fic: gravity (2/2)
Title: gravity (2/2)
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG-13
Length: 3130
Summary: Santana thinks of her summer in comparison to others; with Brittany and then without, and there’s really no other conclusion.
Spoilers: Before 3x01
“Jesus, Santana, I haven’t seen you change this many times since prom,” Quinn smirks, looking up from her magazine. Lounging on Santana’s bed, she watches with one arm propped under her head.
Santana glares at her from the mirror. “Like you’re one to talk. I seem to recall you going through fifteen different types of bobby pins before you found the ‘the perfect ones’.”
Quinn doesn’t bat an eyelash. “Whatever. That’s prom. You’re going to dinner. With your best friend’s family, who you’ve known for years.”
“Your point?” Santana deadpans.
“You practically live there, and Brittany’s parents have seen you in diapers. At this point, they probably wouldn’t even care if you showed up wearing a potato sack.”
“They’re not exactly the ones I’m trying to impress.”
Quinn scoffs. “Don’t be stupid, Santana. You know that’s not what Brittany cares about.”
Santana’s face hardens. “I don’t need your help, Fabray.”
“Why did you call me over in the first place?” Quinn retorts, and she knows she’s won the argument.
“What? You don’t like our sleepovers?” Santana asks sarcastically, putting on a necklace then tearing it off.
Quinn raises an eyebrow. “Not when it includes me waking up in the middle of the night to you on top of me and calling me ‘Brittany’,” she retorts.
“Fuck you,” Santana spits back, but it’s half-hearted. She tries on a headband before deciding against it and tossing it aside.
“Hmm. Not your best,” Quinn remarks, shaking her head.
Santana rips off two other shirts before slumping into the sea of discarded clothes. “What’s the use? She’s never going to want me back. I wouldn’t even want me back. And look at me. I’m fucking hot.”
Quinn rolls her eyes. “Stop being so melodramatic. God, you’re acting worse than you were at Berry’s party last year.”
Santana toys with the bracelet on her wrist absently. “Actually, getting drunk right now sounds like a great idea, Quinnie,” she half-jokes. “How about it?”
Before she even has a chance of contemplating whether just to stay home with Quinn and a bottle of Grey Goose, Quinn promptly sits up and rapidly fires an endless string of pillows at her.
“Christ, what was that for?” Santana demands, rubbing her head. “And where the hell did you learn to throw like that?”
Quinn grins smugly. “Puck taught me.”
“I’m sure he did,” Santana mutters under her breath.
Another pillow comes flying and hits her side, hard.
“Jesus, Quinn, stop it!”
“You first, Lopez,” Quinn says, and Santana rolls her eyes, sensing that she was getting into full on dictator mode. “Now you have about half an hour until dinner starts. She’s been waiting for you since kindergarten. Don’t make her wait any longer.”
Santana buries her face in her knees. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Sure you can!” Quinn prods, making gestures with her hands. “Fork to plate, food to mouth. Even you should be able to figure that out.”
“Quinn.”
And then Quinn sighs again, this time getting up from the bed.
She disappears inside Santana’s enormous closet for a few minutes before reappearing with a blouse and skirt, tossing it at her. “Here, wear these. As much as it physically disgusts me to admit it, you look hot in black, and Brittany likes it simple.”
Santana sighs but takes the clothes from her anyway, putting them on. She would never say it, but Quinn did have decent taste.
“Thanks,” Santana chokes out.
“Yeah, yeah whatever,” Quinn rolls her eyes and returns to her magazine. “You better bring home some cake.”
---
Somehow, Quinn gets her ready and out the door by seven o’clock with the look that manages to say “Don’t fuck up” and “I love you” at the same time, and Santana almost laughs at how familiar it is. She would have too, if she wasn’t trying so hard not to throw up.
All in all, it’s the probably the most nerve-wracking walk across the street she’s ever experienced. And that’s including the first time her mom’s let her cross the road alone when she turned five and the week that Puck got his new paintball gun and nothing within a fifty foot radius was safe.
She finally makes it to the door and pushes herself forward until her knuckles make contact with the wooden front three times.
And then she waits. She shuffles and taps her hand against her thigh, taking so many deep breaths she ends up feeling light-headed.
After what seemed like an hour, Brittany’s mom finally opens the door, and instantly envelops her in a bone-crushing hug. “Santana! I’m so glad you made it.”
“Glad to be here Mrs. P,” Santana says, voice slightly muffled.
“I swear you get thinner every time I see you,” Mrs. Pierce scrutinizes, shaking her head. “We’ll have to fix that.”
Santana laughs and allows herself to be whisked away. After the obligatory hair tousle from Britt’s dad, Brittany’s mom goes off to the garden and Santana finds herself frozen in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at the sight before her.
People are always surprised when they find out, but Brittany’s some kind of wizard with knives, to the point where she could completely demolish a carrot in less than ten seconds with her eyes closed and Santana almost gets queasy watching.
Right now, Brittany’s slicing tomatoes, humming some tune suspiciously similar to “My Cup”, and Santana can’t help but stare at the way the sun is catching her hair through the window, and feeling her heart swell up in her chest.
It’s stupid of her to get so emotional but the birds seem to be chirping along with her, and it’s just all too much like that scene from Cinderella. And Santana has a soft spot for Disney movies okay.
Santana knocks on the side of the kitchen wall and clears her throat nervously. “Hi Britt.”
Brittany turns and her eyes widen tenfold. She quickly wipes her hands on a towel and throws her arms around Santana’s shoulders. “San! You came!”
She actually looks surprised, and Santana inadvertently winces, reminded of the “Fondue For Two” incident where she almost made it to Brittany’s house but sent the text at the last second and spent the rest of the night drunk out of her mind in Puck’s backyard.
“You look really pretty,” she ends up blurting out in response, not knowing what to say.
The smile that Santana’s awarded is always bigger than she deserves so she quickly turns away. Grabbing a knife, she tries to concentrate on slicing the tomatoes correctly, feeling like it’s her heart on the cutting board instead.
---
The table is set, and the salad is ready, so they all sit down and eat right away. Brittany’s family doesn’t say prayers like Quinn’s do, and sometimes Santana misses sneaking silly faces to make Brittany laugh and feeling Quinn kick her from underneath the table, but nothing really compares to dinner with the Pierces.
Unlike the Quinn's parents, Brittany’s aren’t the kind that grill her about her grades and undermine that maybe she wasn’t doing enough extracurriculars. Instead, Brittany’s parents ask her about summer and how her own parents were doing, what she was planning for the rest of the vacation, and they seem genuinely interested.
It’s a bit awkward at the beginning only because Santana feels bad for neglecting Brittany and her family so long. But it doesn’t seem to matter to them. They accept her return immediately, showering her with compliments and endless rounds of breadsticks.
When she hesitates, Brittany’s hand finds hers underneath the dinner table, and she almost jumps. But it only takes her half a second to squeeze back until she feels her body relax automatically, and it’s almost like she never left.
---
By the third round of breadsticks, she’s laughing so hard that there are tears in her eyes and knots in her stomach. Brittany turns to look at her every so often, smiling goofily. Feeling the warmth literally invade her senses, she finally remembers for the first time since glee, why the concept of “family” is so important.
---
Brittany’s dad suggests that they play a board game after dessert, and as much as Santana loves when they do, Brittany’s mom must have sensed that they needed some time alone, and gently leads her husband upstairs, promising that they will another time.
They’re washing dishes now. Well actually Santana’s just kind of half drying and half watching Brittany wash them with that cute concentrated look on her face while she makes a smiley face with the dish soap and carefully sprays each plate, eyebrows furrowed and all. Brittany doesn’t catch her staring until she finishes with the stack of plates, blushing tentatively when she does.
“What?”
“You have something on your cheek,” Santana tells her, gesturing with her hand.
Brittany frowns and clumsily paws at the opposite side. “Is it gone?”
Santana chuckles lightly. “Here let me.” Without thinking, she steps closer and runs her thumb across Brittany’s cheek, catching the spot of foam and wiping it off on her jeans.
Santana notices a shift in Brittany’s voice as she rests a hand on Santana’s hip. “Thank you.”
They’re way too close for their own good now and before Santana could distance herself, Brittany leans forward and kisses her something fierce, pressing their lips together like they couldn’t have ever been apart. Santana can’t help but reciprocate just as desperately, feeling the flame of Brittany’s touch it as it burns right through her skin, settling in the space between her ribs.
Suddenly coming back to her senses, Santana quickly breaks apart and takes a step backwards until there’s a considerable amount of room between them. A drone in her ears pounds like waves crashing on a shore. Her breath comes back to her slowly as she wonders if Brittany hears it too.
They just stand there on opposite sides of the room looking at each other. Santana feels her head buzz dimly as the room spins. Her whole body is pulsing as if someone took jumper cables to her chest.
“I’m sorry,” Brittany finally says, not looking like she meant it at all.
“Don’t apologize,” Santana replies anyway, just in case she did.
Brittany stares at her with dark eyes.
“We should probably talk,” Santana says slowly, and Brittany nods in agreement, but the flickering florescent light above them is the only thing that moves, fluttering like visible sound waves in tune with the roaring of her heart.
---
Eventually, Brittany goes back to washing dishes with an vague urgency Santana's never seen before, and Santana goes back to half-drying, half watching, though even more intently than before. Sometimes she catches Brittany glancing back to at her too, but the return to normality is so quick that it seems impossible that a change even took place at all.
Her lips still tingle. She touches them with the tips of her fingers when Brittany's not looking, still trying to determine if what just happened was only something she had imagined.
---
They’re out on the front deck sitting on the porch swing and Brittany’s just swaying her legs back and forth, looking at the night sky. Santana smiles slightly, reminiscent of their playground days.
The side of her body that’s almost touching Brittany’s feels like it might ignite at any moment so Santana distracts herself by running her fingers over the smooth wood they’re sitting on, thinking of the memories engraved right in it. Catching fireflies with Brittany, making forts, painting nails, kissing her goodnight.
Her grip tightens on the edge of the chair, feeling like if she let go, she’d lose those too.
Santana’s voice comes back to her finally. “I forgot how nice this was,” she remarks,
“Me too,” Brittany agrees a bit sadly, closing her eyes. ”We used to meet out here every night before sneaking off with Puck, remember?”
Santana nods, shutting her eyes with her. She smiles as the memories come back to her in pieces, Puck ringing someone’s doorbell while they ran, laughing as their hearts and feet pounded under the streetlights, trying to read the label of a stolen bottle of alcohol by moonlight, climbing up the tree branches to get to Brittany’s room, falling asleep curled next to her just as the sun was rising.
Without the moon, the sky is almost black above them. But the stars are still there and they fill up the emptiness. All around them is the incessant drone of chirping crickets. And as much as she hates them when she’s here, Santana remembers not being able to sleep for the longest time on the first night of their trip to New York.
And Santana thinks of her summer in comparison to others, having Brittany with her all the time, and there’s really no other conclusion.
Opening her eyes, she tells Brittany with complete seriousness, “I’m sorry for not realizing it earlier, but it really sucks when you’re not there to wake me up at 5 a.m. to watch Gumby.”
The smallest smile appears on Brittany’s lips and she looks back at Santana perplexedly. “You hate that show.”
Santana shrugs. “The blockheads still creep me out but the orange pony thing’s alright I guess.” She pauses before continuing, “It also sucks when you’re not there to drag me home after we run 15 miles a day.” And maybe the sweltering summer heat is finally getting to her or something because all of a sudden, all of these things just start tumbling out of her mouth. “Ding dong ditching Rachel with Quinn isn’t as fun. Sweet Valley High is the worst fucking show to watch alone.”
To her disappointment, Brittany doesn’t say anything. She just looks down at her hands, biting her lower lip.
Santana gives up on trying to keep up with subtly because frankly, she was never good at that. “What I’m trying to get at here, B, is that I miss you,” she admits, and even though it’s starting to sound like the pathetic word vomit fits she has when she drinks too much, at least she’s finally being honest. “I miss you so fucking much that I don’t even know how to deal with myself when you’re not here.”
Brittany turns to look at her, eyes flashing iridescently in the dim light. “Santana, I never left,” she exasperates, with an expression as close to ferocity as Brittany can achieve, but still unable to mask the hurt in her voice. “I didn’t think you wanted me to be there. Why didn’t you just call back?”
Santana sighs. “I tried to.”
Brittany’s eyes are back to being stuck on the ground and Santana feels panicked, trying to think of anything that would help explain things.
“Do you remember the playground? How we used to hang upside down together?” she suddenly asks. “It’s kind of like that.”
Brittany looks up, eyebrows knitting together in the center of her forehead. “Yeah?”
“When I was little, sometimes the world seemed upside down to me. I could never understand why.” Santana pauses. “I guess it still kind of does. When I don’t understand things, I get angry at myself, and then I’m a huge bitch to everyone else.”
Santana takes a deep breath, trying to swallow the permanent lump in her throat. “And I guess that’s part of the reason. I kept telling myself that you deserve to be with someone who won’t hurt you like that…” Santana falters. “It’s not that I think someone could love you more because-well, you know,” she adds hurriedly, rushing the last part.
Brittany continues staring at her intently with those two clear blue eyes that always pierce right through her. And Christ, even after knowing Brittany for years, it still makes her palms sweat and her heartbeat all erratic.
“I do want you here,” Santana emphasizes. “It’s just that… I think I have to learn how to be that person.” She turns away, laughing harshly. “I mean, I used to think it was the rest of the world, but I guess I finally figured out that I’m the one that’s really upside down.”
Brittany’s expression falls completely. She reaches up to cup Santana’s face, turning her head gently until their eyes met, using her thumbs to wipe away stray tears. “Santana…” she says softly. “You’re the only one that’s ever been right side up to me.”
Santana’s breath hitches as she searches Brittany’s face for any signs of uncertainty, but Brittany just smiles like it’s the only thing she knows. Santana clenches her grasp against the edge of the chair to steady herself, but it doesn’t stop tears from welling in her eyes at the heaviness of her words.
“I promise I don’t have it all figured it out either,” Brittany whispers, dropping her hand from Santana’s cheek and grazing her fingers over her arm. And it shouldn’t be this comforting, the fact that neither of them know what they’re doing, but somehow it is.
The most she can manage in response is a slight nod but Brittany just knows so Santana looks away, and the hand on her arm emanating a familiar warmth through her body is enough to calm her.
“I told Quinn, a couple of days ago,” Santana says quietly, when she trusts her voice enough to speak.
Brittany’s response is soft, hesitant. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. She wasn’t exactly surprised though,” Santana continues, remembering how all Quinn did was roll her eyes at her.
“Some part of me thinks she always knew.” Brittany laughs lightly, shaking her head. “Well I’m proud of you, San,” she says earnestly. “That must have been hard.”
Santana shrugs. “I’m sorry it took me this long to tell you,” she says quietly. Sighing, Santana runs a hand through her hair. “I don’t know how to be… just yet. I’m still scared shitless Britt. But I’m willing to try. I just… think I need to know how to be okay with myself first.”
Brittany nods slowly, then looks up at her. “Are you okay with me?”
Santana’s heart shatters irreparably and she suppresses the instinctual urge to press their lips together, to show her.
She nods instead. “Always, Britt.”
“Good.” Brittany puts on a small smile. “I know you need some space.” She gingerly tucks her head against Santana’s shoulder and threads their fingers together. “Just don’t go too far, okay?”
Santana gives her hand a squeeze. “I won’t.”
“Will you stay here for now?” Brittany asks.
Santana smiles faintly. “As long as you want.”
Brittany presses herself closer to Santana’s side. “Forever?”
“Yeah, B,” she says softly, meaning it. She rests her own head against Brittany’s and shuts her eyes. “Soon.”
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG-13
Length: 3130
Summary: Santana thinks of her summer in comparison to others; with Brittany and then without, and there’s really no other conclusion.
Spoilers: Before 3x01
“Jesus, Santana, I haven’t seen you change this many times since prom,” Quinn smirks, looking up from her magazine. Lounging on Santana’s bed, she watches with one arm propped under her head.
Santana glares at her from the mirror. “Like you’re one to talk. I seem to recall you going through fifteen different types of bobby pins before you found the ‘the perfect ones’.”
Quinn doesn’t bat an eyelash. “Whatever. That’s prom. You’re going to dinner. With your best friend’s family, who you’ve known for years.”
“Your point?” Santana deadpans.
“You practically live there, and Brittany’s parents have seen you in diapers. At this point, they probably wouldn’t even care if you showed up wearing a potato sack.”
“They’re not exactly the ones I’m trying to impress.”
Quinn scoffs. “Don’t be stupid, Santana. You know that’s not what Brittany cares about.”
Santana’s face hardens. “I don’t need your help, Fabray.”
“Why did you call me over in the first place?” Quinn retorts, and she knows she’s won the argument.
“What? You don’t like our sleepovers?” Santana asks sarcastically, putting on a necklace then tearing it off.
Quinn raises an eyebrow. “Not when it includes me waking up in the middle of the night to you on top of me and calling me ‘Brittany’,” she retorts.
“Fuck you,” Santana spits back, but it’s half-hearted. She tries on a headband before deciding against it and tossing it aside.
“Hmm. Not your best,” Quinn remarks, shaking her head.
Santana rips off two other shirts before slumping into the sea of discarded clothes. “What’s the use? She’s never going to want me back. I wouldn’t even want me back. And look at me. I’m fucking hot.”
Quinn rolls her eyes. “Stop being so melodramatic. God, you’re acting worse than you were at Berry’s party last year.”
Santana toys with the bracelet on her wrist absently. “Actually, getting drunk right now sounds like a great idea, Quinnie,” she half-jokes. “How about it?”
Before she even has a chance of contemplating whether just to stay home with Quinn and a bottle of Grey Goose, Quinn promptly sits up and rapidly fires an endless string of pillows at her.
“Christ, what was that for?” Santana demands, rubbing her head. “And where the hell did you learn to throw like that?”
Quinn grins smugly. “Puck taught me.”
“I’m sure he did,” Santana mutters under her breath.
Another pillow comes flying and hits her side, hard.
“Jesus, Quinn, stop it!”
“You first, Lopez,” Quinn says, and Santana rolls her eyes, sensing that she was getting into full on dictator mode. “Now you have about half an hour until dinner starts. She’s been waiting for you since kindergarten. Don’t make her wait any longer.”
Santana buries her face in her knees. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Sure you can!” Quinn prods, making gestures with her hands. “Fork to plate, food to mouth. Even you should be able to figure that out.”
“Quinn.”
And then Quinn sighs again, this time getting up from the bed.
She disappears inside Santana’s enormous closet for a few minutes before reappearing with a blouse and skirt, tossing it at her. “Here, wear these. As much as it physically disgusts me to admit it, you look hot in black, and Brittany likes it simple.”
Santana sighs but takes the clothes from her anyway, putting them on. She would never say it, but Quinn did have decent taste.
“Thanks,” Santana chokes out.
“Yeah, yeah whatever,” Quinn rolls her eyes and returns to her magazine. “You better bring home some cake.”
---
Somehow, Quinn gets her ready and out the door by seven o’clock with the look that manages to say “Don’t fuck up” and “I love you” at the same time, and Santana almost laughs at how familiar it is. She would have too, if she wasn’t trying so hard not to throw up.
All in all, it’s the probably the most nerve-wracking walk across the street she’s ever experienced. And that’s including the first time her mom’s let her cross the road alone when she turned five and the week that Puck got his new paintball gun and nothing within a fifty foot radius was safe.
She finally makes it to the door and pushes herself forward until her knuckles make contact with the wooden front three times.
And then she waits. She shuffles and taps her hand against her thigh, taking so many deep breaths she ends up feeling light-headed.
After what seemed like an hour, Brittany’s mom finally opens the door, and instantly envelops her in a bone-crushing hug. “Santana! I’m so glad you made it.”
“Glad to be here Mrs. P,” Santana says, voice slightly muffled.
“I swear you get thinner every time I see you,” Mrs. Pierce scrutinizes, shaking her head. “We’ll have to fix that.”
Santana laughs and allows herself to be whisked away. After the obligatory hair tousle from Britt’s dad, Brittany’s mom goes off to the garden and Santana finds herself frozen in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at the sight before her.
People are always surprised when they find out, but Brittany’s some kind of wizard with knives, to the point where she could completely demolish a carrot in less than ten seconds with her eyes closed and Santana almost gets queasy watching.
Right now, Brittany’s slicing tomatoes, humming some tune suspiciously similar to “My Cup”, and Santana can’t help but stare at the way the sun is catching her hair through the window, and feeling her heart swell up in her chest.
It’s stupid of her to get so emotional but the birds seem to be chirping along with her, and it’s just all too much like that scene from Cinderella. And Santana has a soft spot for Disney movies okay.
Santana knocks on the side of the kitchen wall and clears her throat nervously. “Hi Britt.”
Brittany turns and her eyes widen tenfold. She quickly wipes her hands on a towel and throws her arms around Santana’s shoulders. “San! You came!”
She actually looks surprised, and Santana inadvertently winces, reminded of the “Fondue For Two” incident where she almost made it to Brittany’s house but sent the text at the last second and spent the rest of the night drunk out of her mind in Puck’s backyard.
“You look really pretty,” she ends up blurting out in response, not knowing what to say.
The smile that Santana’s awarded is always bigger than she deserves so she quickly turns away. Grabbing a knife, she tries to concentrate on slicing the tomatoes correctly, feeling like it’s her heart on the cutting board instead.
---
The table is set, and the salad is ready, so they all sit down and eat right away. Brittany’s family doesn’t say prayers like Quinn’s do, and sometimes Santana misses sneaking silly faces to make Brittany laugh and feeling Quinn kick her from underneath the table, but nothing really compares to dinner with the Pierces.
Unlike the Quinn's parents, Brittany’s aren’t the kind that grill her about her grades and undermine that maybe she wasn’t doing enough extracurriculars. Instead, Brittany’s parents ask her about summer and how her own parents were doing, what she was planning for the rest of the vacation, and they seem genuinely interested.
It’s a bit awkward at the beginning only because Santana feels bad for neglecting Brittany and her family so long. But it doesn’t seem to matter to them. They accept her return immediately, showering her with compliments and endless rounds of breadsticks.
When she hesitates, Brittany’s hand finds hers underneath the dinner table, and she almost jumps. But it only takes her half a second to squeeze back until she feels her body relax automatically, and it’s almost like she never left.
---
By the third round of breadsticks, she’s laughing so hard that there are tears in her eyes and knots in her stomach. Brittany turns to look at her every so often, smiling goofily. Feeling the warmth literally invade her senses, she finally remembers for the first time since glee, why the concept of “family” is so important.
---
Brittany’s dad suggests that they play a board game after dessert, and as much as Santana loves when they do, Brittany’s mom must have sensed that they needed some time alone, and gently leads her husband upstairs, promising that they will another time.
They’re washing dishes now. Well actually Santana’s just kind of half drying and half watching Brittany wash them with that cute concentrated look on her face while she makes a smiley face with the dish soap and carefully sprays each plate, eyebrows furrowed and all. Brittany doesn’t catch her staring until she finishes with the stack of plates, blushing tentatively when she does.
“What?”
“You have something on your cheek,” Santana tells her, gesturing with her hand.
Brittany frowns and clumsily paws at the opposite side. “Is it gone?”
Santana chuckles lightly. “Here let me.” Without thinking, she steps closer and runs her thumb across Brittany’s cheek, catching the spot of foam and wiping it off on her jeans.
Santana notices a shift in Brittany’s voice as she rests a hand on Santana’s hip. “Thank you.”
They’re way too close for their own good now and before Santana could distance herself, Brittany leans forward and kisses her something fierce, pressing their lips together like they couldn’t have ever been apart. Santana can’t help but reciprocate just as desperately, feeling the flame of Brittany’s touch it as it burns right through her skin, settling in the space between her ribs.
Suddenly coming back to her senses, Santana quickly breaks apart and takes a step backwards until there’s a considerable amount of room between them. A drone in her ears pounds like waves crashing on a shore. Her breath comes back to her slowly as she wonders if Brittany hears it too.
They just stand there on opposite sides of the room looking at each other. Santana feels her head buzz dimly as the room spins. Her whole body is pulsing as if someone took jumper cables to her chest.
“I’m sorry,” Brittany finally says, not looking like she meant it at all.
“Don’t apologize,” Santana replies anyway, just in case she did.
Brittany stares at her with dark eyes.
“We should probably talk,” Santana says slowly, and Brittany nods in agreement, but the flickering florescent light above them is the only thing that moves, fluttering like visible sound waves in tune with the roaring of her heart.
---
Eventually, Brittany goes back to washing dishes with an vague urgency Santana's never seen before, and Santana goes back to half-drying, half watching, though even more intently than before. Sometimes she catches Brittany glancing back to at her too, but the return to normality is so quick that it seems impossible that a change even took place at all.
Her lips still tingle. She touches them with the tips of her fingers when Brittany's not looking, still trying to determine if what just happened was only something she had imagined.
---
They’re out on the front deck sitting on the porch swing and Brittany’s just swaying her legs back and forth, looking at the night sky. Santana smiles slightly, reminiscent of their playground days.
The side of her body that’s almost touching Brittany’s feels like it might ignite at any moment so Santana distracts herself by running her fingers over the smooth wood they’re sitting on, thinking of the memories engraved right in it. Catching fireflies with Brittany, making forts, painting nails, kissing her goodnight.
Her grip tightens on the edge of the chair, feeling like if she let go, she’d lose those too.
Santana’s voice comes back to her finally. “I forgot how nice this was,” she remarks,
“Me too,” Brittany agrees a bit sadly, closing her eyes. ”We used to meet out here every night before sneaking off with Puck, remember?”
Santana nods, shutting her eyes with her. She smiles as the memories come back to her in pieces, Puck ringing someone’s doorbell while they ran, laughing as their hearts and feet pounded under the streetlights, trying to read the label of a stolen bottle of alcohol by moonlight, climbing up the tree branches to get to Brittany’s room, falling asleep curled next to her just as the sun was rising.
Without the moon, the sky is almost black above them. But the stars are still there and they fill up the emptiness. All around them is the incessant drone of chirping crickets. And as much as she hates them when she’s here, Santana remembers not being able to sleep for the longest time on the first night of their trip to New York.
And Santana thinks of her summer in comparison to others, having Brittany with her all the time, and there’s really no other conclusion.
Opening her eyes, she tells Brittany with complete seriousness, “I’m sorry for not realizing it earlier, but it really sucks when you’re not there to wake me up at 5 a.m. to watch Gumby.”
The smallest smile appears on Brittany’s lips and she looks back at Santana perplexedly. “You hate that show.”
Santana shrugs. “The blockheads still creep me out but the orange pony thing’s alright I guess.” She pauses before continuing, “It also sucks when you’re not there to drag me home after we run 15 miles a day.” And maybe the sweltering summer heat is finally getting to her or something because all of a sudden, all of these things just start tumbling out of her mouth. “Ding dong ditching Rachel with Quinn isn’t as fun. Sweet Valley High is the worst fucking show to watch alone.”
To her disappointment, Brittany doesn’t say anything. She just looks down at her hands, biting her lower lip.
Santana gives up on trying to keep up with subtly because frankly, she was never good at that. “What I’m trying to get at here, B, is that I miss you,” she admits, and even though it’s starting to sound like the pathetic word vomit fits she has when she drinks too much, at least she’s finally being honest. “I miss you so fucking much that I don’t even know how to deal with myself when you’re not here.”
Brittany turns to look at her, eyes flashing iridescently in the dim light. “Santana, I never left,” she exasperates, with an expression as close to ferocity as Brittany can achieve, but still unable to mask the hurt in her voice. “I didn’t think you wanted me to be there. Why didn’t you just call back?”
Santana sighs. “I tried to.”
Brittany’s eyes are back to being stuck on the ground and Santana feels panicked, trying to think of anything that would help explain things.
“Do you remember the playground? How we used to hang upside down together?” she suddenly asks. “It’s kind of like that.”
Brittany looks up, eyebrows knitting together in the center of her forehead. “Yeah?”
“When I was little, sometimes the world seemed upside down to me. I could never understand why.” Santana pauses. “I guess it still kind of does. When I don’t understand things, I get angry at myself, and then I’m a huge bitch to everyone else.”
Santana takes a deep breath, trying to swallow the permanent lump in her throat. “And I guess that’s part of the reason. I kept telling myself that you deserve to be with someone who won’t hurt you like that…” Santana falters. “It’s not that I think someone could love you more because-well, you know,” she adds hurriedly, rushing the last part.
Brittany continues staring at her intently with those two clear blue eyes that always pierce right through her. And Christ, even after knowing Brittany for years, it still makes her palms sweat and her heartbeat all erratic.
“I do want you here,” Santana emphasizes. “It’s just that… I think I have to learn how to be that person.” She turns away, laughing harshly. “I mean, I used to think it was the rest of the world, but I guess I finally figured out that I’m the one that’s really upside down.”
Brittany’s expression falls completely. She reaches up to cup Santana’s face, turning her head gently until their eyes met, using her thumbs to wipe away stray tears. “Santana…” she says softly. “You’re the only one that’s ever been right side up to me.”
Santana’s breath hitches as she searches Brittany’s face for any signs of uncertainty, but Brittany just smiles like it’s the only thing she knows. Santana clenches her grasp against the edge of the chair to steady herself, but it doesn’t stop tears from welling in her eyes at the heaviness of her words.
“I promise I don’t have it all figured it out either,” Brittany whispers, dropping her hand from Santana’s cheek and grazing her fingers over her arm. And it shouldn’t be this comforting, the fact that neither of them know what they’re doing, but somehow it is.
The most she can manage in response is a slight nod but Brittany just knows so Santana looks away, and the hand on her arm emanating a familiar warmth through her body is enough to calm her.
“I told Quinn, a couple of days ago,” Santana says quietly, when she trusts her voice enough to speak.
Brittany’s response is soft, hesitant. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. She wasn’t exactly surprised though,” Santana continues, remembering how all Quinn did was roll her eyes at her.
“Some part of me thinks she always knew.” Brittany laughs lightly, shaking her head. “Well I’m proud of you, San,” she says earnestly. “That must have been hard.”
Santana shrugs. “I’m sorry it took me this long to tell you,” she says quietly. Sighing, Santana runs a hand through her hair. “I don’t know how to be… just yet. I’m still scared shitless Britt. But I’m willing to try. I just… think I need to know how to be okay with myself first.”
Brittany nods slowly, then looks up at her. “Are you okay with me?”
Santana’s heart shatters irreparably and she suppresses the instinctual urge to press their lips together, to show her.
She nods instead. “Always, Britt.”
“Good.” Brittany puts on a small smile. “I know you need some space.” She gingerly tucks her head against Santana’s shoulder and threads their fingers together. “Just don’t go too far, okay?”
Santana gives her hand a squeeze. “I won’t.”
“Will you stay here for now?” Brittany asks.
Santana smiles faintly. “As long as you want.”
Brittany presses herself closer to Santana’s side. “Forever?”
“Yeah, B,” she says softly, meaning it. She rests her own head against Brittany’s and shuts her eyes. “Soon.”