(A/N: Ok this is my first anon prompt, and as such I couldn't ask for clarification (namely if you wanted them getting married or just them at weddings), nor can I actually indicate to the person that I'm posting it, but whoever it was, I hope it is satisfactory and that you see it. Also I don't own anything.)
Santana never imagined she was going to have a wedding like this. She never really imagined a wedding at all for herself. She imagined a future with Brittany sometimes in high school, and then later with Sarah, and sometimes with abstract, perfect women she had yet to meet but they were always just a presence; there was never a wedding, she wasn't even sure if they were married in the fantasies. Marriage was just never a big part of her plans. It's just a piece of paper.
If she had imagined her wedding there are plenty of things about her current situation she knows she never would have expected. She didn't expect to be pregnant or twenty four and she certainly didn't expect to be looking down the aisle at Blaine Anderson.
She's known Blaine Anderson is gay longer than she's known his name and he's known she was since he first saw her and Brittany and cornered her alone to tell her he was there if she ever needed to talk. She had almost punched him then. It seems ridiculous for them to get married and trying to explain it to anyone is impossible, as they've both learned since announcing the engagement. They're not beards, they've both been out for years; Blaine is closing in on a decade now. They're not in love.
Blaine has thought about weddings. She's seen Kurt's old wedding scrapbook too many times to count and most of it was all Kurt but there are little bits and pieces in it that have Blaine written all over them, fewer now that Adam has been the prospective groom for years, but enough to know he's built something up in his mind.
It's not big, but it's fancier than she expects for herself. Blaine's parents didn't come, and she's not sure if Blaine is happy about that or not, even with everything she knows about him now, his feelings about his parents are still kept closely guarded. Cooper is there though, standing right next to Blaine, and he's been shifting focus and pulling attention away every time they get frustrated with all the questions. Cooper is obnoxious and crude and he has no sense of proportion, but he jumped on a plane the minute Blaine said the word wedding and he took one look at Blaine's face and was completely convinced that Blaine knew what he was doing.
Cooper approves and it doesn't matter that she's spent the past five years telling Blaine he doesn't need his family's approval, she can't help but be thankful to Cooper for giving it.
"I'm marrying Santana because there is no one in the world I love more and in every vision of the future I have, she is the only constant." It sounds nice but it only convinces Mike out of the New Directions and Blaine's side of the nice but small venue is full of people he's met since he came to New York, mostly other performers, all of whom have just assumed at this point that he is either bi or still partially closeted. Her side has Brittany and her parents, who frowned when she told them and still don't understand but are choosing to support her and her mother has been smiling and snapping pictures all day.
They're not promising fidelity or exclusivity, they're swearing loyalty. All of their friends keep calling and telling them they're making a huge mistake and Santana hasn't answered her phone for three days because she's sick of repeating that they're both adults and they know what legally binding means. The thing about the term 'huge mistake' that keeps being thrown around is that even if it was a mistake, and she refuses to allow for that possibility because if they don't know the reasoning they don't get to make that judgment, they're not making a huge anything. They're not even making a huge commitment. Everything they're about to swear in front of a group of their family and friends, they already swore to each other years ago. Today is just about the piece of paper.
It starts with a card lying innocently on top of the pile of mail Santana brings in, thick off-white paper with flowing script and at first glance it looks like a wedding invitation. It isn't. It's a short note and she doesn't have to read the name to know who it's from. They only know one person who would send a moving card this fancy, hell, who would send one at all, like any of them send actual letters.
On any normal day she would flash the card at Kurt and watch him stutter and blush and assure Adam that things are over, something Adam only ever doubts when Kurt tries to reinforce the fact. The day the card arrives isn't normal though. Brody is back and apparently now works for an actual caterer and Adam and Kurt have been flirting unusually obnoxiously over the funky smelling meat substitutes that comprise the Bushwick loft dinners and Rachel has gotten cast in something that promises to be the worst stage production to take place on a New York stage judging by the trite dialogue that is more or less constantly echoing off the walls so when Santana hears the jaunty whistling that means Adam is getting an early start to his day she dumps the rest of the mail on the table and slides back out into the hall, tapping the address into her phone's GPS as she descends the stairs.
When she finds the right door her back is facing Central Park. The card, still in her hand, says 19th floor, and craning her neck for a quick count, that's the top. She bites down the little stab of resentment because her dad is a freakin' doctor and even if he saved up every penny he got during his working life, he wouldn't be able to afford a penthouse overlooking Central Park.
The doorman, holy shit there's a doorman, looks at her like he's about to call the police and she sneers at him. He may work in some swanky building in Manhattan, but he's the doorman, he does not get to judge her because she hasn't changed after work. He halts her as she heads for the elevator and she has to wait for him to call up to 'Mr. Anderson' before he lets her pass.
It's barely six AM and Blaine has clearly just rolled out of bed as he opens the door in dark blue pajama pants and a white undershirt, she imagines he wears a matching shirt in the winter, but he manages a sleepy smile. "Hi Santana, it's been too long, it's lovely to see you. If I had known you were coming I would have told Jeffrey about you, I know he can be a little abrasive. Would you like something to drink?" She registers that he looks older, as though leaving high school instantly aged him. He's in better shape than he was at graduation and his hair is short enough that the curls are just curls, not frizz. He looks tired too. She wonders exactly how much people have left him to his own devices since she saw him at the start of summer because Blaine is never tired as long as there is someone for him to feed off of.
She almost asks for grape juice or something, just to see if he's still as accommodating as ever, if he'll pull on a pair of boat shoes and grab her some from the nearest convenience store. "I'm assuming you're making coffee?"
He smiles, almost like himself, as he leads her into a massive living room, huge windows stretching all along the wall facing the park and showing her the empty terrace. "Almost done brewing."
"Snazzy place Hobbit." The walls are all white, but there are paintings and photographs everywhere and a large brick fireplace. The massive dark brown couch and complementing, but not matching, armchairs are clearly chosen for comfort over style but they fit anyway. One side of the room is elevated slightly and it reminds her of the little stage in the Berry basement, but the only thing on the platform is a set of chairs that look much less comfortable but far more stylish, like maybe they came with the apartment, facing the glass corner overlooking the park with a small table between them.
"Thank you Santana."
She frowns lightly when he hands her coffee in a generic Starbuck's type disposable cup but doesn't comment, taking a sip to find he's already added her sugar and almond flavoring. She almost wants to look into the kitchen he came in from to see if he keeps and entire coffee shop in there in case of company or if he just happens to like the same flavors as her. Knowing him he might very well keep it there just for her. "So which room is mine?"
"What?" He blinks uncertainly at her and it's not like she planned to move in either so she can't blame him.
He covers his mouth and stifles a yawn, the third one now, as she responds. "Oh please, like I'm staying in the Bushwick Love Shack when my best gay has a penthouse by Central Park."
He looks genuinely sorry and she can't decide if it's because his manners say he can't kick her out or if it's because he's as lonely as he looked when he opened the door. "I'm sorry; I've only finished the master bedroom and the living room. I don't even have a kitchen yet. All the other rooms have been stripped completely. Not that you're not always welcome, but there is only one bed here...I guess the couch is yours if you need to get away? I mean I'd be happy to make up a bed for you once the rooms are done but I haven't even gotten started on painting yet." He yawns again.
"Tired, Hobbit?" He flushes, as if there had been any chance she hadn't noticed.
"I'm sorry, I'm being terribly rude. I've been having trouble sleeping, chalk it up to excitement I guess." He smiles again, that kind of smile that doesn't really mean anything, not forced or fake, just kind of bland.
"Go to bed Hobbit." His desire for sleep is clearly warring with his compulsion to be a gracious host. "I just got off a shift anyway." He seems to relax slightly at the indication that his guest wants to sleep as well but the twitching doesn't cease entirely.
"Were you planning on staying here?"
She almost says no, just to let him get some rest, but he clearly hasn't gotten proper sleep for weeks anyway. "Yup."
"Right. I have some spare pajamas, or if you'd prefer a t-shirt?" He's already moving toward another room and she follows him into his bedroom, and then into his closet. It's as huge as everything else in the building and everything in it is color coordinated and neatly pressed and folded or hung. Miss Pillsbury would be proud. He hands her a pair of pajama bottoms almost identical to the ones he's wearing but green instead of blue and a soft white t-shirt and directs her back through his room and into the bathroom (presumably also the only fully functional bathroom).
The bathroom is again lavish and strangely well organized. There are jars of hair gel and hand lotion all lined up, along with shaving cream and cologne (Armani, she notes idly), and a straight razor that should be more surprising than it is. She fights the urge to rearrange the various toiletries and turn them so the labels don't all line up and strips and steps into the shower instead. She sends silent thanks that Blaine doesn't feel the need to wash his hair with something that smells like forest or whatever it is men's shampoos are supposed to but never actually do smell like. It's sort of a vaguely apple like smell but mostly it just smells clean. She almost moans at the water pressure because she didn't even realize how much she missed that and she takes a longer shower than she's had since she left Louisville.
When she comes out the bedroom is mostly dark and Blaine looks more or less passed out. He's left the door ajar and probably set up the couch with a sheet and pillows for her but the thought of trying to sleep in the living room with the panoramic windows during the day is less than inviting, no matter how soft the couch looks so she just pushes the door closed, cutting off most of the light in the room.
The thing is that the lizard thing she told Brittany back in junior year, that she's repeated to one night stands a hundred times since then, it's kind of true. It was something she hid her feelings for Brit behind, but it was there. She's not a sex addict, but letting people think she is is a whole lot better than telling them she hates to sleep alone.
She's not sure what exactly makes her do it because she's slept in more uncomfortable positions before but she crawls onto the bed, placing herself where she's close to but not touching Blaine. She's not sure if it's her finally accepting his insistence over the past three years that he's always there, or if it's testing his boundaries to see where he will draw the line.
"Santana?" Even in the dim light of the sun peeking around the blackout curtains she can see his eyes focused too closely on her face, like he knows exactly why she's there, like he's always just known with her.
"Shut up, your bed is made of clouds." He smiles, still not happy, but pleased at least and slings an arm across her abdomen, pulling her closer and even with only the thin sheet covering them she falls asleep with a constant mantra of 'too hot, too hot, too hot' running through her mind. She wakes up sweaty with the sheet at the foot of the bed but still too comfortable to get up so she lets her eyes fall closed again.
First chapter of probably five.