The electric ringing of an incoming Skype call interrupts her in the middle of page three of what's supposed to be a ten page paper, but she doesn't think twice before answering the call. It's a few seconds before the picture on the other end comes into view, but when it does, the smile on her face only widens.
"Hey Britts," she answers, even though the blonde is nowhere in sight. A large cat sits where the other girl (or woman, she supposes, at this point) should.
Brittany finally comes into view, picking the cat up and sitting him on her lap. "Guess you couldn't wait for me, hm?" She directs the question to the cat, and then looks at the camera, which Santana knows is set up just slightly to the right of the computer screen. There's a wave from the dancer, and she looks genuinely delighted to be talking to her best friend.
Santana smiles warmly. "That time of night already?" she shrugs. She hadn't been paying attention to the time. But she was glad Brittany remembered their Skype date. Brittany always remembered. "You look great." She says the same thing every night, but it's never not true.
"Thanks," answers Brittany with a sincerity that indicates that she's honestly not tired of hearing it. "Were you busy?"
"Nope," Santana lies. Because, yeah, she has a shit ton of work to do, but if she doesn't get her nightly Brittany time, the black hole that is college might as well just swallow her whole.
They've been doing this for a few months now, Santana away at school after completing two years at community college, and Brittany still at home, saving money until she can move. The time doesn't make it any easier. Somehow, Santana knew it wouldn't.
"Got paid today," Brittany announces proudly. A modest paycheck from Sheets N' Things doesn't really mean she's rolling in it, but it's still something.
"That's my girl." Santana smiles. "Before you know it, you'll be out here, supporting me with all your riches."
Brittany laughs. It's a laugh Santana's heard literally more times than she'd ever be able to count, but it doesn't warm her heart any less.
A few minutes pass, during which the women make faces at each other.
"Nineteen days," Brittany announces before too long.
"I'm practically there already," Santana assures the blonde. She doesn't think she's ever wanted Thanksgiving more in her entire life. And, really, it's not about the holiday. Because, whatever, she likes mashed potatoes as much as the next girl. But she wouldn't care if she was going home for Purim or whatever the hell Berry made them celebrate the one year with the noise makers, if it meant she got to see Britt. She knew this long distance thing would blow more than Mr. Ryerson behind the Starbucks in West Lima, but she really hadn't anticipated the all-around empty feeling in her chest at the absence of the dancer beside her.
Their designated hour of video chatting quickly turned into two, then three. Neither participant minded. Not even Santana, who was not thinking about how she wouldn't sleep that night for even an hour. It's not that Brittany makes the brunette forget about her scholastic obligations. It's just that Santana figures that the reason she's busting her ass in the first place? Well, it's all for Brittany anyway, so it seems totally lame not to devote her time to the blonde.
It's always Brittany who brings up the time first. "Don't you have class tomorrow?" She asks.
"Yeah," Santana admits, though it's reluctant.
"I should let you go, then."
"Yeah," she repeats, even more reluctantly. "Guess so."
"I love you," says Brittany, directly to her webcam.
"Love you, too," Santana promises.
"Smile, would you?" Brittany teases.
Santana does. It's surprisingly genuine.
"I'll text you in like 30 seconds," Brittany reminds the brunette.
"Deal." Santana smiles, again. She watches Brittany wave before the other side of the conversation disconnects. She sighs.
Being away from Brittany really sucks, but the thought of supporting her one day is all the motivation Santana needs to power through her paper.
She gets a B. She'll take it. It's her favorite letter, after all.