Author's Note: Written for the 2014 Brittana Fandom Winter Fic Fall (search on Tumblr).
If you have enjoyed my fan fiction, I invite you to check out my original novel, Her Name in the Sky, about two teenage girls who move from friendship to something more. You can find the link in my author profile.
Valentine's Day in the city is different from Valentine's Day back home. There are so many couples wandering about that no one pays attention to the two girls holding hands as they pad down the sidewalk. They blend in seamlessly, just another goo-goo-eyed couple in a city of a million loves.
"I'm glad you wore the green one," Brittany says, reaching with her free hand to pinch Santana's scarf. "You never wear green. Sometimes I worry you hurt its feelings."
"I just thought red would be more appropriate for the occasion," Santana says.
"You can wear red on St. Patty's Day instead," Brittany smirks.
"Obviously."
"Obviously."
They squeeze each other's fingers in a way that means the joke is only for them, that no one else in the world would understand why it's funny. Brittany's eyes dance with mischief and adoration every time she looks at Santana.
"You're doing it again," Santana says.
"No I'm not," Brittany says, her grin overtaking her face.
"You are," Santana says, bumping Brittany's hip.
"So are you, though."
"I know. I can't help it."
The wind stings Santana's face as they walk farther away from the subway station and toward the restaurant that holds their reservation. Brittany pulls the door open for Santana, bowing with exaggeration as Santana brushes past her, and they laugh and cast silly looks at each other until the hostess asks for their name.
They sit at a small, square table, with a wooden surface that glows waxy in the dim light. Brittany cups her hands around the lone white candle, the size of a medicine glass, that rests on the table's surface.
"Cold?" Santana asks.
"A little bit," Brittany smiles.
"You just like candles."
"I just like candles."
Santana places her hands over Brittany's-left over right, right over left. She presses on Brittany's fingers until Brittany's eyes carry the full light of the candle flame.
"You look pretty," Santana says, blushing when she hears how delicate her voice sounds.
Brittany peels her hands away from the candle and lays Santana's hands flat on the table, palms up. She traces her index fingers over Santana's wrists, her eyes still carrying the light from the candle flame.
"You look..." she says, hesitating.
"What?" Santana asks.
Brittany squints for a moment, trying to find the words. Then her mouth shapes into a triumphant smile.
"You look-like you're finally the same on the outside as you are on the inside. Beautiful."
Santana's flesh prickles with wonder. For a long beat, she cannot breathe.
Brittany starts to laugh. "I love that expression."
"What expression?" Santana asks, dazed.
"The one that means you're happy and have no idea what to say."
Santana swallows. "I think you're the only one who ever sees this expression."
"Remember freshman year?" Brittany says. "The first day of Cheerios practice, when you insulted Emily Zeidig's split and I told you it was the most amazing use of words I'd ever heard in my life?"
"Yeah," Santana laughs.
"That was the first time I ever saw that expression. And I wanted to see it every day after that."
"Britt," Santana breathes.
"What?"
"You're just-I just-"
"I know," Brittany says, taking Santana's hand again. "I feel the same way about you."
They order a bottle of Merlot and a plate of bruschetta. "And could we have another candle, too?" Brittany asks the server. "We like candles."
They toast to another Valentine's Day together-"This is even better than the Sugar Shack," Santana says; "We'll have our own sugar shack later," Brittany winks-and to their friends, their families, Lord Tubbington, their pretty dresses, Santana's green scarf, Brittany's mermaid earrings, and the boundless opportunities that lay before them in this city of magic.
"Do you know," Brittany says through a bite of bruschetta, "that when I was little, I hated Valentine's Day?"
"What? Why?"
"I thought Valentine was some weird king who was ordering us all to worship him and it was totally unjust that he wanted his own day. I used to refuse valentines in elementary school. All the kids in my class would hand out those little cards with Snoopy's face on them, and I handed out informational pamphlets about the travesty of King Valentine instead."
Santana feels her heart swelling inside her.
"What?" Brittany laughs, flitting her eyes away. "Stop looking at me like that."
"I'm sorry," Santana says, unable to stop smiling, "but that is just so you."
Brittany shrugs her shoulders and pours fresh wine for both of them.
"Did you know..." Santana says, "that I wanted to give you a valentine sophomore year?"
Brittany lowers the wine bottle slowly. "I thought you did give me a valentine that year?"
"Yeah, a 'friend' one," Santana says, rolling her eyes at herself. "But I had originally written you a-well, a romantic one, I guess."
Brittany's eyes are sad but loving. "What did it say?"
"Just a lot of rambling about how I felt," Santana says, her laughter hollow. "And I tried to write you a poem, but it was a disaster."
Brittany's grin stretches to her eyes. "What did the poem say?"
"I don't remember."
"Yes you do. You always remember those things."
"What? No I don't."
"You totally do. Come on, San, what'd the poem say?"
Santana's face heats up. Beneath the table, Brittany taps her boot against Santana's.
"Alright, fine," Santana says, wringing her hands on the table. "It was like...'Roses are red, violets are blue, I suck at talking about feelings, but I really like you.'"
Brittany leans forward on her elbows, her body rising off her chair with giddiness. "Is that really what it said?"
"Yes," Santana says, rolling her eyes self-consciously.
"Does that poem still hold true?"
"You know it does."
"I want to hear it again."
"No," Santana laughs.
"Come on. Say it again. But do it in a really romantic voice."
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Santana."
"Brittany."
They look across the table at each other, both of them wearing their challenge smiles. Brittany tilts her head forward until she's looking at Santana from beneath her eyelashes.
"Fine," Santana laughs, jostling her boot against Brittany's. "But I'm changing it to be more situation-appropriate."
"Fair enough," Brittany smiles.
"Okay. Roses are red, violets are blue...you have bruschetta on your face, but I still really love you."
"Shut up, do I really?" Brittany says, wiping at her mouth.
"No," Santana laughs, her whole torso shaking with hilarity as she watches Brittany's hands scrape against her face.
Brittany stills and narrows her eyes. "I'm making you buy dinner."
"I was going to buy dinner anyway."
They reach for each other's hands and hold each other's smiles until the server comes to take their order.
They both order filet mignon-"I'm not going all out unless you are," Brittany says-and another bottle of Merlot. The light in the restaurant grows dimmer; the overhead radio fades to be replaced by a live saxophonist. The tables surrounding them fill up with couples-gay and straight, young and old, a whole range of skin tones.
"What are you thinking about?" Brittany asks as she cuts into her steak.
Santana meets her eyes. "Nothing, really. I was just absorbing."
Brittany smiles at Santana in a way that means she loves her. "Me too."
They eat tiramisu for dessert. They argue over the check until Santana wins.
"Thank you," Brittany says, her eyes sincere and grateful and disbelieving all at once.
"Thank you," Santana says, watching the candlelight dance off Brittany's pupils.
"You make a great couple," the server tells Santana while Brittany's in the bathroom. "How long have you been together?"
Santana hovers on the question. "I'm not sure," she says after a beat. "Kind of feels like forever."
The server smiles knowingly as he picks up their wine glasses. "That's very special," he says.
"It is," Santana agrees.
Santana knows the air outside is cold, but her body doesn't register it. She feels flushed and warm and perfectly at home as she and Brittany walk back toward the subway station, squeezing each other's fingers through their gloves.
Brittany kisses Santana on the subway, on the sidewalk, on the front step outside Santana's apartment building, in the elevator, and just outside Santana's door. She kisses Santana while they take off their coats and scarves. She kisses Santana in the quiet darkness of the bedroom.
And when they're naked beneath the linen sheets, both of them drunk on wine and kissing each other's stained purple lips, Brittany smoothes Santana's hair back and tells her she is beautiful.
"Outside and in," she says.
And Santana starts to sing "Roses are red, violets are blue" over and over and over, changing the third and fourth lines of the poem every time, and Brittany laughs in her ear and asks her to keep going.
"Happy Valentine's Day," Santana says in the last moments before they fall to sleep.
"Happy Valentine's Day," Brittany says.
Author's Note:
Thank you for reading. Once again, if you have enjoyed my Brittana fan fiction, I encourage you to check out my original novel, Her Name in the Sky, about two other beautiful girls-Hannah and Baker-and their love for each other. Link available in my author profile.