Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, nor do I own Glee or Zambonis. If I owned a Zamboni, I would never leave the driver's seat.
AN: This is just a side project I have going on to kind of... stretch my creativity. Just a forewarning to those who are actual hockey and skating enthusiasts... I have been on the ice a grand total of one time in my life. I also hate hockey. But I love the idea of Santana being a hockey player. After watching my friend play several games, this idea sprang into my head. No idea how long it will be or where it is going, but hopefully it is still enjoyable.
Santana had never been a fan of hospitals. She hated the way the aroma of bleach and antiseptic invaded her nose almost as much as she hated the way they looked. Since she was one of the most physical players on her college's hockey team, though, she had paid several visits to emergency rooms, and all of them were interchangeable. The one she was currently sitting in was no exception. Half of the walls she had passed on her way in were too barren to inspire any level of hope, while the other half were decorated with so many bright colors, it was almost patronizing. As if pretty paintings could take her mind off of where she was or why she was there. Being a hockey player, however, meant Santana spent a lot of time in hospitals for both herself and her teammates despite how much she hated them. And the thing she had come to hate most about them? The waiting room.
What was there to enjoy about a room full of strangers staring at each other, wondering what the other's story was? Granted, Santana didn't really care about why the other people were stuck in the room with her. The only thing she gave a damn about was how many losers had to get checked out before a doctor could be bothered to take care of her. After all, the throbbing pain in her nose and the ache in her wrist weren't going to go away by themselves.
She got her hopes up when a scrub-clad nurse poked her head into the waiting room, only to physically deflate when the monotonous voice called for a 'Hudson' rather than a 'Lopez.' She watched a tall, gangly man pull himself out of his chair and limp across the waiting room. She scowled as the lucky bastard followed the nurse out the door. A low growl emanated from her throat when she realized she had been waiting a good half-hour longer than the hulking gimp and her name still hadn't been called. She quickly pushed that thought aside as she yanked a magazine off the table next to her chair and flipped through it with her good hand.
Several magazines later, a door creaked open, drawing her gaze away from the mass of blotted text and pulling it to the doorway. Her eyes landed on two blonde figures occupying the space, both of them rather tall and blocking any light trying to come in from the hall. The height and hair color was the end of their similarities. While one wore a thin smile and a dark blue leotard, the other sported a sneer that seemed etched into her face and a blood-red tracksuit. When she realized she was staring at the two women, she dropped her gaze back to the upside-down magazine in her hand. She didn't bother looking over when she felt someone sit in the seat next to her. She assumed that, since she was so obviously immersed in the magazine, the person would ignore her.
"Does reading that upside-down make it easier to understand?"
The soft voice shattered that hope. She started to regret declining Quinn's offer to wait with her. Especially when locks of blonde hair obstructed her view of the magazine.
"Ever heard of personal space?" she asked in a clipped voice as she jerked away from the intruder, hissing and dropping the magazine when she banged her injured hand against the wooden table. She leaned forward and let her dark hair form a curtain in front of her face to hide the tears that were making her eyes sting. The last thing she wanted was to cry in a room full of strangers.
A foreign weight suddenly pressed against her back and started to move in a circular motion. Santana could feel the heat of the woman's hand burning through the fabric of her sweat-soaked, black t-shirt. The pleasant warmth spreading through her back took her mind off the tiny knives lancing through her wrist. She glanced over to find blue eyes raking over her form. When those wandering eyes met hers, the stranger gave her a small, lopsided smile, softening her angular face. Santana didn't smile back.
"Feel better?"
"I'd feel better if I had some fucking painkillers in me," Santana replied as she retrieved the magazine she had dropped and flipped it over so it was right-side up. She was skimming through an article about the rising costs of prom dresses when she realized the hand was still resting against her back. "If I have to move your hand away from my back myself, you're not going to like it," she warned in a low voice, not bothering to look over as she spoke. The hand stayed where it was for a few seconds before it moved up. Santana rolled her eyes at the action and yanked her shoulder away from the blonde's grasp.
A yelp came from the girl beside her and, despite her determination to ignore her, Santana looked over to see the blonde cradling her arm close to her torso. After taking a closer look, she noticed the way the top of the limb jutted out and how the bone was awkwardly straining against pale skin.
"I didn't know your shoulder was dislocated," Santana muttered. It was the closest she was going to get to apologizing. The blonde responded with a weak smile before she hesitantly removed her hand from her injured arm. She bit her lip, a move Santana recognized as an attempt to take the mind off of a more severe pain by giving it something else to focus on.
"I slid into the boards a little too hard during skating practice," she offered in explanation though Santana hadn't asked for one. "What did you do?" she asked as her eyes traveled down to the bloodied hand resting on the arm of the chair.
"Protected my goalie from a stupid bitch who wouldn't take a hint," Santana replied with a low chuckle.
"Oh," was the quiet response she received, and she looked over to see the blonde's eyes still focused on her hand with her brow furrowed. "I guess if you were protecting someone else from her, she deserved it."
"Trust me. She definitely deserved it."
"I do."
Santana raised an eyebrow at the softly spoken words that seemed so sure of themselves. The blonde finally looked up from her hand and locked eyes with Santana.
"I do trust you," she said a little louder, and Santana was taken aback by the intensity the blonde had said the four small words with. She felt whatever response she had planned get trapped in her throat. Unable to force a reply through her lips, she looked back down at the magazine. Instead of reading though, she cast sidelong glances at the blonde sitting next to her, who was looking at the magazine in Santana's lap.
She looked to be around Santana's age, but the light dusting of freckles across her cheeks added a touch of childish innocence to her appearance. The light blue of her eyes and the white gold hair tied back in a loose ponytail made her the poster child for stereotypical American beauty. Sweetness practically oozed out of her pores. She was the kind of girl Santana loved to hate. There shouldn't have been anything different about the girl beside her.
"Brittany!"
Santana watched the blonde's head turn in the direction of the receptionist desk, where the older woman was standing with her arms crossed over her chest. A small, scrub-clad man stood next to her, a clipboard in hand and a stethoscope hanging from his neck. Despite her intimidating appearance, the woman in the tracksuit seemed to keep her distance from the male nurse, as if he were some oddity to be avoided.
"Get your ass over here so these doctors can prove their competence. And make it snappy, 'cause I have a late night placenta mask calling my name!"
Brittany waved back at the older woman with her good arm before turning back to Santana.
"You should come in with me. You've been sitting here way longer," the blonde offered. A bright smile spread across her face when Santana nodded her response and stood up with her. A few minutes later, they were following the nurse down a long, white hallway. The older woman had stayed behind, telling Brittany she had some paperwork to deal with. She could have sworn she heard the woman muttering something about 'abnormal male professions' under her breath.
"Your mom is kind of… weird," Santana remarked once the nurse had abandoned them to find a doctor. She immediately took over the hospital bed dominating the white-washed room and basked in the comfort the flimsy mattress provided. Sprawling out on the bed was better than sitting on one of the black chairs pressed against the wall. Her ass had had enough hard plastic for a lifetime after sitting in the waiting room for so long.
"My mom?" Brittany repeated as she wandered into the middle of the room. Her brows furrowed together as her mouth silently formed the two words over and over again. Blue eyes widened and sparkled as an airy laugh filled the room. Santana's eyes narrowed into a glare when it seemed like the blonde was laughing at her. "Sue's my coach, not my mom," she explained once her laughter died down to quiet chuckles. "She just fills out my forms because I can never remember all of my information."
"And she can?"
"She's been my coach for a long time," Brittany replied as she shrugged her good shoulder and looked down at the tiled floor. Silence descended on the room like an itchy blanket and both occupants shifted their weight as if they were trying to wriggle their way out of the discomforting quiet. Luckily, the nurse returned with a doctor in tow, who broke the silence for them by asking about their injuries.
An hour later, Santana came out of the room with a prescription for high strength pain killers, a temporary cast for her broken wrist, and two black eyes from her broken nose. Brittany left with her arm in a sling, a pack of ice wrapped to her shoulder, and a sticker of a smiley face covering the bridge of her nose. She claimed she wanted it there so she could match Santana.
"Thanks for sitting with me and holding my hand while he put me back together. And thanks for not laughing when I cried," the blonde said as they approached the door leading to the waiting room. Santana could still see leftover tears mingling in the blue eyes, shimmering whenever the fluorescent lights caught them.
"Dislocated shoulders hurt," she replied with a shrug as she pulled her gaze away from the hypnotic irises. The fact that Brittany hadn't laughed at her in the waiting room was another reason why Santana hadn't mocked her for screaming when the doctor had set the shoulder back into place; not even when that screaming turned into harsh sobs and then quiet sniffles. Comforting had never been Santana's strong suit, but she had tried her best to make the other girl feel better while they were in the examination room.
"Brittany!" Sue's impatient voice interrupted their attempt at conversation from the waiting room. Rather than directing her attention to her coach, however, Brittany let her gaze linger on Santana, which only served to further incense Sue.
"It was nice meeting you, goalie protector," she finally said once her eyes finished raking over the smaller girl's form. When Brittany's words registered, Santana realized she still hadn't given the girl her name. Before she had the chance to remedy that, a pair of soft lips was colliding with her own.
Normally, Santana would have decked any asshole who decided to kiss her without permission. The way Brittany's tongue slid over her lower lip, however, made her think twice about shoving the blonde away. Her eyes slipped closed as she leaned into the kiss, her hands acting of their own accord when they traveled to the blonde's hips and pulled her closer. Her mouth opened slightly and Brittany's tongue returned, this time sliding softly over Santana's. And then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Brittany slipped out of Santana's grip and a smile appeared on the sweet, pink lips that had just kissed Santana into another world.
"Like I said… Nice meeting you," Brittany repeated with a small wave before she left Santana standing in the hallway with her hand pressed against her mouth.
"Yeah…" was the only response Santana could come up with as she watched Brittany walk through the door to the waiting room. It seemed the only thing she could focus on was the toned pair of legs carrying the rest of the gorgeous body away from her.
The months that followed Santana's visit to the hospital crawled past. She was unable to participate in most of the hockey practices due to her fractured wrist and playing in a game was out of the question. While the injury may have kept her from busting heads on the ice, however, it didn't stop her from busting her ass during off-ice practices and skating drills. When she didn't have hockey and schoolwork to entertain her thoughts, her mind would drift to the girl she had met at the hospital. Whenever the bizarre blonde popped into her head, so did the kiss they had shared.
It wasn't the first time Santana had locked lips with another smoking hot female. In fact, she had learned from several high school parties that she enjoyed kissing other girls more than she should. After several confusing years of experimentation, Santana had reluctantly admitted to herself and Quinn that she was more than a little gay. Just because she was gay, though, didn't mean she went around flaunting it so everyone would know. It wasn't like she wore a rainbow cape or had the double Venus sign tattooed on her forehead. So how had Brittany known she played that way?
"Is there something about me that screams 'Carpet Muncher?'" she asked Quinn one evening as she pulled on a thick pair of black hockey pants over her grey shorts. The cast that had covered her hand and wrist had been removed a month before, and her doctor had finally given her permission to start building her strength back up. She had wanted to start sooner, but Quinn refused to help her until she brought back a note from her doctor saying it was safe for her to practice. Santana could have practiced by herself, but it was much more fun pelting her goalie with slap-shots.
"Well, you certainly don't exude heterosexuality."
"'Exude?' Quinn, I think you've been hanging around Berry a little too much," Santana replied while she tugged one of her skates on and started jerking on the laces to tighten it. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean anyway?"
"It means you are about as subtle as a brick when you see an attractive woman," Quinn pointed out as she strapped the large leg protectors onto her shins. She glanced up from the straps and quirked an eyebrow at Santana before she asked, "This is about the girl from the hospital, right?"
"Maybe," Santana replied. The raised eyebrow arched even further, almost disappearing beneath Quinn's pink-tipped bangs, and Santana ducked her head before mumbling a "yes" under her breath. She glared at the blonde when she heard her chuckle at the reluctant confession.
"Don't give me that look. You've been going on and on about the audacity she had to kiss you since that first night you came back from the hospital with a goofy smile plastered on your face."
"Yeah, you've definitely been hanging around Rachel too long. I doubt I said 'audacity,'" Santana said with a roll of her eyes. Quinn had just finished pulling her shoulder pads on when she stopped to tap her index finger against her chin.
"You're right. Your exact words were, 'That girl had the nerve to put her lips all up on mine without any warning.' So much classier," she said with a chuckle as she leaned forward to lace up her skates.
"Whatever, Fabray. Just because I don't use the entire dictionary when I talk like your hobbit girlfriend tends to do doesn't mean I'm not classy," Santana objected in a low growl as she got up from the wooden bench. She raised her arms towards the ceiling and stretched out her muscles, wincing at the popping noises that came from her back, before looking over her shoulder at the girl who was still getting ready. "I'll see you out on the ice. I don't have time to wait for your slow ass to get all your gear on," she told the blonde before she started to walk towards the door. Just as she reached it, she felt something hard bounce off the back of her head, and then heard a soft thud from behind her. She looked down to see a roll of black tape on the ground next to her foot.
"Don't call my girlfriend a hobbit, Lopez," Quinn warned her with a lop-sided smirk. Santana rolled her eyes again and hit the tape back with the blade of her hockey stick. A smug smile spread across her face when the tape roll went between the goalie's legs. She then left Quinn with a wink and headed for the rink to do a few laps.
When she skated onto the ice, she looked into the stands and saw a short, dark-haired girl clad in a bright pink cardigan and a white skirt. The other girl waved at her, a wide smile threatening to split her face in half, and Santana reluctantly responded with one of her own. It still felt weird to greet Rachel with a wave rather than an insult, but she had promised Quinn she would try to be nicer since the two started dating. The thought of her best friend getting her mack on with the aspiring star still made her shudder, and she shook her head to rid herself of the mental image.
Instead of thinking about Quinn and Rachel getting their lady loving on, Santana lost herself in the simple action of skating. Her mind cleared as she absorbed the sound of the blades slicing a path in the ice. Her quick strides were in sync with her heart beat as she skated the length of the rink. Her arms took turns moving forward, as if she was pulling herself across a rope, hand over hand. She skidded to stop, sending a spray of ice against the boards, and turned to speed towards the opposite end. Her chest was heaving by the time Quinn skated out to the net.
It was always hard for Santana to reconcile the slim figure of her best friend with the bulky mass that now blocked the net. Then again, seeing Quinn decked out in full pads made it much easier for her to let loose with her shots. If she was able to think of Quinn as an obstacle instead of her friend, then she had no problem ripping a slap-shot at her from the point.
Once Quinn was in position, Santana slowed her strides and went to the bucket Rachel had left by the rink entrance. When she kicked it over, pucks tumbled out and she grabbed the nearest one with her stick. Shifting the puck from one side of the stick to the other was as natural to her as breathing. No thoughts were necessary as she moved the puck from center ice to the goal. She skated behind the net, only to skid to a stop and change direction. While Quinn was still trying to readjust to the change, Santana tapped the puck into the net.
"Eat it, Fabray! I'm still hot shit!" she exclaimed. She held the stick out horizontally and moved it from side to side as she skated backwards. She yelped when a heavy water bottle hit her in the chest, interrupting her victory dance.
"I'd like to see you do that in a real situation," Quinn growled out from behind her mask. "Now come on. Make some real shots instead of this fancy crap you'll never be able to pull off in a game," she ordered, slapping her wide stick against the ice for emphasis. Santana rolled her eyes at the buzzkill before going back to the bucket of pucks. She lined ten up at the blue line and spent the next hour trying to dump them into the goal. Every time Quinn stopped a shot, Rachel would give a loud yell and Santana would look up to glare at her, only to find the girl was too busy blowing kisses at Quinn to notice her. By the time they had finished the practice, Quinn had stopped the majority of Santana's shots. Not that either of them were counting. That's what they brought Rachel along for.
"Santana, I have to say that, even though your wrist isn't up to full strength yet, your performance was astounding," the smaller brunette said from her perch on Quinn's back. She had to raise her already obnoxious voice to be heard over the sound of the Zamboni cleaning the ice. Quinn had traded in her goalie pads for a pair of jeans and a black band tee. Santana couldn't see what band it was because Rachel's arms and legs were wrapped around Quinn's middle, hiding the logo. She had her face buried in Quinn's shaggy locks and kept sneaking quick pecks on the cheek, making the blonde's face turn as pink as the tips of her hair. "Not a lot of players can get half as many shots on Quinn, even when they're at full strength. Kudos to you."
"Thanks, Berry," Santana grunted. She had exchanged her own hockey gear for a faded pair of jeans and a grey wife-beater. "I've played with your girlfriend a lot longer than you have, though, so I kind of already know how good she is."
Santana hadn't realized how wrong that sentence sounded until she heard herself say it. Before she could even think the word 'wanky', techno music blasted through the arena's speakers. Her attention was drawn to the ice, where the Zamboni had been replaced by a girl. She stopped in her tracks when she noticed the loose, blonde hair cascading down the girl's back. Quinn stopped a few steps ahead of her and followed her gaze down to the rink, where the girl was stretching. Wanting a closer look, Santana climbed over the seats and made her way down to the glass. She watched as the tall figure finished stretching and started to take long strides across the ice.
"That's Brittany Pierce."
Rachel's voice pulled Santana out of her observations. She looked over to see Quinn and the diva had joined her and Rachel had dropped down from the goalie's back. Her hands were shoved into the pockets of her cardigan. Quinn had her arms wrapped around the diva from behind and her head rested on on the shorter girl's shoulder.
"Skating is her life," Rachel continued. "She's been on the ice since she was six years old. Her bedroom is decked out with so many first place ribbons and medals, you can't even see the walls. She has a collection of trophies for skating that almost rivals my own collection of song and dance awards."
"Yeah?" Santana asked as she watched the blonde skated by them. She was only able to get a brief glimpse of her face, but the moment lasted long enough for her to recognize those electric blue eyes. "I'm pretty sure she's the one who kissed me at the hospital," she said as the pulsating techno music died down and switched over to a softer song. Santana thought it was something about stars, but she couldn't remember the title or the singer for the life of her. What she did know, however, was that Brittany made the transition between songs look effortless. She was too busy watching the skater readjust her speed to the beat to notice the way Rachel's jaw drop.
"You... She's the one who kissed you? She's your Brittany?"
Santana nodded, but she didn't tear her eyes away from figure on the ice. She had thought the blonde was beautiful the first night they met. True, she hadn't been in the best of moods and she hated most of the blondes she knew on principle alone, but there was something about Brittany that attracted her. She thought it may have been the tight leotard at the hospital, which had promised a fit body beneath the fabric. Seeing her in her street clothes, though, was proving that theory wrong. Even in white jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt, the girl was still making her stomach do acrobatics.
"Rachel, how do you know what her bedroom looks like?"
Quinn's question was enough to pull Santana's attention away from the skater and focus it on the couple beside her. She almost laughed at the choked sound that escaped the usually eloquent girl's throat. Rachel turned away from the glass so she could look up at Quinn.
"I saw it in a magazine?" She sighed when Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Okay, fine. We briefly dated when I was a freshman in college," she admitted in a hurried voice. "And while she was quite dextrous and attentive as a lover, you are the only other person who fits my style of lovemaking, Quinn," she added on.
"Wait. Ew. You dated the girl who kissed me?" Santana asked. Quinn looked like she was still trying to process the information as well, but for a completely different reason.
"I assure you both, it was a very brief affair," Rachel explained with raised hands. "Brittany and I... We were not on the same mental wavelengths. I focused on my grades and she," Rachel turned and nodded towards the skater, who was in the middle of a rapid spin, "was so focused on skating, she barely graduated from high school. She didn't even attempt college."
Santana returned her attention to the blonde on the ice. She had pulled out of her spin and started skating backwards. Her feet quickly crossed over one another as she made a wide turn. Her jaw dropped when the girl jumped and spun several times before hitting the ice with steady feet and a grin. The impact of the landing didn't slow her down. She used the momentum to spin herself so she was skating backwards again. Santana couldn't look away as Brittany raised one leg up and created a perpendicular intersection between her legs and her torso. She didn't snap out of her trance until Quinn was asking if she was ready to go.
"You go ahead and take Berry home. I'm going to stick around and see if I can catch her when she's done," she said, waving them away from her. The other two girls looked at one another before shrugging and saying a quick goodbye. They were halfway up the stairs when a thought struck Santana. "Don't you dare use my bed or the couch for whatever sexual escapades you are planning, Berry!" she called up to the retreating figures. She heard one of them giggle in response. "I swear, if I find you on the couch or in my room trying to prove to Quinn that you're only interested in her, I will kick your ass back to the shire!"
She wasn't sure if the girls actually heard the rest of her threat, but Brittany had regained her attention, so she didn't really care.
Santana knew it took skill to skate in hockey. She had been playing since she was thirteen after a counselor suggested she find a sport to serve as an outlet for all of the emotions she was repressing. At the time, she saw it as an excuse to hit people without any major repercussions. As the years went by, she grew to love the sport and the skill it took on skates to play it. Hockey was different from baseball and football in the respect that it used sets of muscles most people weren't even aware existed. She prided herself on being skilled on her skates. What Brittany was doing, though, blew her mind. Her mind was so blown, in fact, that she didn't notice the music had stopped until a pair of bright blue eyes was looking into her own.
"Holy shit!"
She fell backwards into the metal seats. She bit out another expletive when she felt an armrest dig into the small of her back. On the other side of the glass, Brittany had covered her mouth for a second before skating towards the door in the boards to leave the ice. Santana called after her once she found her voice, which stopped the blonde in her tracks.
"I'm okay!" she assured the other girl, despite the throbbing pain in her lower back. "Can I come out there with you?" she called out. She was rewarded with a bright smile and a quick nod of the head.
As soon as she was back on the ice, Santana was wrapped in a tight hug. She was beginning to think Brittany had no sense of personal boundaries, but, with her face buried in the taller girl's chest, she found she didn't really mind. She briefly returned the hug before pulling away so she could get a better look at the girl she had met months ago. She had to admit, Brittany was a bit more intimidating in skates than she had been in the emergency room.
"It's nice to see you again, goalie protector."
"It's Santana."
"What's Santana?"
"My name. It's Santana. Not goalie protector," she introduced herself with a crooked smile. "You kissed me before I had the chance to tell you," she reminded her. Brittany grinned at the mention of the kiss. Her face didn't even attempt to blush.
"I was hoping you'd remember that," she admitted.
"It's kind of hard to forget a stranger planting one on you at a hospital," Santana said with a shrug. "It also helps that you made it worth remembering," she added on when she saw the pout that was starting to form on Brittany's face.
"I saw Rachel with you."
"Yeah. She may have mentioned you two knew each other. And by knew, I mean dated."
"She talked a lot. I listened a lot. We had sex a lot afterwards," Brittany explained with a shrug. "We broke up after my cat threw up on one of her sweaters."
"Seriously?" The blonde nodded and Santana shook her head. "I can't believe she dumped you over something your cat did. The puke probably made the sweater look better."
"Actually, I dumped her," Brittany gently corrected. "I told her if my cat didn't like her, we weren't meant to be," she explained as she started to skate backwards. Santana followed after, taking slow steps so she didn't slip. She was the picture of perfection on the ice when she had her skates on, but sneakers and ice never mixed well for her. She shrieked in surprise when Brittany started skating towards her, only to fly passed. Before she could turn to see where the other girl had gone, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her middle and lift.
"Holy fuck! What are you doing?" Santana yelled. She had never looked down while she skated, so seeing the ice speeding beneath her was a new experience she wasn't entirely fond of yet.
"Giving you a lift," Brittany replied, and Santana could hear the smile behind her words. "I didn't want you to slip and fall."
"Brittany, the last time I saw you, you had a dislocated shoulder," Santana pointed out. "This can't be good for that."
Before she could add to the protest, Brittany had set her down in the penalty box. The blonde was giving her a small smile that made her look shy for once as she said,
"That was months ago. My shoulder is all better now."
"Well, still... You shouldn't just like, pick people up like that."
"You were scared, weren't you?"
Santana's eyes briefly widened at the accusation before narrowing into a glare. She took a step closer to Brittany so she was just beneath the blonde's chin and looked up.
"I was not scared," she said in a firm voice. "Santana Lopez does not get scared. Santana Lopez doesn't even know the meaning of fear, and you can't feel something you don't know the meaning of. Therefore, Santana Lopez does not feel fear."
"Does Santana Lopez feel this?"
For the second time since they had met, Brittany's lips pressed against Santana, clearing her mind of any coherent thoughts. Just like the first kiss, Brittany pulled away before the it could venture out of 'tame' territory, yet she still managed to leave Santana gasping for air.
"Santana Lopez definitely felt that," she murmured once she caught her breath. She looked up at the blonde, who was wearing a smile that made her seem pretty proud of herself, and slowly shook her head. "Berry really should have tried harder to get along with your cat."
A/N: So yeah. Like I said earlier, this is just a side project I've been working on. I'm trying to get back the writing style I started LBUT with because the latest chapters of that story have been severely lacking in something and I can't put my finger on it. So, I've been working on this, trying to figure out what it is I've been missing. While this is kind of a side-project, I do have a plot planned for it. It's definitely going to be a bit sillier than LBUT. Not that LBUT isn't silly. This is just going to be... different. Hope you enjoyed this little portion. Going back to work on LBUT now!
Songs mentioned: Starry Eyed by Ellie Goulding. Suggested by uhpockuhlipz, who is always amazing and helpful.