Okay, so like, Louisville's gonna be pretty cool I guess. I mean, it'll be hot in Kentucky so hopefully I won't have to shovel snow like I do at home. And it'll be nice to get away from Lima so I don't have to deal with their dumbasses every time I walk out the door. And it might be pretty fucking nice to not live with my mother. Don't get me wrong, I love the woman to death, but her rants about my dental hygiene and her need to know the details of me and Britts' relationship is something I really won't miss.

You can't even blame me. Tell me you wouldn't feel the same way if your mother were asking you about the intricacies of lesbian sex. Nu-uh, no thank you. It's nice that you care enough to ask, but Google that shit yourself, Maribel.

Anyway, it's three in the morning and I'm on the Louisville accepted students website making sure our schedules are correct and that all the professors I've chosen for us are at least a three on "Rate My Professor". We can't be too careful. I want this to be perfect for you.

Speaking of you, I'm feeling a lithe pair of arms wrap around my waist and a sturdy pair of thighs sliding around my own to bracket me on my computer chair. You seem to have sidled up behind me and the warmth that spreads through my body doesn't go unnoticed.

"What are you doing?"

I wish you didn't catch me doing this. It's so embarrassing when you catch me being this neurotic. Like, I just want you to think I do this stuff once and then never think about it again and I automatically have it under control.

"Checking up on our schedules and professors. Just making sure everything's good to go."

I let out a strained sigh hoping you didn't notice the nerves battling my voice for control. When really, the sigh I just released is gonna give my away anyway so fuck it.

Your chin comes to rest on my shoulder and you squeeze me once to let me know you understand my anal retentiveness. How are you so understanding? How do you still look at me and see someone to love after all of the flaws I've let out around you? It's so embarrassing.

"You could've done this tomorrow and let me help. It would've taken less time."

You're so reassuring and patient. Why am I embarrassed? I don't make any sense. You're the only thing that makes sense.

"Yeah, I know. I just don't want you to worry about this kinda stuff when I can handle it for the both of us."

I feel your ribcage expand on my back as you take a deep, calming breath that seems to calm me as well. You're getting ready to say something. Please don't be mad at me.

"I can handle it too, you know? I'm going to Louisville, too. With you."

You kiss the side of my neck that's closest to your mouth and linger there for a couple of very long seconds. I close my eyes and revel in the feel of your cool lips on my burning embarrassed skin.

You continue.

"And I want you to think of me as an equal now. Not some scared little girl in high school that needed your protection from mean bullies. I'm trying to grow up, too."

That hurts. That's how you think I think of you? Oh baby, you know I don't protect you out of need. I protect you out of want. I want you to be safe. I want you to be sheltered from negativity. I want you to be free from the burden of self-doubt.

Your words hit something deep inside of me and they're a catalyst for me to turn in the chair and prop your thighs on top of mine as my arms wrap around your neck. You're basically sitting in my lap now and I love the feeling of you trusting me enough to put all of your weight onto me.

"I know you're growing up, Britt. I know. And you know I believe that you can protect yourself and defend yourself and do tons of other shit yourself. But, some stuff I just like to be left in charge of. I want to take care of some details of your life. It makes me feel important."

I shrug like I have no other words to explain myself with, and I don't. But your eyes are soft now and I can see a trace of pity. Like you pity my instincts of protection and responsibility. After all, they are traits to be pitied when I can't seem to break free from their heaviness in my chest. But when I look again, I see hurt. Not hurt you're experiencing because I made you feel shitty about yourself, but hurt for me; you hurt for my burdens in this relationship and you hurt for the fact that I can never relax. And you're one hundred percent right.

I hate my conscience. I hate how it makes me tense at any mention of "future" and all the things I can't control and I can't take care of or prevent. I hate how it turns on me and whispers in my ear that I'm never going to be good enough for you and that you'll leave eventually. When you get sick of me, you'll leave.

But at the same time, that's one of the many reasons I'm in love with you. You balance out my conscience, if that makes sense. You encourage me and you believe in me and you respect me. I can't ask for more than that. Not now anyway.

"Okay. I get it."

How? How do you just get it?

"But come back to bed soon. I don't need a cranky wanky Santana in the morning. We gots movin' to do."

You're confident smile is infectious and I quickly return it.

"Yeah, no worries. I'm back in five. Ten tops."

That's a lie and you know it. I'll be up 'til six making sure every single detail of our journey down to Kentucky is planned and perfect. But you get it, so you don't argue. You just humor me like you always have.

"Sounds good."

You lean in and give me a kiss that's so tender and feather light that I feel like it's almost all a delusional, sleep-deprived hallucination. But you pull away, smirk and wink, and I know it's real. That's too cute to be a malfunction of brain chemistry.

When you're back in bed and rolled away from my computer screen, I turn back towards the laptop and continue down my checklist of precautions. I can't be too careful when the cargo in my passenger seat is worth more than any goddamn possession or person that ever existed. My baby's no joke.