Disclaimer: Don't own the characters.
"Hey, San."
Santana swivels in her chair to face the blonde sprawled haphazardly across her (ridiculously small) twin-sized bed before she replies.
"Yeah, babe?"
Brittany smiles (hesitantly), and crawls to the edge of the bed, her knees brushing Santana's as she reaches for her hand on the desk. Their fingers mold together effortlessly and it takes all of Santana's willpower not to wonder why. (Why Brittany?) Pale white hands grasp tan ones almost so desperately that Santana has to look down to make sure it's not herself that's grabbing on too tight. She looks back up into Brittany's face, seeing nothing but outright honesty, and all of a sudden she has chills running down her spine.
"I love you," Brittany breathes out, soft and so Brittany-like that Santana has to take a few seconds to compose herself and not lose to her screaming, beating (truthful) heart.
Santana's careful. She carefully extracts her own fingers from the blonde's, she carefully pretends not to notice the flicker of pain across Brittany's face as she does so, and instead stares at the space in between her fingers before looking up; at the wall behind Brittany's head.
She carefully replies, with a (disgustingly) guarded smile, "I know, B."
And Santana turns back to her desk.
She ruffles through their Spanish papers, but no amount of paper, metal or any kind of material in the world could stop the heat of Brittany's gaze burning holes in the side of her head.
She stares at green stars above her, lying on her bed, with Brittany's warm body curled up next to her, her head tucked under Santana's chin. The fake glow-in-the-dark stars don't twinkle, don't shine, don't wink at her like they should, like she wants desperately wants them to, so she can fervently wish on them like a naïve child, willing away her fear.
Santana feels Brittany stir next to her, propping herself up on her elbow, so Santana closes her eyes and pretends to sleep.
She feels Brittany's stare. She feels Brittany's hand ghost across her cheek, brushing away brown hair. She feels Brittany lean down, and ghost her lips softly with her own, pulling away just a millimeter so she feels Brittany's breath on her lips. (Please.)
She feels the words coming out of Brittany's mouth because she already knows what Brittany's about to say.
"Do you love me, San?"
Her body (heart) beats yes, always, forever but her head pounds shouldn't, won't, can't.
And because she's Santana fucking Lopez, she'll tell you she needs to do the right (wrong) thing and she lets the question die in the musky (suffocating) air of her bedroom.
.