Fic: Night Reading
From her spot next to the big oak tree, Santana looked up into Brittany’s window, biting her bottom lip as she shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her jacket. She’d been standing there for at least five minutes before she was able to make herself raise her head. Though it was past midnight, the lamp beside Brittany’s bed was still on, and Santana allowed herself to smile a little. She almost allowed herself to think about climbing the tree to crawl in through Brittany’s window as she’d been doing since they were nine-until the night Brittany had suggested they sing a song that had hit just a little too close to home. But suddenly the side door of the Pierces’ house flew open, and Brittany’s dad, normally a very genial guy, started hollering.
Mortified, Santana almost turned and fled, but she figured that would be even dumber than what she was doing right then, so she stepped out of the shadows, hands up. “It’s me; it’s me, Mr. Pierce,” she said quickly. “It’s Santana.”
“Santana!” he exclaimed, clearly both surprised and relieved. “What are you doing? It’s freezing! Get in, get in here,” he urged, and Santana knew better than to argue, so she shuffled inside, head bowed, hands hidden in pockets once again.
“Thanks, Mr. P.,” she mumbled. “Sorry you thought I was a perv or something.”
Mr. Pierce just smiled and gently pushed her toward the stairs. “Go on up. She’s still awake. She’s missed you.”
Santana blushed and swallowed hard, but nodded and started up the stairs. It had been almost a month since she’d stopped showing up at the Pierces’ every day after school. Brittany kept going home with Artie, and Santana had tried to distract herself with Puck, but of course it hadn’t worked.
She stopped outside Brittany’s room, suddenly feeling more like an intruder than ever, but once she realized she definitely did not want Brittany’s dad-or any other member of her family, for that matter-to find her standing in the middle of the hall like a moron, she slowly pushed open the door.
Brittany was sprawled on her stomach on the bed, a book open in front of her and that awful animal curled up beside her. As Santana stepped into the room, the beast raised its head and glared at her, but Brittany kept reading. “Hey,” Santana called softly, and Brittany looked up, blinking.
It seemed to take her a moment to register Santana’s presence, but once she did, her smile was warm and quick and eager. And it made Santana’s chest feel tight.
“Hi!” she said brightly. “You haven’t been over in a while.”
Santana winced a little at her friend’s bluntness, even though Brittany’s tone had been far from accusatory. “Yeah, I figured you’d want to spend time with Wheels. Or whatever,” she said lamely.
Brittany shrugged and sat up. Her cat glared at Santana again. “I still want to sped time with you. You’re my best friend! I know I was mad at you for a while, but I’m not anymore.”
“Thanks,” Santana managed, and just barely stopped herself from adding, “But you should be.” Instead she asked, “What’re you reading?”
“Oh!” Brittany said brightly. “Emma. You know it’s the book Clueless was based on? I wanted to see what it was like.”
Santana nodded. “I tried to read it freshman year. I got bored.”
“It’s good!” Brittany insisted, reaching for Santana’s hand.
Against her better judgment, Santana let herself be pulled to sit beside Brittany on the bed. “I mean, Clueless is way funnier, but this is good too. I think you should give it another chance.” She put the book in Santana’s lap, but Santana just stared at it. “Come on,” Brittany wheedled, unzipping her jacket.
“Britt, I shouldn’t stay-” she tried to protest, but she didn’t actually resist when Brittany began to pull the jacket off.
“No, it’s too late and too dark and too cold for you to leave now,” she insisted. “Now. Read.”
“Out loud?” Santana asked, feeling foolish. They hadn’t read to each other since they were in middle school.
“Duh, out loud. You do remember how, don’t you?” Brittany teased, and Santana rolled her eyes.
“Okay, okay.” Santana sighed, but opened the book.
As she began to read, Brittany shifted closer to her, and immediately her face got hot. Somehow, she forced herself to focus on the book and just kept reading, staunchly ignoring how nice it was to have Brittany so close again.
Halfway through the chapter, she started reading the dialogue in a silly English accent, hardly even realizing it, and Brittany giggled, delighted, and let her head rest on Santana’s shoulder. Her face burning again, Santana nevertheless soldiered on, because if there was one thing she’d really missed, it was hearing that laugh and knowing she alone was the reason for it.
At the end of the chapter, Brittany hugged her tight, and Santana squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly terrified she’d start crying. “Come here, come here,” her friend urged, wanting to settle them more comfortably at the head of the bed. “Go on, Donald,” she said, batting at her cat, who meowed in protest, but hopped off the bed. “Now I’ll read,” she said officiously, and Santana had to open her eyes.
“Okay,” she agreed quietly, and Brittany put her arm around her waist.
After a page or two, she let herself relax, and as Brittany tried out her own silly English accent, Santana let herself smile and put her head on her best friend’s shoulder. Before the short chapter was over, she was nearly asleep. “So? What do you think?” Brittany prompted, bringing her back to wakefulness some minutes later.
“It’s definitely good,” Santana yawned. “Or maybe I just like your terrible English accent.”
“Yours was way more terrible,” Brittany taunted, and Santana jerked her head up.
“Take that back,” she ordered, but Brittany shook her head, grinning.
“You sounded like Dick van Dyke in Mary Poppins,” she said, trying to feign seriousness.
“I did not!” Santana practically howled, and Brittany fell over laughing. Santana leaned over, scowling, but Brittany hardly cared.
“Okay,” she finally relented, beaming up at Santana. “You didn’t.”
“That’s right I didn’t.”
Brittany smiled and reached up to push a piece of hair behind Santana’s ear. Santana ducked her head and turned away, as Brittany started humming “Jolly Holiday.” Santana laughed in spite of herself and playfully pushed Brittany.
“You want some pajamas?” Brittany offered, nudging her shoulder, and she shrugged. “You’re staying here, remember?” Brittany got up and pulled a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt out of her dresser.
“Thanks,” Santana mumbled, and went to get changed.
When she got back from the bathroom, Brittany was sitting crosslegged in the middle of the bed, a very well-worn book in her lap. “Come to bed,” she said gently, and Santana couldn’t do anything but obey.
They both got comfortable under the blankets, half-sitting up, and then Santana looked over to see which book Brittany had picked. A lump grew immediately in her throat when she recognized the cover, and it only got worse when Brittany’s eyes met hers, a tender half-smile on her lips. “This is a good one for right before bed,” she said quietly, and all Santana could do was nod.
Brittany shifted closer to her, and she took one breath and let herself fall into her best friend, who pulled an arm around her and drew Santana’s head to her shoulder. “The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind and another,” she began, and Santana didn’t have the power to stop her tears.
Fortunately, Brittany never noticed-or at least knew better than to ask why her friend was crying-and she kept reading. By the time Max had been made king of all the wild things, Santana was in control of herself again, but when Brittany kissed the top of her head after he’d made it safely home to find his dinner-still hot, of course-waiting for him, she broke down, burying her face in Brittany’s shoulder.
“Santana, don’t cry,” she said soothingly, stroking her hair. “We’re still us, you know?”
“I was so mean to you,” she said, clutching Brittany’s t-shirt.
“I forgive you,” Brittany said simply. But that only made her cry harder.
Eventually, she stopped, and Brittany carefully dried her tears, and they wordlessly settled into the spoons position. Brittany reached across Santana to turn out the light, kissing the top of her ear. “Get some rest, San,” she whispered. “We’ll be all right.”
To her surprise and intense relief, Santana found she actually believed her.
Mortified, Santana almost turned and fled, but she figured that would be even dumber than what she was doing right then, so she stepped out of the shadows, hands up. “It’s me; it’s me, Mr. Pierce,” she said quickly. “It’s Santana.”
“Santana!” he exclaimed, clearly both surprised and relieved. “What are you doing? It’s freezing! Get in, get in here,” he urged, and Santana knew better than to argue, so she shuffled inside, head bowed, hands hidden in pockets once again.
“Thanks, Mr. P.,” she mumbled. “Sorry you thought I was a perv or something.”
Mr. Pierce just smiled and gently pushed her toward the stairs. “Go on up. She’s still awake. She’s missed you.”
Santana blushed and swallowed hard, but nodded and started up the stairs. It had been almost a month since she’d stopped showing up at the Pierces’ every day after school. Brittany kept going home with Artie, and Santana had tried to distract herself with Puck, but of course it hadn’t worked.
She stopped outside Brittany’s room, suddenly feeling more like an intruder than ever, but once she realized she definitely did not want Brittany’s dad-or any other member of her family, for that matter-to find her standing in the middle of the hall like a moron, she slowly pushed open the door.
Brittany was sprawled on her stomach on the bed, a book open in front of her and that awful animal curled up beside her. As Santana stepped into the room, the beast raised its head and glared at her, but Brittany kept reading. “Hey,” Santana called softly, and Brittany looked up, blinking.
It seemed to take her a moment to register Santana’s presence, but once she did, her smile was warm and quick and eager. And it made Santana’s chest feel tight.
“Hi!” she said brightly. “You haven’t been over in a while.”
Santana winced a little at her friend’s bluntness, even though Brittany’s tone had been far from accusatory. “Yeah, I figured you’d want to spend time with Wheels. Or whatever,” she said lamely.
Brittany shrugged and sat up. Her cat glared at Santana again. “I still want to sped time with you. You’re my best friend! I know I was mad at you for a while, but I’m not anymore.”
“Thanks,” Santana managed, and just barely stopped herself from adding, “But you should be.” Instead she asked, “What’re you reading?”
“Oh!” Brittany said brightly. “Emma. You know it’s the book Clueless was based on? I wanted to see what it was like.”
Santana nodded. “I tried to read it freshman year. I got bored.”
“It’s good!” Brittany insisted, reaching for Santana’s hand.
Against her better judgment, Santana let herself be pulled to sit beside Brittany on the bed. “I mean, Clueless is way funnier, but this is good too. I think you should give it another chance.” She put the book in Santana’s lap, but Santana just stared at it. “Come on,” Brittany wheedled, unzipping her jacket.
“Britt, I shouldn’t stay-” she tried to protest, but she didn’t actually resist when Brittany began to pull the jacket off.
“No, it’s too late and too dark and too cold for you to leave now,” she insisted. “Now. Read.”
“Out loud?” Santana asked, feeling foolish. They hadn’t read to each other since they were in middle school.
“Duh, out loud. You do remember how, don’t you?” Brittany teased, and Santana rolled her eyes.
“Okay, okay.” Santana sighed, but opened the book.
As she began to read, Brittany shifted closer to her, and immediately her face got hot. Somehow, she forced herself to focus on the book and just kept reading, staunchly ignoring how nice it was to have Brittany so close again.
Halfway through the chapter, she started reading the dialogue in a silly English accent, hardly even realizing it, and Brittany giggled, delighted, and let her head rest on Santana’s shoulder. Her face burning again, Santana nevertheless soldiered on, because if there was one thing she’d really missed, it was hearing that laugh and knowing she alone was the reason for it.
At the end of the chapter, Brittany hugged her tight, and Santana squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly terrified she’d start crying. “Come here, come here,” her friend urged, wanting to settle them more comfortably at the head of the bed. “Go on, Donald,” she said, batting at her cat, who meowed in protest, but hopped off the bed. “Now I’ll read,” she said officiously, and Santana had to open her eyes.
“Okay,” she agreed quietly, and Brittany put her arm around her waist.
After a page or two, she let herself relax, and as Brittany tried out her own silly English accent, Santana let herself smile and put her head on her best friend’s shoulder. Before the short chapter was over, she was nearly asleep. “So? What do you think?” Brittany prompted, bringing her back to wakefulness some minutes later.
“It’s definitely good,” Santana yawned. “Or maybe I just like your terrible English accent.”
“Yours was way more terrible,” Brittany taunted, and Santana jerked her head up.
“Take that back,” she ordered, but Brittany shook her head, grinning.
“You sounded like Dick van Dyke in Mary Poppins,” she said, trying to feign seriousness.
“I did not!” Santana practically howled, and Brittany fell over laughing. Santana leaned over, scowling, but Brittany hardly cared.
“Okay,” she finally relented, beaming up at Santana. “You didn’t.”
“That’s right I didn’t.”
Brittany smiled and reached up to push a piece of hair behind Santana’s ear. Santana ducked her head and turned away, as Brittany started humming “Jolly Holiday.” Santana laughed in spite of herself and playfully pushed Brittany.
“You want some pajamas?” Brittany offered, nudging her shoulder, and she shrugged. “You’re staying here, remember?” Brittany got up and pulled a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt out of her dresser.
“Thanks,” Santana mumbled, and went to get changed.
When she got back from the bathroom, Brittany was sitting crosslegged in the middle of the bed, a very well-worn book in her lap. “Come to bed,” she said gently, and Santana couldn’t do anything but obey.
They both got comfortable under the blankets, half-sitting up, and then Santana looked over to see which book Brittany had picked. A lump grew immediately in her throat when she recognized the cover, and it only got worse when Brittany’s eyes met hers, a tender half-smile on her lips. “This is a good one for right before bed,” she said quietly, and all Santana could do was nod.
Brittany shifted closer to her, and she took one breath and let herself fall into her best friend, who pulled an arm around her and drew Santana’s head to her shoulder. “The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind and another,” she began, and Santana didn’t have the power to stop her tears.
Fortunately, Brittany never noticed-or at least knew better than to ask why her friend was crying-and she kept reading. By the time Max had been made king of all the wild things, Santana was in control of herself again, but when Brittany kissed the top of her head after he’d made it safely home to find his dinner-still hot, of course-waiting for him, she broke down, burying her face in Brittany’s shoulder.
“Santana, don’t cry,” she said soothingly, stroking her hair. “We’re still us, you know?”
“I was so mean to you,” she said, clutching Brittany’s t-shirt.
“I forgive you,” Brittany said simply. But that only made her cry harder.
Eventually, she stopped, and Brittany carefully dried her tears, and they wordlessly settled into the spoons position. Brittany reached across Santana to turn out the light, kissing the top of her ear. “Get some rest, San,” she whispered. “We’ll be all right.”
To her surprise and intense relief, Santana found she actually believed her.