Spoiler: Season 4, Episode 2. A minor one, just to be safe. It's a bit AU.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. This is purely a figment of my imagination.
A/N: This is my take on Brittany and Santana's relationship based on Glee S4x02. It's a bit AU and Santana went to college in New York instead of Louisville, Kentucky. In no means am I implying that this is what would happen in the coming episodes. I felt so sad about the episode, for Brittany, and I had to let it out somehow. What better way than this, right?
Inspired by Taylor Swift's song, "Last Kiss".
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Thank you for reading, and ship on. (Nope, that wasn't catchy at all. Sorry about that.)
Chapter One: Hope It's Nice Where You Are
I still remember the look on your face
Lit through the darkness at 1:58
The words that you whispered
For just us to know
You told me you loved me
So why did you go away?
Away
The last night before you left for New York, you were as stubborn as ever. We were lying on our bed, the covers kicked off to the floor, my arm around your waist as I held you close. So close I could almost feel my breath against your lips.
I knew it was past midnight from the blue flashing lights of my alarm clock. The night sky turned a bit brighter and the breeze that little bit cooler. My room would've been completely dark if not for the light coming through my open window. There was a soft sliver of light that hit the side of your body, your face, and it was enough.
I didn't know how to get ahold of all of you, so I just lay there, memorizing every detail of your face, the shine of your hair against the darkness, the shadows that your eyelashes make against your cheekbone when you blink. You didn't have to say anything, nor did I. As much as I love hearing your raspy, soothing voice, we knew better. We knew that we didn't need long, slow goodbyes. We've talked about it enough, and I think we wouldn't want our last night to be like any other time we did talk about it.
It must've been hours like that, and I hoped it wouldn't come to an end. But inevitably, in a few moments, the sunlight would come streaming into my room…
"You need to sleep, San," I whispered to you. I said it so quietly, somehow hoping you wouldn't hear, because I didn't want you to close your eyes even for a second. You needed to sleep, but I wanted to have every second I could get when I still could. Awake, with your deep, brown, meaningful eyes looking back at me.
You didn't say anything, just blinked. Santana, you always looked at me that way—so intensely, yet so gentle, and it always made my insides flutter.
Silence continued to wrap around us. And I let it consume me. Us. It was okay. Nothing else mattered more than having you with me, close to me, feeling your warm, smooth skin against mine.
"Come here," you said quietly. If it were any other time, I would've told you I didn't need to because I was already so close to you. But, in all honesty, I was growing desperate every tick of the clock that passed. I was desperate for your kiss, your touch even though our bodies were already tangled together, for your breath to mingle with mine. And so, without a moment of hesitation, I leaned in and put my mouth to yours, my heart pounding loudly. My face became perfectly warm, my mouth even more. It was you all over, invading all my senses—the only time I have felt complete…will ever feel complete.
I don't know what I'll do without you, I thought as you deepened the kiss, and I felt my throat close up so tightly. How could I ever know…I've been with you most of my life. But I didn't tell you, Santana. I couldn't do that to you. I love you enough—more than enough not to tell you. I will never hold you back, in any way, San. I know you would worry, be bothered, if I showed you how weak and lost I already felt with the thought of having to live through my days without you.
It was a good thing I had my eyes shut tight because I felt the back of them feel hot, and glaze over with unshed tears. No, I didn't want to cry. I promised myself I wouldn't.
Not when you're here. Still here.
"Love you, Britt," you said into my mouth. "I love you a lot."
I felt my cheek that was pressed against yours suddenly dampen, and I think I broke my promise. I didn't know if they were your tears or mine. I hated you a little for saying them—those few words—but I'd hate you a little if you didn't either. I knew so well that I'd miss you saying them more than anything. But, I needed to hear them again. And I needed so desperately to tell you, to let you know—
"I love you more than anything,"I whispered into the kiss."Don't forget."
You broke the kiss, but didn't pull back from me, your lips feeling slightly swollen and wet against mine. We stayed that way until the room got lighter, the black suddenly turning gray, then lighter, brighter. And just like that, the spell was broken.
It was hard the first few weeks when you left for college. I kept getting nightmares and I couldn't smile a lot like I used to. It was so different without you—not seeing you everyday, not having you beside me with your pinky linked to mine, in the hallways, in the cafeteria, in the locker room, in the choir room. A lot of times, I didn't feel like going to school, but I couldn't stand staying in my room where every corner I look reminded me of you. We spent so many hours, so many days there, even when we were fighting.
For months, we only had calls, texts, and Skype.
You used to Skype me everyday the first few weeks. You texted and called me a lot, too. You always told me how much you missed me and that you loved me. I still missed you terribly, though.
Then you started to contact me less often. Everyday became four times a week, then three, sometimes just a one or two-minute phone call—saying how busy you were with homework and deadlines, and practice, sorry you couldn't talk more often—for a whole week. College must be really tough, and aside from that, you were on the squad, too. I saw how tired you were getting every time, even if you didn't tell me. You frowned more than you did during high school, and I could see the dark rings under your eyes. When you go on Skype with me late at night, I could feel your exhaustion; you seem distracted because you don't say much, like a lot of things are trying to get your attention. It hurt because I wanted to have all of your attention, or even just some of it. But, I understood, you had a lot of things to worry about. I knew that you're so smart, strong, and I might not be much of a help at all, but I just wished you would tell me about it so I could try, try to take your worries away and lock them up in a small box that I'd send off to dream-ville or someplace, far away from you. Sometimes, I convince you to let me Skype you—even when you had a lot of business-y stuff to work on or had to study for exams—and I promised I wouldn't make a noise. If you would just let me watch you, like you used to. I wanted to see you, talk to you, be near you, really bad, and for you to let me know that you were still mine.
I waited for you every single day, never letting go of my phone even during class. I knew I was supposed to do so much better than I did last year, so that I could graduate. You made me promise you that I would, saying I had to do it for myself, and not for anyone else, but I always wanted to do it for you.
I'm sorry I failed you, and broke my promises. I just couldn't—I didn't know how. I felt so lost, helpless. I got off the Cheerios, and Glee too for a time. I couldn't focus on my classes, on anything but waiting to hear your voice again, for a text, anything at all that would come through my phone—my lifeline. After school, I still rushed home every time to go online, only to stare at my open laptop with the annoying red dot—signaling that you weren't there—beside your name. At times, I wondered if you forgot about me. You must've had. It hurt a lot, Santana.
You didn't have time for me anymore. Or maybe I just had a lot of free time. Not even free time, every hour of my waking days, because I only wanted to spend my hours on you. I admit…all I cared about was you and not much about school, or anything, for that matter. I knew I would've up and left, dropped everything and flown to New York if only you asked me to. But clearly, it wasn't the same for you.
I couldn't blame you, San. Not ever.
You came home for Christmas break. I wasn't expecting you show up at my house especially because you haven't said much as a hello. But there you were, at my doorstep, your hair swaying with the light morning breeze. You didn't look any different—only, your hair was shorter—but you were still as beautiful as ever.
"Hi," you said. I've been waiting for you to say anything to me for so long, I almost forgot how good it felt to hear your voice. I remember the way your voice sounded perfectly, I could forget my own, but never yours.
I didn't know what to feel. I was mad at you, but my love for you was overpowering me so easily. I was so in love with you, Santana. I didn't know if I could touch you. I didn't know if I still could, and that hurt the most.
You weren't smiling and your eyes look like you'd been crying. I was afraid to ask why. I let you in, I sat on the couch and you sat on the armchair across from me. I didn't want to dwell on that because I didn't think I could take any more at that time.
"We need to talk." I remember your words so clearly. I stayed quiet because you seemed like you had a lot to say and I didn't want to miss a beat. You said you hate what we'd become and that it was your fault. "I hate hurting you, Brittany." You even used my full name and I felt my tears streaming down my cheek. I had never hated myself more for showing you how weak I was, when before, I wasn't afraid to show you how I truly felt. Nothing felt right anymore. "I'm not good for you. I don't think I ever was, but now, it only proves it. I'm not making you happy anymore," you said.
I knew your mind was made up. I felt lightheaded and queasy. I wanted to fight for us, Santana. But how could I, when you've already given up on us. I put a hand against my mouth, trying to suppress my cries, so that you wouldn't hear. I felt like my heart was being pummeled over and over. You've given up.
It was the worst Christmas. The word had lost its meaning to me. I stayed in bed that whole break. My gifts were left unopened and my Christmas dinner untouched. You even left a gift for me, but I don't think I would manage or want to breathe after I see what was inside or what was written on the card tucked inside a small, white envelop. Of course, I had a gift for you, too. I saved up a lot for it, you know. But, I didn't give it to you because you didn't want me anymore, or anything to do with me.
But now I'll go sit on the floor
Wearing your clothes
All that I know is
I don't know how to be something you miss
I never thought we'd have a last kiss
Never imagined we'd end like this
It's February. It's been two months since you broke up with me. I stopped crying, eventually. I don't think I've hated the Valentine's season so much. I've always loved heart-shaped balloons, and roses…your lips that had the softness of roses, more than anything.
I sat there on the cold, wooden floor of my room—right beside my bed, leaning against the soft covers—wearing your old, plain, gray shirt. It was my favorite shirt of yours because it hugged your body so perfectly when you wore it, and it's cotton. I loved you in cotton—in anything, really. You were wearing it the last night you were in Ohio with me, and I stupidly asked you to leave it with me the morning before you left for the airport. I wanted to go with you, but you said it'd be easier for the both of us if I didn't.
Nothing could really make it easy.
It seemed better to look at it this way, the sky, looking up at it through my bedroom window. It looked quite good that night, for some reason, its darkness dashed with white, bright stars scattered all over.
It'd been like this most nights, ever since you showed up at my door on a cold December morning. When I couldn't sleep, I'd slide off my bed and hug my knees to my chest and just…lose myself to the darkness of my room. To the stillness and the quiet—the things that you used to fill with your warm, soothing whispers of sweet nothings. It hurt to stay, let alone look at my bed, so I try as much not to. It's silly though, because I need it to sleep on. But, it didn't mean I have to like it. Even if I've asked my Mom to get me new bed covers and sheets, just to get your scent off them, so I could breathe. I even changed the arrangement of the furniture inside my room, too.
But, it still hurt all the same.
I used to love my room. Now, it just—
It reminds me of you. Your dark, soft hair splayed across the white of my pillow. The color of your lips that look just that extra bit of red every single time. Santana, your breathing; the way your chest rises and falls slowly, in time with my own.
My bed that had become our bed for a long time, it reminds me of you and I; the countless nights we spent together just lying down on it lazily to take a break from doing homework, after an exhausting Cheerios practice, or after a long, humid summer's day. For years…I shared most of my nights and days with you. And, I don't regret any second of it. Not a bit, Santana.
If I started thinking of the things that I miss about you, I don't think I'll ever be able to finish, and that's never good because I had school in the morning. But, it's all I had: the things I miss and love about you. Maybe…it's all that I'll get to have.
So I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep
And I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe
And I keep up with our old friends just to ask them how you are
Hope it's nice where you are
I told you from the start that I'd let you go, give you a shot at everything, to experience everything…meet someone new, even. But, you refused and said that you didn't need to because you only wanted me. And at the time, I believed you. I believed in us so much.
Maybe, you realized you wanted a fresh, new start. Or met someone. I tried so hard not to think that way, because I loved you a lot and I knew you loved me, too. But every day that passed, with you far away from me, I couldn't help but think of how easy you'd find smarter, prettier, funnier, more interesting people there; why would you even waste your time on me? I'm not smart, I say things that don't make sense to others most of the time. I couldn't even finish high school, and you're there with people like you. Who was I to hold you back from that?
I miss you so bad and I still love you just the same. I'm hoping you do, too. But, it's been five months. You've changed your number and I stopped going on Skype, too. But, I wouldn't go and change my number, just in case you wanted to reach me. It's stupid, hoping you still would someday, but that's nothing new. If one thing, I'm stupid when it comes to a lot of things. But, I don't care a bit if I'm most stupid and crazy about you.
I finished school, somehow. It was a good thing, but not quite good enough. I wish you were there to hear my name getting called up on stage. To see me wearing that red gown and see me receive my diploma. I didn't have anyone I wanted—my parents were there, but it was different—to share that moment with after I tossed my cap in the air. I remembered us planning how we'd celebrate my graduation. And suddenly, I didn't feel like celebrating at all.
I know you still talk to our other friends. You talk to Kurt, Sam, Puck and Quinn. If ever you find out, I hope you wouldn't mind that I ask them about you. I wouldn't pry. I promise. I just want to get a glimpse of your life now, Santana. You're still my best friend and I care about you, that'll never change. I just want to know how you're doing, and if you're happy. It's all that matters to me.
Maybe I was just a phase, Santana, puppy love; just there along the road to help you become a stronger person, to help you accept and be proud of yourself.
For me, you weren't. You're it for me. But, I still let you go, no matter how much it hurt. I know you'd do the same for me. You were, are always so good to me. You deserve to fly, unrestrained, and find what you're looking for.
I'd still take whatever you decide to give me, and be grateful. I can't promise I'd be happy, though, but I'd be for you if you were. I hope you're happy.
One of us has to be.