A/N: Somehow ended up staying up last night to write this start to a Brittana fic. I blame tumblr for the endless parade of gifs that inspired me to start writing. I also blame Glee for the shitty season finale and the general lack of continuity that makes me want to fix canon. I hope you like this first chapter, please let me know your thoughts so I can decide whether or not to pursue this story. Happy Reading.

I'm different, and it scares the ever loving shit out of me. Sometimes it feels like everyone can see what I'm thinking and feeling, which is even scarier. It's one thing to have this weirdness inside of me, it's an entirely separate thing for someone else to find out. I keep fighting, I keep burying it. I don't want to believe it, but somewhere inside of me, in a place I'm not yet ready to acknowledge, I know the truth. It's fucking terrifying. Somehow, it makes perfect sense that I've ended up here though. My life has been a succession of moments, small and big, that have led me to being a popular sophomore cheerleader with a smokin' hot boyfriend and an inexplicable, but very real, thing on the side with my best friend.

I remember the first time I ever felt different. I was 7 years old, and it was the first day of 2nd grade. My parents decided to move us from the edge of Lima Heights to a much nicer, whiter neighborhood. So I started school that year in a much nicer, whiter class. I felt like a freak, the way everybody stared at me, until a pretty blonde haired girl with the bluest eyes I'd ever seen sidled up next to me and offered to be my new best friend. It was a weird way to make a friend, but I needed one so badly I didn't care. That was the first time I felt different, but it was also the first time Brittany Pierce stepped in to be the buffer between me and shit that made me uncomfortable.

It didn't take long before I was just another kid in our class back then. I blended in and that suited me just fine, but things like that never last when you're growing up. I was 9 the first time I got into a fight with a boy. It wouldn't have been a big deal, except that I really beat his ass. His bloody face wasn't missed by anyone, it seemed, and I was labeled a troublemaker from that day on. Everyone thought I hit him for no reason and made comments about me being from the wrong side of the tracks. I refused to tell anyone that I beat him up because he called Brittany stupid. It would have embarrassed her if I admitted that, so I just took my punishment quietly and embraced the "Lima Heights Bad Ass" reputation I suddenly had. Brittany was upset that I got in trouble fighting for her, so when I came back to school I walked her away from the prying ears of the various dirtbag kids on the playground and held my pinkie in the air, promising her that it was totally worth it and that I didn't regret a thing. After that, pinkie promises became a thing for us. Eventually we just linked pinkies everywhere we went, a sort of symbol of an unspoken promise to always be best friends. That was the first time I fought to protect Brittany, but nowhere near the last.

I was 11 the first time I intentionally failed a placement test so I could stay close to Brittany. We were moving up to middle school and I was afraid of what would happen if I did my best. By then I'd realized that Brittany saw the world in a completely different light. She understood school stuff, but she didn't seem to think it was very important. What amazed me was that she got by without ever being grounded or yelled at for bad grades. I would've had my ass handed to me by my dad if I ever came home with anything below a B. Not Britt though, her parents always seemed to just float along with her. So I flunked the advanced placement test to stay with her. I was grounded for a week for that. That was the first time I chose Brittany over my grades, and I really haven't stopped since.

In 7th grade I kissed a boy (with tongue) for the first time. It was alright, I guess, but I chose possibly the worst boy in the whole world to kiss—Noah Puckerman. Just about every other boy in the school wanted to kiss me, but Puck acted like it was no big deal that he got to. He kissed pretty much all of the girls in our grade that year. I can't really explain why it hurt me so badly. I like to be good at everything I do, so the thought of not being a good enough kisser really freaked me out. Brittany nodded seriously when I explained that to her, then stopped me in my tracks as I paced back and forth in my room. She held both of my hands when she leaned in to kiss me, and I felt tingles everywhere. I never wanted it to stop. Britt told me I was really, really good. We were 13. That was the first time we ever kissed, and probably the millionth time Brittany made me feel like I was worth something.

Puck asked me to be his girlfriend after our middle school graduation ceremony. I said yes without a whole lot of thought. We were both fairly popular, we looked good together, and everyone kind of expected it. My abuela lit up when I told her I had my first boyfriend, I'll never forget that. My mother was less than impressed, she felt like Puck was trouble. My father was disinterested because it didn't affect my grades at all since school was out. Brittany seemed excited for me, which I found confusing. We hadn't kissed again yet, but I wondered if she didn't feel jealous at all that I was dating someone else. I was 14 years old, and everything about dating Noah Puckerman just felt wrong. That was the first time I dated a boy because it was expected of me, even though I didn't really want to.

I cheated for the first time just a few months later. Sure, dating Puck seemed like a show we were putting on to be popular, and I'm pretty sure he was cheating on me first, but I'd never had a boyfriend to cheat on before and I felt bad that it didn't take me long to cross that line. I told myself over and over that it didn't count because it was with Brittany, but I never seemed to be able to convince myself. Britt accepted my assertion that it wasn't cheating easily enough, but I don't think she really believed it either. She just didn't care, I guess, because she'd turned to me while we watched a movie and kissed me. It wasn't a quick kiss either. It was soft and gentle at first, and then it turned fierce and urgent. Before I knew it, I had Brittany pressed onto her back and I was leaning over her, my body pressed against hers. I scrambled back when I realized what I was doing, putting at least five feet between us. That was the first time I cheated on someone, and also the first time I kissed Brittany and wanted something more.

We were 15 the first time we made each other orgasm. I don't think I can ever forget anything about that afternoon. I was afraid and excited, nervous but hopelessly turned on. We'd fallen into a routine of making out every now and then. It didn't freak me out as much anymore because I saw two girls kiss at a party in front of everyone and I decided that this was something all girls did at one point or another. So when Britt invited me over to watch Sweet Valley High and cuddle, it seemed like a no brainer. She's a brilliant kisser, she's my best friend in the whole world, and duh, Sweet Valley High. Except that this time we didn't just make out. I was straddling Brittany's waist, taking a break from kissing her to fix my hair, when I felt her fingertips on my thighs. She held my eyes as she let her fingertips pass higher and higher, finally running a solitary finger lightly along the edge of my cheerleading spankies. I was barely breathing, but I gasped loudly when she brushed her fingers along the front of my spankies next, my eyes snapping shut at the jolt of pleasure that ran through me. Santana, she whispered, Santana look at me. I'd looked down into her eyes, my stomach doing nervous flips. Are you okay? Do you want me to stop? I shook my head back and forth ever so slightly. In truth I desperately wanted her to keep going, but I also wanted to run the fuck away so badly. We were crossing a line, one that we could never uncross. Damned if it didn't feel amazing though. By the time I reached down to cup Britt like she was doing to me, I could feel the slippery wetness through her spankies and it made my stomach pull in the most incredible way. I watched her face as we rubbed at each other, fighting desperately against the distraction of her hand on me, not wanting to miss a moment of her reaction to my touch. It was the sexiest thing I had ever seen. When Brittany came with my name on her lips, I lost it. I'd orgasmed just before her, but something about the way she whispered my name so reverently brought me crashing straight back down to earth painfully. I cried and cried while my best friend held me silently. I felt ridiculous, but I was scared. This thing with Brittany wasn't normal. That was the first time someone else made me orgasm, and it was the first time I consciously decided that I had to start having sex with boys instead of messing around with Britt.

I had sex for the first time this past summer, with Puck. It was…not good. I don't know why, it just wasn't that exciting. That's when I knew for certain that something was wrong with me. What teenager doesn't get amped for sex? I tried so fucking hard to like it. We must have tried every position. Puck loved it because he thought I was adventurous. I hated it because none of them worked. It got worse though. It wasn't just sex. Puck fingered me, he went down on me. Nothing. I faked orgasms like a boss. He got me off one time, and I realized afterwards that it only happened because I closed my eyes and pictured Brittany's head between my legs, the fingers of her right hand inside of me, and her left intertwined with my own. After that particular experience I walked dejectedly to Brittany's house and climbed up the tree that let me easily jump onto her roof and knock on her window. She let me in wordlessly and just held me in her arms as I explained my problem. I left out the fact that I could apparently only come if I thought about her doing things to me, I just explained that being with Puck didn't make me feel anything at all. She didn't offer any solutions or platitudes, she just listened. Three days later she told me that she'd had sex with Puck too and didn't feel anything either, so it wasn't anything wrong with me. I just stood there in horror. Brittany let Noah Puckerman fuck her just so that I wouldn't feel alone and weird and wrong. I wanted to cry again, but I didn't. I wanted to tell her to stop having random sex with guys, but I didn't. I wanted to tell her that I wanted her all to myself, but I didn't do that either. I just nodded and changed the subject like a coward. This summer was the first time I had sex, and it was also when I started to truly hate myself.

So now here I am, staring into my locker on yet another first day of school. It's been 8 years, give or take a few days, since Brittany Pierce saved me from feeling different as a second grader. There's a picture of our miniature selves hanging in my locker. I can't look at it now, not when I know Britt will be bounding up to her own locker just a couple of spots down from mine. I know that I'll look at her and feel that pull in my gut that feels altogether right and yet completely wrong. It happens every time I see her again after even a short time apart. It makes me feel weird when I think that this Brittany that I'm lusting after is the same girl as the 7 year old in the picture. I know it's not the same, that we're not the same, because I'm obviously not 7 anymore either, but somehow I can't stop feeling like a fucking weirdo. Sometimes I think I should tell her everything. Brittany always understands me, usually better than I do. I know I won't tell her, though. I'll keep being Noah Puckerman's girl, cheering on my man from the sidelines, making out in the hallway between classes, giving him blow jobs in his shitty truck while he grabs my hair roughly. I want to hate him sometimes, but then he'll kiss my cheek and tell me I'm beautiful, or wrap his letterman jacket around me at a bonfire so I don't get too cold. Puck has no idea that I'm constantly at war with myself, fighting like all hell to be the girl I'm supposed to be. All he knows is that his girlfriend never says no and is really, really good at getting him off.

"What's up, babe?" Speak of the devil and he shall appear. I remind myself one more time that this isn't his fault, that I'm the one who's all messed up inside.

"Hey you," I reply sweetly, flashing a quick smile before tilting my head up to accept a fairly quick kiss. I'll give Noah this much, his kissing has definitely improved since 7th grade. At least it's slightly better than just barely tolerable now. "Shouldn't you be outside dropping freshmen in the dumpsters?"

Puck smirks and shrugs, "I'll get to that in a minute, I just wanted to come by to make sure my favorite girl is already having a good day, and offer to walk her to class."

I look down at the arm Puck offers me. "Aww, thanks hon, but I have to wait for Brittany. I always walk her to her classes on the first day." It's true, but realistically I walk her to class for most of the year. Britt doesn't really waste time memorizing her schedule or classroom locations.

"Okay. I better get back to the great dumpster toss of 2009 then." He leans down to kiss me once more and then moves his lips next to my ear. "And by the way, Ms. Lopez, you look amazing in that Cheerios uniform. Uh-maze-ing." He struts away after emphasizing each syllable and I smile after him. Noah Puckerman is a cheating fool who refuses to make something of himself, but sometimes he manages to pull off a certain charismatic charm that makes me almost glad I'm his girlfriend.

I pull out my books for the next two periods and close my locker, leaning back against it to survey the crowd. The freshmen look smaller than seems reasonable, since I'm fairly certain I didn't look nearly as tiny or scared as they do at this time last year. My classmates are easy to spot because I've been looking at these same faces for years now. The juniors and seniors kind of meld together. I know a lot of them, but not all.

Every face in this hallway has something in common, though. Not one of them turns to look directly at me, instead keeping their eyes carefully averted once they spot the red, white, and black of my Cheerios uniform. A younger version of me would have felt uncomfortable being set apart from the crowd, but I've gotten used to it after making the squad last year. It's almost a relief in some settings, like in this hallway, because no one dares study me long enough to get a handle on what I might be thinking. I'm ignored due to fear, but the reasoning doesn't matter to me as long as I'm safe from scrutiny. Anyone who does steal a glimpse only has time to see a pretty face before they look away nervously.

I'm just glad I'm not Quinn, ever the golden child, constantly exalted and held as the example for all to emulate. I see Quinn and I see a shrinking box surrounding her; the girl lives in a pressure cooker that is bound to explode one day. I worry about it, sometimes, because Q and I are ostensibly friends. What's hard about her is that she keeps a very pronounced kind of distance between herself and everyone else. I try really hard to be inaccessible to most people, but in the end I have Brittany to break down my barriers and help me let loose. Quinn doesn't have anyone close enough to her to do that. I imagine she is probably the loneliest girl in the school. It's a shame too, because she's really super smart and kind of funny, but everyone just sees her as this impossibly gorgeous face and nothing more.

"Hey!" My favorite bubbly blonde bounds up next to me and bumps her shoulder to mine. "Happy first day of school Sanny!"

I smile, but pause to take a deep breath before turning to look at her fully. When I do, my stomach flips and fills with butterflies at the same time. "Good morning, Britt Britt. Ready for class?"

Brittany holds up her notebook, the same notebook she carried to every class last year, and nods. Her bright blue eyes seem to be shimmering with excitement when she grins at me. The butterflies in my stomach go crazy.

"Alright then," I say, holding up my pinkie, "let's go get our learn on."

The soft giggle from beside me brings a smile to my face that I fight off until it's nothing more than a slight smirk. The sea of people gathered in the hallway parts effortlessly as we stride purposefully towards our first class. I do an internal eye roll at the collective weakness of my peers. I might be faking a lot of the confidence I project, but at least I pretend to deserve respect. The rest of these lemmings walk around like they're in a minefield, so afraid to make the wrong move or look at the wrong person. What do they really think two 15 year old girls can do to them?

A portly upperclassman I don't know bumps into me suddenly and I turn to fix him with a bitch glare that would melt glass.

"Excuse you, RMS Titanic, I guess you couldn't swing that wide load starboard fast enough to avoid hitting the proverbial iceberg. Unlucky, some might say, but I'll be honest with you, I've never had much sympathy for the tragedy of human error." The kid looks both horrified and confused, as if the reference is way over his head. Seriously, that is the level of intelligence I have to deal with. It's so fucking hard to insult this mindless herd because they don't even understand the brilliance behind my biting words. I roll my eyes hard and shoot Brittany an exasperated glance. "Jesus, double stuffed. Keep up. The Titanic was a big ship, a wide load, if I may, much like yourself. It crashed into a cold, sharp iceberg, in this reference, that would be me, and it went down, much like you are about to. Are you following me now?"

Chubby Bubbles looks like a fish, his jaw bobbing up and down over and over. It bothers me, his inability to come to his own defense. It shouldn't be a big deal that he bumped into someone in the hallway, but he's allowing himself to be eviscerated instead of just telling me to shut my mouth. For some reason this infuriates me more than the fact that he knocked into me in the first place.

"Watch where you're going," Brittany sort of sneers from beside me, then turns and keeps walking, her pinkie still tethered to mine. I throw back one last glare as I follow behind my best friend.

We march down the hall for minute before I realize we're heading the complete wrong direction.

"Wait, Britt, wrong way," I tell her, turning to head back. My protest is ignored, however, and Brittany continues pulling me down the hallway. She has a death grip on my pinkie, so I follow her quietly until she finally pulls me inside the Cheerios locker room.

I give her a questioning look, glancing around the locker room uncertainly. Brittany sighs and pulls me down to the bench to sit down. "What's wrong, Santana? We haven't been in school for more than 10 minutes and you just tore that kid up for no reason."

My face must reflect my surprise, because Britt raises her eyebrows at me as if to invite me to disagree. I just shrug and look at my hands. She's my best friend, and I love her to death, but there are some things that just can't be explained. How can I tell her that I feel like my whole world starts and stops with her? Or that I hate myself more than I can ever truly explain for feeling that way? It's impossible. I would sound completely insane if I said, "well you see Brittany, I hate everyone on this fucking planet because I keep having to fuck my boyfriend when I really only want to hook up with you," so instead I keep my mouth shut and my face as blank as possible.

Soft, gentle hands reach out to grab mine, and I finally look up into the sea of blue that so completely captures me every single time. She looks at me for a long time, long enough to make my breathing go shallow and make me that giddy kind of nervous where I want to run away but don't want to miss what happens next. One by one my muscles tighten in a panicky reflex that I've come to associate with wanting to kiss Brittany. It's like my body senses the electricity I feel between us and freezes me in place so I don't do something stupid.

I stand up suddenly and lean against a locker, my arms folded across my chest and my heart pounding erratically. We're in school. If someone walked in, even just when we're staring at each other like that, we'd be totally screwed. The rumor mill would crush us before we made it to our next class, since we've clearly managed to miss the bell for our very first class of the year.

Brittany rises to her feet as well and stands in front of me. I press myself as far back against the lockers as possible, avoiding the confused look on my best friend's face.

"Santana…" she whispers, her voice soft and conflicted as she seeks out my eyes with her own.

"Britt, I…we can't be this close. Not here," I finally say, looking into her eyes as deeply as possible, desperate for her to understand what she's doing to me right now.

Sad Brittany is a travesty, and her expression at the moment is heartbreaking. I don't know what the hell to do, though. Surely she understands that we'd be destroyed if anyone ever knew how far things have gone between us. We're well beyond normal at this point, somewhere in the stratosphere of practically gay. If there is one thing that I know, it's that being gay in Lima, Ohio is basically asking to be tortured. Just ask Rachel Berry. She's not even gay, but her dads are, and that is more than enough. Granted, Berry is also the most annoying human being on earth, but she was screwed from the moment she was born anyway.

I want to reach out and fix Britt's sadness, but I'm paralyzed by fear. She stares at me for a long moment before she finally nods and picks up her notebook from the bench. I try so hard not to let out a sigh of relief, but I know Brittany hears it escape my body by the way she cringes. I feel like such an asshole, but Brittany suddenly smiles at me brightly, a too-big smile that I know she is using to break the awkward tension between us. I smile back anyway as I reach down to grab my own books.

Britt grabs the door handle and starts to pull, and in a brief flash of a moment I want to slam the door back shut and just kiss her like crazy. I don't though, instead I take a slow, deep breath and ready myself for the onslaught of noise and irritation that is McKinley High. I feel heavy as I follow a bouncing blonde high pony out the door, reaching out to link our pinkies once again. I fix my features into an expressionless mask and hear a final, unbidden thought before I've fully instituted careful control of my feelings.

You're in love with her.

Uh-uh. Absolutely not. No. I shut it down and mentally bury the thought, immediately calculating when I'll see Puck again to chase away my confusion.

Sophomore year already sucks.

Fuck.