she finds herself smirking at him, his confused expression making her feel better than she has in days.
--
Santana’s been sneaking into Brittany’s room since she was a kid. It’s gotten easier now that she has better control over all her appendages and a body more built for wall-climbing than her pre-pubescent one.
That day after sectionals, when Santana knows Brittany’s not home, she scales the side of Brittany’s house and finds her way into the bedroom just like she’s been doing for years. She goes into the closet on the far wall, moves aside some boxes until she finds what she’s looking for and smiles when she retrieves it. She holds it in her hands for a second, smiling softly.
Putting the boxes back the way she found them, she’s out the window again and making her way back towards her house in minutes.
Yeah, she can fix this. Puck’s not right often, but when he is, he is.
--
She returns that night, but this time she uses the front door, smiling at Brittany’s mom politely as she walks up the stairs towards her best friend’s room.
Brittany’s on the bed when she gets there, head hung over the side of the mattress as she bounces her feet up and down to the beat of some song coming out of the stereo. A confused look crosses her face when she sees Santana enter.
“Hey,” Brittany greets, turning over onto her stomach.
“Hey,” Santana replies.
Brittany looks down towards Santana’s hand and notices the package there, her face looking all the more confused. “What’s that?”
Suddenly nervous, Santana begins to lose confidence in her plan. This always looked so much easier in the movies. “It’s for you,” she manages to get out, thrusting it forward towards Brittany.
Looking shocked, Brittany sits up and moves forward, grabbing for the package. “A present?”
Santana shrugs. “Sort of.”
“What is it?” Brittany turns it over in her hands like she’ll be able to determine its contents just by looking at it.
“Open it,” Santana instructs with a laugh.
Brittany rips into the plain brown wrapping paper with vigor, revealing a small wooden frame. Blue eyes widen as they realize what exactly it is.
“You stole our marriage contract,” Brittany accuses, pouting.
“I had it framed,” Santana counters. “For your room.”
Brittany’s brows come together. “Why?”
Santana shifts back and forth on her feet. “Um,” she pauses for a second, trying to figure out what she wants to say despite having rehearsed it about a million times before coming over.
“I want to date you,” Santana confesses. “I want to.”
Brittany turns startled eyes towards her, but Santana stops her before she can get the wrong impression.
“I want to date you, but I can’t. I can’t and I’m sorry.”
Brittany focuses back on her present, a slight pout forming on her mouth. “Okay,” she sighs.
“Britt,” Santana says, moving forward and kneeling in front of her. “You have to understand.”
“No I don’t,” Brittany argues.
“Okay, maybe you don’t have to, but I’m asking you to.”
Brittany sighs, tracing her finger over the crayon contract.
“I want to, but life doesn’t work that way. Not right now. We can’t just go around telling everyone we’re dating or whatever. I can’t be that kind of girlfriend.”
Brittany opens her mouth to say something, but Santana stops her again.
“I married you when I was five,” Santana tells her, pointing at the frame. “I want to do it again when I’m twenty-five.”
Blue eyes go wide. “Yeah?”
Santana nods. “Yeah.”
Brittany’s face splits into a wide grin. “Really?”
Santana laughs. “Really,” she nods.
“Awesome,” Brittany breathes out, dropping the frame on the bed and grabbing Santana’s face with both hands. She presses their lips together and Santana can feel Brittany’s smile against her mouth.
“I want doves at my wedding,” Brittany whispers in between kisses. “And a cake made of twinkies.”
Santana laughs as she pushes into Brittany’s body, spreading them out over the bed and feeling more and more whole the longer Brittany’s touching her. “Why don’t we talk about that in a few more years?”
“Okay,” Brittany agrees, scratching her nails into Santana’s hair and pulling out her ponytail. “What do you want to talk about now?”
“I don’t,” Santana replies, smirking as she slides her hand up Brittany’s side.
Brittany smiles back and pulls Santana back into a kiss.
Touching Brittany again like this feels like a sudden breath of fresh air, like her world is finally making sense again. Everything in her head starts to go hazy as her fingers trace over Brittany’s skin, blue eyes darkening as they stare up at her. Her mouth presses against the warm skin of Brittany’s neck and as she breathes in against the coconut scent of Brittany’s favorite soap.
Later, with her head between Brittany’s legs and her tongue flicking against Brittany’s clit, Santana’s stomach tightens at the way Brittany’s thighs tremble, and the way her fingers tug insistently at Santana’s hair. When a sharp gasp breaks through the room and Brittany’s hips shoot up, Santana thinks that if she had to do this for the rest of her life, she’d be perfectly okay with that.
--
They go to school the next day and Santana’s feeling on top of the world. She’s feeling so good that she can barely contain her smile. It gets worse when she spots Brittany at her locker, but it falters a little when she sees Artie next to her. She realizes then that she never really cleared up that part of the situation with Brittany.
The look on Artie’s face, however, makes her feel a little better. He looks confused and hurt at the same time and that can only mean a few things.
She approaches them and puts her hand on Brittany’s back briefly to announce her presence.
Artie practically sneers at her when he finally notices she’s arrived. “Can you excuse us, Santana? We’re having a conversation.”
Brittany’s face looks dismayed and it makes Santana want to do everything, but excuse them. So she doesn’t. “No,” she says, smirking down at him.
Artie turns wide eyes at her, but she moves before he can say anything else, grabbing Brittany by the arm and pulling her around him.
“What was that about?” Santana asks, looping her arm through Brittany’s and glancing over her shoulder at Artie.
“I couldn’t come up with a good excuse to break up with him. He was starting to get kind of mad, but don’t worry I didn’t tell him about us.”
“You’re breaking up with him?” She hates how relieved the question sounds.
Brittany smiles, small and secretive as she stops and turns to look at Santana. “He’s not right for me,” she answers.
Santana laughs a little. “Why’s that?”
“I’m going to marry someone else.”
“You already knew that,” Santana argues, stepping a little closer.
“Maybe,” Brittany shrugs, “but I wasn’t sure.”
“And you are now?”
Brittany tilts her head a little and says in a low voice, “I love you.”
It flips her stomach over, but the feeling is pleasant and Santana never realized how much this mattered to her until just now. “Yeah,” she breathes out, smiling without thinking about it.
She glances down the hallway, left and then right. There are a few people milling about, but none of them are paying her any mind. She presses a quick kiss to Brittany’s lips, so brief that she almost doesn’t feel it, but Brittany’s mouth spreads wide and there’s a warmth in her lips that’s creeping across her skin.
--
It should all be fixed at that point, but she finds out fairly quickly that it’s not.
At first, Santana tries to remain oblivious that it’s not fixed despite how often it becomes obvious. Most people may not notice the little indicators that everything isn’t perfect, but Santana’s known Brittany her entire life.
It’s just little things like the way Brittany stares longingly at Sam and Quinn, holding hands in front of the whole glee club, or how Santana catches her biting her lip in Santana’s direction when people ask about Artie.
She tries to fix it without doing what Brittany clearly wants. She holds her hand extra long when they’re at home and tells her I love you in the dark of the bedroom more often than normal.
They’re at the mall when Santana finally cracks. Brittany won’t stop sighing every time a couple walks past them, arms wrapped around each other and Santana’s arm shakes a little with the desire to make it all better. Her head keeps her arm in check because one of them needs to care about society, but she can’t stop her heart from breaking a little bit at the forlorn expression that crosses Brittany’s face.
They pass this row of gumball and candy machines, and Santana sees something that makes her stop. Brittany looks at her curiously, but Santana just smiles a little and pulls a quarter out of the pocket of her jeans, striding over to the small machine giving out trinkets and the like and puts her quarter in.
It takes her about five quarters to get what she wants. She throws the rest of the little plastic balls away and pops the top off the last one, pulling out a small, cheap ring and walking back to Brittany. Glancing around them for watching eyes, because she can never be to careful, she waits until she’s satisfied no one cares about them before grabbing Brittany’s left hand and sliding the small ring on it.
“What are you doing?” Brittany asks in a small voice, staring at her ring finger.
“You gave me a ring when we were five, it’s only right that I give you one now.”
Brittany’s face scrunches up a little in confusion. “Why?”
“Because I love you,” Santana whispers, still holding on to Brittany’ hand. “And I don’t want you to forget.”
A smile spreads across Brittany’s face and she takes a step forward towards Santana. Santana tenses, seeing the intent in her friend’s expression. She backs away a little before Brittany can follow through and press their lips together and sends an apologetic look at the hurt on Brittany’s face.
A pout begins to form and Santana tries to figure out how this backfired again, but Brittany speaks up. “I want to tell people.”
Santana sighs, looping her arm through Brittany’s and starting to walk again. “I know you do.”
“Just one person,” Brittany argues, staring at Santana. “Can’t we just tell one person?”
“Brittany,” Santana says sadly. The one thing she knows would fix everything and she just can’t bring herself to do it.
“One,” Brittany repeats. “You can even pick who.”
Pursing her lips together, Santana stares straight ahead, feeling herself close to crumbling. Brittany runs her free hand over Santana’s bicep discreetly and Santana finds herself distracted into agreeing just from the feeling of it. “Fine,” she finally says, blowing out a long breath.
Brittany’s small, happy jump makes it all worth it in the end.
--
Once Santana agrees to tell someone, Brittany’s insistent that they do it right away. It’s fine with Santana because then she can just get it done and over with, and she already has the perfect person in mind.
Brittany grabs her hand and laces their fingers together on the stoop of the Hummel-Hudson residence as Santana reaches forward and presses the doorbell. It’s Kurt that answers, thankfully. He stares at them, confused, as he stands in the doorway.
“Hi, Kurt,” Brittany greets brightly.
“HI, Britt,” Kurt says slowly. “Santana.”
“Hummel,” Santana deadpans.
“Are you guys here for Finn? Because he’s not here right now.”
Santana shakes her head. “We’re here for you.”
The look of fear that crosses Kurt’s face almost makes Santana laugh, but the nerves in her stomach stamp it down.
“Okay,” Kurt draws out, eyes glancing back and forth between the two of them.
“We’re dating,” Brittany blurts out, barely able to contain her excitement. Santana rolls her eyes at the sight of her girlfriend practically bouncing up and down next to her.
Kurt’s eyes go wide, confusion still stamped across his face as he nods at her.
Santana sighs. “We’re not telling anyone,” she explains. “Well,” she clarifies, at the look of deeper confusion spreading over Kurt’s features. “We’re telling you because I promised Brittany we’d tell someone, but that’s it.”
Kurt just stares at them blankly so Santana continues on. “If you tell anyone else, especially Finn, I will make your life miserable. I don’t care that you’re another school for the rich and gay these days. I will make you wish you were in another country, understood?”
“Santana,” Brittany chastises softly, bumping her shoulder lightly.
Swallowing thickly, Kurt nods. “Yeah, okay.”
“Okay good,” Santana says, satisfied.
At that moment, the voice of Finn’s mom comes calling out through the house. “Kurt, honey, who’s at the door?”
Santana just glares at him silently.
“No one,” he calls back, his voice cracking a little bit. “Just solicitors.”
Letting out a breath, Santana nods, satisfied. “Okay, bye.”
She turns to leave, but Brittany bounds forward and wraps her arms around Kurt’s neck, squeezing him tightly. She hears Brittany murmur something to Kurt, but she can’t make out the words and seconds later Brittany’s bouncing away, grabbing Santana’s hand and pulling them off the stoop.
“Happy?” Santana asks as she hears the door slam shut behind them.
“Yes,” Brittany says definitively.
Warmth pools in her stomach as she watches Brittany smile, lifting her left hand to stare at the cheap ring on her finger. For the first time in her life, Santana thinks maybe she kind of understands all those sappy, delusional fools that get married.
“I love you,” she says, feeling the need to let the words out.
“I know,” Brittany laughs, her nose scrunching up in mirth. “That’s the best part.”