Soulmates, So To Speak

by Awkward Turtleduck

"It's not about who you are attracted to ultimately, it's about who you fall in love with." Brittany and Santana in four alternate worlds. Warning: genderswap, het pairings. Brettana, Brettiago, Brittiago, Brittana.

1. Sparkle-Snatcher

Sparkle-Snatcher
Bretton Pierce x Santana Lopez

---

There were two things that Santana had learned early on were the guiding pillars of living in this world:

1. Being different is a tragedy.
2. Power equals respect. Or fear, which is close enough. And respect, or fear, is what she must strive for to make up for her innate difference.

These two bits of knowledge were culled from her firsthand experience in the daycare, elementary school and the playground, from her hometown to Lima. She kept being picked on for being mixed race: for not being white (primarily) or black, or even just Hispanic, but for being a mix of the last two. It wasn't like she could help it; and frankly, there was no use railing against the world for her mixed heritage. But surely there were ways to be integrated in this admittedly shitty society she lived in, and this she found out one day when having enough of the jeers and teasing and hair-pulling, she snapped (to the everlasting dismay of her mother) and beat her fists against her tormentors, clawing their eyes out and kicking them until they cried. From that day on, nobody dared to make fun of her, and she even managed to get her own band of followers.

When high school came, she learned that the there are many ways of being different and that number one had to be revised. One could be different in a way that one couldn't help or change; this could be easily remedied by the number two. But one could also be different in a way that could be helped or changed; and if this was the case, one had to simply try to fit in.

After all, being different is a tragedy, but choosing to remain different is suicide.

xxx

At sixteen years of age, Santana Lopez had everything in her life in order: she was on the Cheerios (though only the second-in-command, because dammit, that bitch Quinn Fabray was really good… at scheming and holding on to power), she had been getting straight As (which wasn't really something she flaunted; being smart didn't exactly give you social points), she had the whole male population grovelling at her feet (except for that lumbering giant of a quarterback, Finn Hudson, who also happened to be Quinn Bitch's boyfriend), and she finally found the place where she could indulge in her real passion: singing (although she would rather choose death by purging via Coach Sylvester's Master Cleanse formula than admit she actually liked being in Glee club).

Yes, Santana Lopez had it all.

Except maybe for one teeny tiny detail:

She didn't have a boyfriend.

It wasn't like it was compulsory that a girl should have a boyfriend in high school, but if said girl was as hot and popular as Santana, it sorta kinda made it necessary to have some guy to be branded as hers and hers alone. It just completed the picture of what high school life should be. It was like written in the bible or something.

She would honestly have let it slide if only Quinn Fabray didn't corner her by the lockers before first period that morning.

"Are you going to Scott's party later?"

Without even bothering to grace her with a glance, Santana replied, "Of course I am."

"Who are you going with?"

"None of your business."

Quinn slammed Santana's locker shut, making the latter jump back in surprise. "Who is it?"

"Geez, what's gotten your panties tied up in a bunch? Did your whale of a boyfriend finally squirted you with some of his blubber?"

"At least I have a boyfriend. What do you have?"

"Uh, the V-cards of like the whole football team?"

"You know that isn't worth anything. That just makes you a slut."

"Oh, like that's any worse than having a manatee parade around as your boyfriend." Santana yanked her locker open, almost hitting Quinn's nose in the process (goddammit, she should have yanked harder).

"You need to get yourself a boyfriend, Santana."

"What does it even matter to you anyway?"

"You are my second-in-command, and whether I like it or not, you and I rule this school. And as such, it is our duty to keep the image of the perfect high school students in order to keep the rest of the loser population in line."

As much as Santana wanted to bash Quinn's face in with her thick Algebra book, she couldn't help but think that what Quinn was saying made sense. Having a boyfriend, with the right social qualifications of course, increased one's social points, and made one seem in control of everything. Santana guessed it had something to do with the adolescent equivalent of the subconscious conformation to the all-American dream of having a husband and some brats—uh, kids, a dog and the white picket fence. Whatever. What really got to Santana was the extra social points she could gain.

After all, in high school, social points equal power.

And it wasn't like Santana lacked choices for a boyfriend. Like she said, she had claimed the V-cards of the football team, and surely one of them would be good enough. (Well fine, the quarterback would have given her the most points but ew, Finn Hudson? No way was Santana going near him with a ten-foot pole, even if he hadn't been already claimed by Quinn.)

She could take Puck. Puck was hot, even if Santana found his mohawk to be ridiculous at times. Or Mike Chang, who's kind of cute, though he wasn't so rough-and-tough like the rest of the team (yes, being nice didn't seem to be an asset nowadays; some days it even seemed to be a setback—go figure). Maybe even Matt Rutherford, though he was kind of plain.

Anyway, Santana had the rest of the day to think about it.

"So?" Santana snapped out of her thoughts and back in the presence of Quinn Bitch Fabray and her perfectly arched eyebrow.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Fine, I get it. I'll bring someone later." Quinn's arched eyebrow still wasn't coming down. "I'll bring my boyfriend."

Satisfied, Quinn pivoted, her high pony whipping behind her.

'Whom I've yet to pick out,' Santana added sourly in her head.

xxx

By third period, Santana's mood hadn't improved by much. Apparently she got her notes mixed up, no thanks to the oh-so-wonderful Miss Fabray who had pestered her earlier, and so when she was called to read aloud her essay, she found it wasn't in her binder. Fortunately, she managed to bullshit her way out of it and emerged with her dignity intact. Still, it didn't stop her from muttering curses in Spanish, damning the Cheerio captain to the sweet accommodations of all nine circles of hell.

She stopped by her lockers again in order to get the notes she left behind. She had been too busy practicing her litany that she didn't notice somebody approaching her with bouncy steps.

"Hey San!"

At the sound of the chirpy voice that could only belong to one person, Santana found herself fighting back a smile as she turned. There standing by the locker was a tall handsome boy with short blond hair and eyes that put the bluest skies to shame. He was lean, all toned muscles, but even so, he moved with a grace that 99% of the male population in McKinley High lacked.

"Hey yourself," Santana said, pulling his uniform to straighten out some creases. "What's up?"

"Nothiiiiing. Just missed you." Santana felt her heartbeat quicken. "It really sucks that we only have two classes together. I don't get to see you as much."

Santana forced out a laugh as her hands still gripped the hem of Brett's uniform. She couldn't bring herself to let go yet. "You're only saying that 'cause I let you copy off me."

Brett struck his chest with his right hand and grimaced in mock pain. "You wound me, fair maiden. To accuse me of such niggardly act—ah, you do me wrong, you do me wrong."

Santana laughed for real this time as she playfully shoved Brett. "Stop it, you dork."

Brett caught her hands, stroking her fingers as he smiled. "It's true though, I missed you."

Warmth flooded Santana's chest and face. "I missed you, too," she mumbled almost inaudibly.

The smile on Brett's face widened. "What did you say?"

"I said nothing!" Santana could feel her face burning. God, why did he have this effect on her, reducing her to those stereotypical swooning maidens in the stories they took up in their English class.

"So how was History?"

"It was…" Brett shifted uneasily. Pink blotches started to appear on his neck and his cheeks.

"It was…?"

He laughed nervously. "The teacher asked me what event started the Civil War and… and…" He ducked his head and lowered his voice. "I said it was President Obama becoming president… and everybody started laughing." He squeezed her hands again. "I'm just… too dumb for school."

Santana furrowed her brows as the cogs in her brain started turning. "No, you're not. Old Hagberg and those nitwits, they're the ones who are too dumb to understand the connection between your answer and the question. The anti-slavery movement was one of the reasons for the War. And because of that movement, African-Americans now have the same rights as the rest of the white people, and can now hold offices even as high as the Presidency. That's what you meant, right?"

Brett smiled bashfully. "Well… yeah, but I could never make it sound like it makes as much sense as how you just phrased it."

This time, it was Santana who squeezed his hands. "Don't say that. I probably would have given the book answer, which would have just been cut and dry. But the way you answer things, it opens up further discussions." She took a deep breath. "You're not dumb, Brett. You just know things that other people don't always understand."

A light gleamed behind Brett's eyes. "But you do."

Santana felt her whole body start to heat up. She coughed awkwardly. "Anyway, if it will make things easier for you next time, the book answer to the question is the fall of Fort Sumter."

"See? This is why I need you near me!"

"So you do admit it's only because of my brains that you want me!" Santana giggled.

"Well, I want your body, too." Brett wagged his eyebrows.

Santana laughed out loud to cover the blush on her cheeks. "Get out of here, we'll be late for our next class."

Brett leaned over and Santana felt her breath catch at the thought that he was going to kiss her. But he stopped himself and instead settled to giving her a one-armed hug. With one last smile, he turned to walk towards his next class. Santana couldn't help but feel a mixture of relief and disappointment.

She let her eyes follow him until he disappeared around the corner.

In truth, Bretton Pierce would have been such a catch if only…

Just as she was about to turn towards her own class, she heard him shout out, "See you later at practice!"

…he wasn't in the Cheerios.

oOo

She had known Brett Pierce for half of her life.

She and Brett had always been inseparable ever since the Lopezes moved to Lima eight years ago. Brett was the first friend that Santana had ever made, and the best one she had so far. They climbed trees together, played pranks on other children together, ate meals at each other's houses, even slept over at times (though under keen parental supervision).

Things started to get weird when Santana noticed her body changing. It started with her thin bony frame suddenly softening into curves, and then the appearance of breasts and then that godawful first monthly bloody visit. Her mother told her that she should now be careful with hanging out with boys.

For a few months, Santana felt that she was the ugliest girl on the planet, and with this feeling came confusion. She had never really cared about being pretty or ugly before, so why did it bother her now? She went out less and less until her mother told her she couldn't go into hibernation during her puberty years. Santana still refused to budge until finally, that summer, the whole family went to Miami to visit their relatives. There, under Santana's older cousins' tutelage, she was walked through the art of cosmetics, of seduction and charm, of attracting the male species (and when Santana asked what for, her cousins clucked their tongues at her and said, "For power, querida prima; always remember, it's the women who truly rule the world") and keeping them in place.

Santana learned how to use her new womanly wiles.

When the family came back to Lima and the new schoolyear started, a new and different Santana strutted down the hallways of McKinley High.

"San?" called a deep but strangely familiar voice.

Santana hesitated, she didn't know anyone with a voice like that, but the shortening of her name could only mean that this person knew her well. She turned around to see who had called her.

She felt her jaw drop at the sight.

She hadn't seen Brett in a while since she was too busy hiding from the world, and somehow, she didn't imagine that he would undergo a transformation, like her. But dear god, transform he did.

Gone was the gangly boy with the messy blond hair and freckled face that she had known in her childhood, and instead there stood before her was a tall, lean young man (there was no way Santana could still call him a boy) who walked with a grace that put even the girls to shame. If Santana's sharp edges had filled out with curves, his had transformed into lithe limbs and toned muscles.

Brett Pierce had turned into one smoking hot piece.

Before Santana could gather his senses, Brett had enveloped her in a bear hug, which made her feel tingles all over her body, but mostly on those posts where her body touched Brett's.

"I knew it was you!"

As Santana opened her mouth to reply, only garbled noises came out so she wisely shut her mouth again. The tingles seemed to have travelled south, to the pit of her stomach. She became aware of the desire to press her body even closer to this young man who was her childhood friend. But at that same moment, Brett decided to push her back to examine her. His expression showed nothing but extreme happiness and Santana felt a twinge of guilt for feeling some not-so-innocent things for her friend.

"You've gotten even more beautiful!"

At these words, Santana could only blink and think, 'He thought I was beautiful before?'

Santana cleared her throat. "Uhm, yeah. You look great too."

Brett grinned. "Thanks! Oh have you signed up for any club yet?"

By this time, Santana still hadn't gotten her wits back together, so she just stared at her friend. Brett chuckled then taking her hand, he led her towards the bulletin board where sign-ups for different clubs and organizations were pinned up. Santana was only vaguely aware of this since her attention was riveted on Brett's hand on hers.

'Was his hand always this big?' she wondered. It felt so nice and comforting, and Santana felt that she wouldn't mind if he held her hand forever—

Wait just a minute. What was she even thinking? She shook her head and carefully wiggled her hand free. Brett turned to her with a pout, and once again, Santana found herself marvelling at this gorgeous being that her friend had become.

Was this because of those… hormones?

Fuck this shit, she would rise above them. She wouldn't let hormones get the best of her; she was Santana Lopez, and if there was one thing she was terribly proud of, it was her brain.

Santana fixed her attention to the board in front of her. All sorts of clubs and organizations seemed to be leaping out to get people to sign up for them. Actually, Santana didn't really have to think about which club she should be joining; her older cousins had advised her to make sure to join this particular team, or be resigned to eternal damnation at Loserville.

Her eyes found what she was looking for and she took the pen hanging by the side to sign her name on the sign-up sheet.

"Oh cool, you're trying out for the Cheerios, too?"

Santana's hand froze as she was spelling out her last name. A cough behind her made her finish scribbling her name before she turned to look at her friend.

"What do you mean 'too'?"

"I'm also joining the Cheerios!"

Santana's eyes widened as her jaw dropped for the second time that day. "You what?"

"Cheerios! You and I are gonna be teammates!"

"Wait, hold up. Why are you joining the Cheerios? Shouldn't you be trying out for the football team or something?"

Brett wrinkled up his nose. "Nah, they're too rough and violent. Besides, I don't think I can practice my dancing skills there. At least in the Cheerios, I'll be able to move more freely."

"But, Brett, think of the repercussions!"

"The drums? I can follow the beat pretty well—"

"No no! Male Cheerios don't get the same privilege as the female Cheerios. You could still get picked on! It's the football team that's at the top of the male pyramid in this school. You'll get a much better footing if you join that team."

Brett smiled. "I really appreciate your concern, San, but this is what I want to do." He offered his hand to her. "Besides, I'll get to be with you afterschool, too. It's like a win-win situation."

Santana opened her mouth to retort but couldn't bring herself to say anything other than a breathless "…yeah" as she took his hand.

They started walking down the hallway, their hands linked together, swaying with their every step.

"Cool! So wait, what's your class schedule? Surely we have some classes together, right? I'd hate to start high school without my best friend." Brett twisted his backpack so that he could access the pockets. He pulled out a rectangular sheet of paper and squinted. Santana loosened her grip on Brett's hand in order to get the paper but Brett refused to let go. So she settled to using her free hand instead.

"Here, let me have it." Santana looked over the schedule. "Hmm, it seems like we have everything together."

"Oh yeah!" Brett pumped his free fist in the air. "So hey, where have you been this summer? You just disappeared after the last day of classes. I came over to your place a couple of times but Mrs. Lopez said that you were not seeing anyone. I tried sneaking in once or twice but I couldn't make it past the backyard… doorknobs confuse me. And the third time, I almost got hosed down by this really huge guy who looked like a giant grizzly bear, although definitely less adorable, and as it turned out I was sneaking in on the wrong house. And then my grandma invited us to take a vacation back at Virginia so I didn't get to try again. So what did you do this summer?"

Santana felt more than a little embarrassed at her self-imposed exile due to puberty freak-out, when Brett, on the other hand, obviously didn't have that. It was like he breezed through the awkward stage with the same grace as when he danced. Santana found herself mumbling, "We went over to my cousins at Miami."

"Wow! That's amazing! I heard there are a lot of nice eating places in Miami! Did you get to see the Atlantic? How long did you stay there?"

"Yeah, three weeks."

Brett nudged his shoulder against hers until she looked at him. "Did you have fun?"

"Not so much…"

"Why? Wasn't Miami a great place to be in?"

"I don't know," Santana shrugged. "I guess it partly sucked because you weren't there."

"Oh."

It sounded too soft that Santana had to look at him. Brett's cheeks and the tips of his ears were turning pink. When he noticed her looking at him, he cleared his throat. He opened his mouth to say something but no words came out.

"Brett?"

"Uhm… yeah… here we are, English!"

Santana looked around and saw that they were outside a classroom, and checking their schedules again, she realized that it was indeed the room for their English class.

Brett squeezed her hand. "I've got a feeling that this year's gonna be awesome."

xxx

"So who are you bringing later?"

Santana snapped up from her staring match with the orange in front of her to Quinn Fabray's hazel green eyes. It was lunchtime and as usual, all the Cheerios were sitting on the popular kids' table at the cafeteria. And, as usual, their table was bare save for an occasional fruit here and there, and the red bottles filled with Coach Sylvester's Master Cleanse.

"Someone hotter than the lumbering pasty-white giant that you drag around."

"And who would that be?" Quinn's eyes narrowed. "Puck?"

"Really, Q, your obsession with my love life is reaching stalker-level of crazy."

"You do realize that to preserve the sanctity of the squad's reputation, I have to enforce quality control. Just make sure you don't grab some random loser as your date."

Santana rolled her eyes as she scoffed. "As if. Please, I have practically every guy in this school grovelling at my feet." At the disbelieving look in Quinn's face, Santana added. "And FYI, the only reason that it's taking me this long to pick one out is that they are all beneath my standards."

"Well your standards seemed to have taken a vacation when you slept with those boys," said Quinn dryly.

"Sex is not dating. Duh. And like you said, quality control. If anyone's going to be my boyfriend, he has to be someone I can be proud of." Santana began rolling the orange in her hands. "Which is not something I can say if I were you."

Quinn raised her brow at that. "Then I'm really looking forward to meet your boyfriend later."

Santana caught the challenge behind her statement, and it made her want to crush the orange against those irritating green eyes until she went blind.

"Just… don't spray on him."

xxx

Santana purposely avoided any opportunity to be alone with Quinn during and after the Cheerios practice. She was loathe to admit it but she still haven't decided on anyone. The top three names that played in her head were Puck, Mike and Matt. But somehow she couldn't bring herself to inform them of the honor she was bestowing upon their poor, pathetic lives. It just felt so wrong.

But she couldn't possibly go to the party without anyone. That would give that smug little bitch of a captain the satisfaction of being proven right and of being again a step above Santana. There was no way in hell she was going to let that happen. Besides, the fact that Quinn talked about it during lunch in front of the other Cheerios had sealed Santana's fate. The whole squad now knew what Quinn was asking of her, and if she failed to deliver, she would be subject to the talks behind her back, probably on how she was too much of a slut to get a guy to agree to be hers.

And if there was one thing that Santana Lopez hated the most, it was the judgment being passed on her character through the talks and the looks. The only label she willingly wore was 'bitch'; anything else cut her.

But of course she would never ever let anyone know that.

She had been so caught up with her dilemma that she missed the looks that Brett had been shooting her throughout practice. She purposely took her time at the showers so that when she got out, everybody else had gone home.

She had been thinking that maybe she should just skip the party altogether. Pretend she got sick or something. But no, that excuse was too flimsy, and it would still smack of failure.

She sighed as she pulled on her jeans and a plain white shirt. This was actually her favourite outfit, simple and clean. And if she had her way, this was what she would be wearing every day. But alas, the price of power. Not that she minded wearing the Cheerios uniform too much. She knew she looked hot in it.

She would just change into another outfit when she got home. But for now, she could be simply Santana.

As she was leaving the changing room, she pulled her backpack to her front to double-check if she had everything. She was busy counting the folders that she almost ran into the lockers. Luckily a hand reached out and grabbed her by the crook of her elbow before she acquainted her face with metal.

Santana let out a little shriek, her body going into fight-or-flight.

A bright airy laugh greeted her. "Relax, San, it's just me."

"Holy crap, Brett! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

Brett only laughed again. "Well, you should have been paying attention to where you were going."

Santana couldn't help but notice that Brett was freshly showered himself, his blond hair darker than usual and slightly more messy. He was wearing a blue t-shirt and jeans. It was kind of amazing that even in such a simple outfit, he still managed to look like a model.

"Hey, San."

Santana snapped out of her leering, embarrassed at being caught. "Yeah?" she managed to croak out.

"I like the way you look right now." He gave her a once-over, which had it been anybody else, Santana would have cut them up. But from him, it just made her feel more self-conscious. He smiled, seemingly unaware of his effect on her. "The only thing lacking is your glasses."

Santana furrowed her brows. "Really?"

"Yeah. I've always thought you look hot with your glasses on," he replied nonchalantly as they started walking towards the exit. "You're, like, a super hot female version of Clark Kent."

Santana couldn't think of anything to say to that so they walked in silence until they reached the parking lot.

"Do you want to go grab some ice cream and watch the ducks?" Brett asked as they reached her car.

"I'd love to but I've gotta get ready for Scott's party and all."

"But we can always go there later, right?"

Santana stared dumbly at her friend, the word 'we' echoing in her head. She forced herself back to the present before her mind wandered again. She ran her hand through her still-wet hair. "It's just that there's something I have to fix first before the party, no thanks to Quinn."

"Is it a wardrobe problem or a problem-problem?"

A smile found its way on Santana's lips, the first since lunchtime. It was kind of alarming that the times that she smiled that day, and for the days past, were all because of Brett. But Santana wouldn't let herself dwell on that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"A problem-problem."

"Then why don't we go grab some ice cream and watch the ducks and solve your problem-problem together?"

Santana stood rooted to the spot as she felt something warm in her chest slowly spread out to her entire body. She became aware of nothing else but how much she wanted to kiss this person in front of her.

And she would have, if only she hadn't drilled her body to resist any such attempts on her best friend.

So instead, she settled for a hug, wrapping her arms around his torso. Her ear was pressed against his chest and she could hear the steady beating of his heart. It was so comforting to be there, close to him, his arms around her. Suddenly it struck Santana that this was what home felt like. And with that realization, she pulled back, a little too sharply, which she tried to cover with a laugh. Brett's expression was part-confused and part-unreadable. Again, Santana chose not to think about it too much.

"Let's go get our ice cream then."

Brett grinned at that and before he headed to his own car, he pressed a soft kiss against Santana's forehead. Before Santana could react, he had already gone and boarded his car. She touched the spot on her forehead carefully, as if afraid that her touch would wipe away the sensation of his lips on her skin. She screwed her eyes shut as she berated herself again. What the hell was her problem? Why should these simple, chaste touches bother her so when they had done even more intimate 'stuff' than that?

She slid into her car and turned on the engine. She banged her fists against the driving wheel as she tried to recall all the reasons why she had purposely kept Brett away from her radar of potential conquests.

oOo

Since high school started, she and Brett hung out together once again, although much less frequent now than before that awkward summer. It really couldn't be helped since Santana needed to bond with the other Cheerio girls in order to really belong. Brett didn't take it badly; with his easygoing nature, he soon found his own circle of friends.

But even so, both of them always made a point to spend time together, watching movies or just chilling out by the pond (Santana would have preferred to chill at her house or Brett's but she knew that it wouldn't really sit well with either set of parents, even if she and Brett were just friends; somehow, in the eyes of parents, adolescent boys and girls can't be just friends with each other). It was partly out of sentimentality and old childhood loyalty why they refused to let their friendship die out like so many childhood friendships, particularly those of opposite genders. Just because their bodies began changing, it didn't mean that they, as people, have changed as well.

She was still Santana, the bitchy-on-the-outside-but-nerdy-on-the-inside girl; and he was still Brett, the sweet, kind, gentle and graceful dancing boy.

But to be honest, for Santana at least, she couldn't help but feel the pull towards Brett, especially now that he had gotten so goddamn attractive. She was human after all, and for heaven's sake, she was undergoing puberty and her hormones were all over the place.

To Santana's credit, she kept a level head at of these friendly dates. She was learning the ropes of flirting but not once did she ever used them on Brett. Uhm. Fine. Well, maybe she did. Once. Or twice. Or thrice.

All of which seemed to have no effect on Brett. And that puzzled Santana, since when she tried that on other boys, they worked like a charm. She thought that maybe Brett was just special. Or they had effectively friendzoned each other—though it was more like she had been effectively friendzoned.

(Or, and this was a possibility that Santana didn't exactly prefer, she just had no game when it comes to Brett.)

Brett, though he didn't exactly have the prized position in the social hierarchy of McKinley High, still enjoyed the attentions of most of the female population at the school. And elsewhere too, honestly. And somehow, Santana got the vibe that maybe it wasn't just the female population who was attracted to Brett; every sentient creature seemed to be as well. He was like overflowing with pheromones or something.

Fine, girls would gawk at him and would try to drape themselves all over him. But some boys would even follow him with their eyes, and this wasn't just the flaming gays—though honestly, there seemed to be only one flaming gay in Lima and that was Lady Hummel—but seemingly straight, tough-looking guys. Hell, even dogs and cats and ducks approach Brett readily.

Bretton Pierce was simply… magical.

This was actually one of the initial reasons why Santana didn't overtly flirt with him. Even though she knew she was also pretty hot, somehow she felt that she couldn't match up to her friend.

It would seem like they would keep their old relationship well on to their teenage years and maybe on to their adult lives and old age.

Until that weekend when Santana's parents had to leave town for a medical conference (slash honeymoon).

Thanks to Santana's perfect scholastic record and clean track record, she was allowed to stay at home alone, instead of being sent to one of their relatives' house to be looked after.

This was Santana's first taste of freedom, and who better to celebrate it with than her best friend?

(Or so she told herself. She knew that it was still kind of dangerous to be alone with a guy for a night, even if that guy was Brett. 'But to hell with that,' Santana thought. 'I wouldn't want to spend my first night with the whole house at my disposal alone or gossiping—no, learning about school social matters with the girls.')

So that was how Santana and Brett found themselves alone at the Lopez house that Friday afternoon.

They started with a movie, Up, the first sequence of which never failed to make Santana's eyes fill up with tears. And then they burned through Tangled and Shrek 2 before they decided they were hungry.

"Do you want to eat out or order in?" Santana asked, sprawled on the couch.

Brett, who had made himself comfortable at the floor surrounded by throw pillows, raised himself up to face Santana. "I was thinking of cooking something instead. Is your pantry stocked?"

Santana's raised her eyebrows. "Yeah I guess so. Mami always makes sure that we never ever go hungry. But why do you want to cook?"

A lopsided smile appeared on Brett's face. "I just want to… since we're celebrating freedom, right? And besides, I'm a show-off."

Santana laughed at that. She sat up and stretched her arms before getting to her feet. "Well come on then, Master Chef. Impress me."

"Oh I will," said Brett, following her to the kitchen.

Two hours later, Santana and Brett sat themselves at the dining table, with a plateful of mac-'n-cheese between them.

Silence enveloped the room as Brett hung his head and steadfastly refused to meet Santana's eyes. Santana, on the other hand, couldn't wipe that amused grin off her face.

"Come on, Brett, it's all right."

"No, it isn't."

"We managed to put out the fire, didn't we?"

"But I made such a mess and wasted all those ingredients."

"Which we both managed to clean up. And as for the ingredients, I doubt my mom would even notice." (Well actually Maribel Lopez would, but hey, Santana was trying to cheer her friend up. White lies were excusable.)

When Brett still refused to lift his face, Santana kicked him hard in the shin under the table.

"Ow!"

The confused and hurt look on Brett's face reminded Santana of a puppy. Before she could stop herself, she said, "Awww."

And when Brett unwittingly cocked his head to the side, Santana just had to lean over the table to pat him on the head. But as she was withdrawing her hand, she suddenly found herself unable to control her movements. Her hand slid down from Brett's soft blond hair to his cheek. Before Santana could be embarrassed about it, Brett leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.

They stayed that way for a few seconds before reality made its rude reintroduction in the form of the rumble of a passing car on the street outside. Santana withdrew her hand, not without regret, and Brett just smiled, like her touching his face was a normal, everyday occurrence.

They started eating their dinner in silence. Which felt awkward for Santana, but which Brett didn't seem to mind. After dinner, Brett offered to wash the dishes, to make up for the mess he made earlier. Santana let him though she sat herself at the counter, her legs swinging.

She watched the muscles on Brett's shoulders and back ripple with every movement he made. She wanted to touch them, feel the strength that was so obviously there. She wondered how his skin would feel like under her fingers, warm and firm—

"San?"

Santana's head snapped up and realized that while she had been off daydreaming, Brett had finished washing the dishes. She felt her face heating up as she leapt out of the counter. She coughed into her hand to clear her head. "So, what do you want to do now?"

A playful twinkle appeared in Brett's eyes as his broke into a sly smile. "Well, I found some wine in the cabinet, and you did say we were celebrating freedom, and celebrations usually involve drinking wine, so…"

Santana couldn't fight the smile appearing on her face as well. "Why, Bretton Pierce, are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Only if you're a lightweight on alcohol, which by the way I didn't think you were."

"I'm not!" Santana huffed but Brett only raised his eyebrows. "I'm not," she insisted as she playfully punched him on the arm. "Shut up!"

"It's all right if you are, San. I'll take care of you."

That made Santana hold her breath. But she reminded herself that that was what friends do. Friends. Just friends.

"One of the girls snuck in some liquor at a sleepover a few weeks ago, and I'm proud to say that I was the last one standing."

Brett lifted up his arms in mock surrender. "Okay, San. I believe you."

Santana narrowed her eyes at him. "I hate you."

"You don't. Or you wouldn't have invited me." Then with a smile, he added. "You love me."

Santana's throat suddenly felt too dry as she found herself unable to say anything. A tense few seconds ticked by, during which Brett's playful expression had turned a shade more serious. But Santana managed to let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Pierce."

Brett's smile dimmed a little. "So let's get this party started, yeah? I'll grab the wine and glasses."

"Okay, I'll prep up the living room." Santana darted out of the kitchen with a speed that would have given Speedy Gonzales a run for his (or was it her? it?—did it even freaking matter?!) money.

Prepping up the living room was basically Santana rearranging the throw pillows on the floor. And as Brett entered with the bottle of wine and two wine glass, he arched his eyebrow as if to ask her, 'That's it?'

Santana felt her face flush. "Well, what was I supposed to do? Light some candles?"

"That actually sounds like a good idea!" Brett set down the things on the table before going back to the kitchen. He returned after a minute with some candles and a lighter. Santana just watched dumbly as he carefully set up the candles on the table before lighting them. Then he went over to the wall to turn off the lights so only orange light bathed the room. Brett proceeded to open the bottle and pour the red wine into the glasses before settling down on the floor beside her.

Santana could feel her heart beating faster and faster until she was sure it was going to leap out of her chest. She accepted the proffered wine glass with slightly trembling hands, and to still her nerves, she downed it in one single gulp.

Brett looked at her in surprise. "Wow, we haven't even made a toast yet!"

Heat bloomed in Santana's cheeks though she wasn't sure if it was because of the wine or embarrassment. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"S'okay." Brett poured her some wine. "I don't really know how this works but…" he lifted his wine glass, which Santana mirrored. "To freedom!"

"To freedom," Santana repeated as their glasses clinked together. This time, Santana just took a little sip. She couldn't help but think how handsome Brett looked in the candlelight, with the shadows flickering across his face. Well he was also handsome in any other light, but this time, something seemed to have been added. Santana gasped as realization struck her.

Candlelight made everything look more romantic.

But before Santana could explode in full panic, Brett spoke. "Did you know that dolphins are just gay sharks?"

"What?"

And Brett went on to explain the differences and similarities on the physical anatomy of dolphins and sharks, which quickly jumped to the subject of The Little Mermaid and then the lost city of Atlantis. Despite the fact that most times, Santana couldn't get a good grasp of her friend's ramblings, she nevertheless listened attentively. For somehow, she could get glimpses of the world that Brett sees around him and Santana had a feeling that this world was so much better, and something she wouldn't mind being a part of.

It took a while before Santana noticed that the Brett had stopped talking. She had been too busy staring at his lips for the past few minutes, wondering how they would feel like against—

"Have you kissed anyone yet, San?"

Santana blinked. "What?"

Brett repeated the question, albeit more softly.

As the question registered in her brain, heat spread throughout Santana's face like wildfire. She ducked her face. She really hated to admit it but she hadn't kissed anyone yet. Which wasn't a big deal yet, considering more than half of the fresh recruits on the Cheerios haven't had theirs. But Santana wasn't a fool and she knew that it was only a matters of weeks, even days, before she made her foray into the flirting field in order to up her reputation.

She bit her bottom lip. It wasn't like she didn't have a gameplan of sorts. Even though she was fresh blood, she had already caught the attentions of certain football players, and honestly, she was just biding her time. She didn't want to seem too easy.

Or too inexperienced.

"San?" Brett reached out to touch her arm when she remained silent.

Santana opened her mouth to say, 'Duh! Of course I have!' but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she mumbled, "Not yet."

She waited for him to laugh or to squeeze her arm pityingly. And she immediately regretted saying the truth. She covered her face with her hand as she felt tears of shame stinging her eyes.

"Can I be your first kiss?" she heard Brett ask quietly.

Santana's head jerked up. "W-What?"

She saw him swallow before answering. "I… I really want to kiss you." His eyes flickered to her lips before going back to her eyes. "Can I?"

Santana's heart started hammering wildly inside her chest and she could hear blood pounding in her ears. Her palms were sweaty and she was acutely aware of how carelessly dressed she was right now, in her plain shirt and track pants. This was definitely not how she imagined herself to look like when she had her first kiss. Of course she didn't have the illusion that it would be as glamorous and picturesque as those in chick flicks, what with fireworks in the background or maybe in the middle of the football field, and her leg popping. Just that she would look hot and whoever it was she was kissing looked hot.

Well, she at least had the last part right.

But really, she couldn't be bothered by such insignificant details when her body was screaming 'Yes! Yes! For the love of god, yes!' and maybe it was also because of the wine. She nodded dumbly.

A soft smile crept up Brett's face before he leaned towards her, stopping short just a few centimetres from her. Santana, who had closed her eyes when she saw him come nearer, opened them when she felt no contact. She saw Brett looking at her with his half-closed eyes, seemingly waiting for her, with bated breath. And it struck Santana that he was waiting for her to close the distance herself.

Which she did in a heartbeat.

Brett's lips were softer than she had expected, and gentler too. Somehow Santana had gotten the impression that guys' kisses were hard and rough, territorial and boasting of masculine superiority. (Yes, she definitely didn't buy into those chick flick bullshit.) But this wasn't like that, with the way Brett was kissing her, his lips sliding and shifting as he sucked her bottom lip, and then drawing back a little so that it seemed like he was about to pull away only to lean in again, with a little more intensity.

And all too soon, Brett drew back completely, slightly breathless and with his face flushed. He lowered his eyes for a moment before shyly meeting hers once again. "Was that all right?"

Santana, her mouth still slightly open, just stared at him. It was… it was… actually, she didn't know how it was. Her mind had blanked out and when she was staring to get into the groove, the kiss had ended. And so she said, "That wasn't a kiss."

Brett turned redder than she had ever seen him. He ducked his head as he stammered, "I-I… I'm sorry… that was really stupid of me, asking you that… w-when I-I haven't even done that yet myself…"

"You haven't kissed anyone before?"

"Yeah, I haven't," he mumbled as he started fiddling with the neck of the wine glass to distract himself.

A happy, giddy feeling filled Santana's heart at those words and with it, a courage that had been markedly absent whenever she was with Brett. Brett, who was too busy wallowing in embarrassment, failed to notice that Santana had gotten up to her knees and was now leaning towards him. It wasn't until she was only mere inches away did he look up. He nearly snapped the neck of the glass in half.

"W-What—"

"I'm going to kiss you now… properly," she whispered and that was all the warning that she gave him before she pressed her lips against his. Armed with the knowledge that he wanted this and that this was his first time too, Santana moved with a measure of confidence. She opened her mouth and tried what Brett did earlier, swallowing his bottom lip with hers. Her left hand travelled to the back of his head, urging him closer to her, while her other hand rested on top of his thigh. Taking the hint, Brett put his arms around her waist while deepening the kiss at the same time. A moan escaped from Santana's lips, which made Brett smile. He ran his hands on her back, tracing her spine and the contours of her muscles.

The only thought that registered in Santana's mind was 'more more more.' But she could feel her lungs burning for air and she reluctantly pulled back to breathe. She didn't get far before she felt Brett's tongue caress her lower lip, which she nipped playfully. She kissed him again and this time she pushed her tongue into his mouth. In retaliation, he sucked on it until Santana could feel heat pooling at the pit of her stomach.

She became aware of a desire to rock her hips against him, to have his hands all over her body, holding her, caressing her… She wanted to take this further.

She took the hands from her back and put them in her chest. Brett didn't need any more prodding as he gently squeezed her breasts before one of his hand travelled to her waist while the other continued palming her right breast. Santana moaned at the sensation and she put both hands at the back of Brett's neck as she laid herself on the floor. Brett started to follow but just as Santana's back touched the floor, he pulled back.

Santana opened her eyes as he withdrew his hands. He was panting heavily and his eyes were the darkest she had ever seen them.

"What's the matter?"

Brett didn't speak, as he tried to get his breathing under control. He sat himself down again and closed his eyes.

Slowly, Santana regained her self-control and the sudden realization of her conduct, of how she had thrown herself so readily at her best friend, made her stomach churn and her face burn. She covered her face with her hands as she muttered, "Shit shit shit!"

"Santana…"

"I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, Brett." She swallowed the lump that had been forming in her throat. "I don't know what came over me, I… this… this, it must have been the wine and maybe you're right, I am a lightweight and I'm really sorry—"

Hands wrapped themselves around her wrists, making her look up. Brett's face was unreadable, and the fear and panic inside Santana's chest increased.

"I'm not."

"What?"

"I'm not sorry… and I hope you aren't really sorry." Brett quirked his mouth into a small smile. "It felt really good, one of the best feelings I've ever had, I think. You're a pretty good kisser. So I hope you're not sorry." He lowered his eyes as he pulled her hands between them. He started rubbing circle on her knuckles.

Santana gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. She shook her head in disbelief.

"I'm not really sorry… and you're a great kisser, too."

A light gleamed behind Brett's eyes as he looked up. His smile widened into a grin. "I know."

Remembering the sounds that had escaped her mouth earlier, Santana felt her face heating up again. She threw a pillow at him. "Shut up!"

Brett just laughed as he ducked.

They sat together in silence for a while, enjoying the moment, saving the questions for later. Well, that was what Santana had planned, but Brett, who had been staring at the wine bottle, spoke up.

"What does this make us now?"

Santana stiffened. The fear and panic that she had been feeling earlier returned, though now for an entirely different reason. She was acutely aware of the possibility of a dramatic shift in their relationship, from one that had always been sure and stable to one that was as tenuous as a spider's web, a change that she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to happen. No, not when the stakes were too high. And so, as if her self-preservation instincts kicked in, Santana found herself saying, "We're friends, we'll always be friends."

Brett's shoulders slumped a little. "But… earlier, what we did… what did it mean?"

"It didn't have to mean anything." As she said this, Santana could almost taste the bitterness of the lie in her tongue.

Brett took a deep searching look in her eyes. His expression was once again unreadable. After a while, he furrowed his brows and said nothing.

xxx

"Your ice cream's melting."

Santana snapped out of her reverie and first saw then felt her chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream starting to drip on her fingers. She hastily licked the sticky-sweet trickles before they fell on her pants. She heard Brett splutter and she turned to see his red face and his mouth smeared with what was once his strawberry-with-marshmallow-and-candy-sprinkles ice cream.

Santana stared before she burst out laughing. "What the hell happened?"

Brett's already red face turned even redder as he fumbled for his handkerchief in his jeans pocket. But Santana was quicker and soon she was at his side, dabbing her handkerchief on the sides of his mouth. "You are such a kid sometimes."

"Is that a bad thing?"

Santana stilled her hand for a moment and tried to figure out if he was flirting with her. But there was just a simple curiosity and a slight hint of embarrassment in those blue eyes. She shook her head. "No, not really… it's what I lo—like about you." She took a step back. "There, your face is clean." Then with a saucy grin, she added, "And, your ice cream's melting."

But Brett just looked at her, ignoring the pink trickling down his fingers. Santana noticed that his eyes were fixed on her lips, which she instinctively licked. She saw him gulp before clearing his throat. When his eyes met hers, he blushed, then turned to whatever was left with his ice cream. He pouted when he realized that it was nearly all gone. Warmth surged in Santana's chest and she handed him her handkerchief. "Clean yourself up, then let's go buy ourselves another one," she said, smiling. Brett nodded as he took the handkerchief and wiped his hand with it.

They had been standing outside of the ice cream parlor the entire time, in no small part because of Santana getting lost in her thoughts. So when Brett was done cleaning up, they both tossed the sorry remnants of their ice cream to the trash before heading back inside. Santana switched to mud pie while Brett opted to try out one of the artisan flavors, Once in a Blue Moon. Santana wanted to pay for both of their ice cream, (which, by the way, made her go dafuq?! for a second since Santana Lopez was used to being showered with gifts instead of the other way around, but whatever; Brett was different) but Brett beat her to it with a triumphant grin. Santana just rolled her eyes as she fought back a smile.

As they were walking towards the pond to duck-watch, Brett spoke.

"So what's in the hat?"

Santana kept her eyes on the path. "It's nothing… just some stupid popular girl thing."

"I don't believe you. If it's nothing, it wouldn't have bothered you all throughout practice." He paused, as if trying to figure out how to say his next words. "But there's something that is bothering me."

Glad for any excuse to delay laying out her dilemma, Santana asked encouragingly, "What is it?"

"It's just that… it seems like you're quite aware how trivial all these being popular stuff really is, and yet… you're still doing it. Why?"

Santana stopped walking. Her eyebrows crinkled as she considered his words. To be honest, there have always been nights when she would lie awake on her bed and wonder why she was clawing her way up the social ladder. Would it guarantee her a place in the world after high school? Would being a cheerleader, a popular girl, ensure her happiness in the future? But always, she managed to shove these questions to the black depths of her mind with the memory of shame, of being an outcast, of being not wanted. And this memory, which she had not shared to anybody but her Mami, found its way to her lips.

"I don't want to be that 'strange girl' ever again." Stated so baldly, Santana winced as she thought how silly it sounded. Maybe that was why she never said it out loud to anyone else; things always seemed to make much more sense, to carry a much heavier weight when kept to oneself.

"What do you mean, San?"

Santana started walking again and Brett kept up with her pace. They walked by the edge of the pond, settling down on one of the log seats. She let a few minutes trickle by, keeping her eyes on the ducks floating around on the placid water. All the ducks on the pond looked so similar to each other, and that thought made Santana inhale sharply.

"Do you remember when we moved here?" she began softly, still not looking at Brett. "Those days at the playground when nobody wanted to play with me? When those dickheads would push me around and make fun of me for being new, but mostly for being of mixed race? That kind of treatment was something I've been exposed to ever since I could remember. I've… always wanted to belong, Brett. I've been an outsider all my life. This popularity shit? Yes, it is silly, it is stupid, but so is this world we live in, and if to belong to this world meant that I have to subscribe to its idiotic rules, then I will."

Silence enveloped them, broken only by the quacking of the ducks. Then Brett said in an equally soft voice. "So it's because you're lonely."

Santana let out a deep breath. "Yeah."

"Oh."

That one word sounded so sad and hurt that Santana turned to look at her friend. His head was bowed, his brows furrowed and his mouth was turned down. She nudged her shoulder with his. "Hey, what're you thinking?"

Brett bit his lip. "I'm just a sad little panda that you've been feeling this way all this time… and a sadder panda still that I wasn't able to do anything about it." He looked at her, his blue eyes wide, so open and sincere that Santana could almost drown in their comforting depths.

She shook her head with a smile. "No, Brett, you've kept this feeling of loneliness at bay… it's only with you that I've ever felt happy. You're that one person who made me feel that I belong."

The corners of Brett's mouth quirked up. "It's because I've felt that I don't belong, too; you know I'm not the brightest bulb in the Christmas lights around the tree."

"But, you always manage to get into certain circles, and surround yourself with friends."

"None of them keep me because they like my company," Brett replied simply. Santana waited for him to explain but he didn't. Instead, he said after a while, "I sort of get it now. We are alike… even in our ways of coping."

Santana furrowed her brows. She couldn't think of anything at all that she had in common with Brett. But she didn't say anything, offering her pinkie instead, which Brett linked with his. Ever since Santana had silently imposed the boundaries between them, there had been a number of things that she had steadfastly stopped doing with her friend—holding hands while walking, for one. That seemed too lover-like, but neither could she completely resist the pull towards Brett, so they settled to a compromise, a less conspicuous and more innocent form of physical contact:

Pinkie-linking.

They continued sitting in silence, watching the ducks float around. There were only a few people in the park, and one couple were feeding the ducks. Santana's initial thought was a sour 'so freaking charming' followed swiftly by a longing to be able to do that with the person beside her. She exhaled noisily to distract herself.

"So what did Quinn ask you to do?"

Santana felt her face heating up and something prickling at the back of her neck. "She… uh… told me to get a boyfriend."

Without missing a beat, Brett said, "I could be your boyfriend."

Santana turned to him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Just leave it to Brett to get to the point, asking questions later, if he ever asked them at all.

"What?" she asked stupidly.

Seeing Santana's reaction, Brett lowered his eyes as the tips of his ears pinked. "I could be your boyfriend," he repeated, although now more of a mumble.

"But Brett, Cheerios pair up with footballers. That's how high school works."

And just leave it to Santana to take note of the practical things in turn.

She groaned inwardly at how insensitive she sounded. She opened her mouth to say something that would soften her words but couldn't think of anything. She waited for a painful moment for the look of hurt to flash in Brett's eyes. But to her surprise, it didn't come. Instead, a flash of understanding crossed his face.

A sly smile appeared on his lips. "Oh. Is that why you were trying to convince me to join the football team instead last year?"

Santana's eyes widened comically as she sputtered out, "W-What! N-No… I-I—"

Brett laughed. "I was just teasing."

Santana could feel her face burning as she shoved him. "Shut up."

"So anyway, I mean it. I could be your boyfriend. Even just for tonight." Then he added hastily, "Only if you want, of course."

Alarm bells were ringing inside Santana's head, and a voice that sounded strangely like Coach Sylvester on megaphone was yelling at her that she should say no, that this was a terrible terrible idea, that this would undermine all her efforts to keep Brett away and preserve their friendship.

But looking at those blue eyes, so artless and open, she couldn't bring herself to say anything but a soft "Okay."

xxx

The party was already in full swing by the time they arrived. The walls were reverberating with the pounding bass from the speakers, bodies grinding against each other, the whole place reeking of sweat, booze and mingled scent of perfumes and colognes, both cheap and expensive. The air was warm, with the number of people crammed inside the house.

Santana's nose wrinkled in distaste as she and Brett passed through the hallway, which was littered with bodies in various states of drunkenness and/or undress. She had never understood the appeal of parties when sober, which was the reason why she always made it a point to get plastered within five minutes of arriving.

And as if reading her mind, Brett said, "I'll go get us drinks."

Before she could even nod, he had disappeared in the throng of people. Santana looked around and saw familiar faces… well, as familiar as they could get in their inebriated state. She should probably be looking for Quinn and show her that she had met the challenge, but her doubts and fears , which were temporarily dispelled by Brett's presence, now came back with a vengeance. She found herself a vacant spot on the wall to lean on as she tried to make a gameplan.

"Yo, Lopez!"

Puck's swaggering figure suddenly appeared on her right. He was wearing that sexy smirk and his eyes were already glazed. He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her close to him, so close that she could feel his hot breath on her face. "Almost thought you weren't coming." He nuzzled her neck. "What d'you say we find a room, huh?"

Santana shoved him roughly off of her. "Ugh, get away from me, Puckerman." She rubbed the side of her neck where his face had been, trying to remove the disgusting sensation.

But Puck only grinned. "This is what I like about you, Lopez… always so feisty." He put his hands on her ass, tugging her towards him until she could feel his hard-on through his pants.

"You better get away from me," Santana growled, "before I crack your nuts."

Sensing that she was serious, Puck let go of her, frowning. "Geez, who set your panties on fire? Are you on your period or something?"

"More like tired of your small dick."

Puck opened his mouth to retort but a hand grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him to turn around. "Wha—"

"Hey, Puck," said Brett coolly, his face set and unreadable.

Puck's shoulders tensed. "Twinkle-Toes."

"I believe you're needed elsewhere."

Puck let out a mocking laugh as he shrugged off Brett's hand. "Where, in your pants? Not a chance in hell, fairy boy."

Santana felt her blood rushing to her head at those words and she yanked a fistful of Puck's shirt to make him turn to her again, and in one swift motion she brought her knee up sharply between his legs. Puck howled in pain as he crumpled to the floor. A small crowd was starting to gather around them, so Santana grabbed Brett's wrist and dragged him away from the scene.

She led him to the kitchen, which was empty save for a couple making out like there was no tomorrow. Santana closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief as she let go of Brett.

"You…"

Santana opened her eyes and saw Brett with his head down.

"You," he continued, still not looking at her. "…didn't have to do that."

Santana frowned. "He was insulting you, Brett."

"Yeah, but I'm used to it and—"

"No." Santana stepped closer to him until he was forced to meet her eyes. "You will not be insulted in front of me. Or ever. Not while I'm around to kick their ass."

Brett's eyes softened. "More like their nuts."

Santana burst out laughing, which Brett joined in.

"Here." Brett lifted the bottles of beer he was carrying. He handed one to Santana.

"Thanks."

Santana was content to just stay here in the cramped kitchen, taking her time drinking, which was a first—it has been like, half-an-hour already and her head was still clear. Now that she thought about it, she had never gone to parties with Brett before; it was always with other Cheerio girls. Of course, Brett also went to these parties, so when Santana spotted him, she would go over and chat a bit, dance a bit—and go fuck Puck or whoever when the combined effects of alcohol and repressed desire became too much to take.

But to just be with Brett for more than ten minutes at a party, well, that was something new.

And frankly, it was… nice.

Santana noticed Brett was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, his head bobbing to the rhythm of the music blaring around them.

"You know you could always just go over there and dance. I won't ever stop you."

Brett grinned sheepishly. "I know. But, I want to dance with you."

"You could have just asked." Santana put down her still half-full beer by the counter.

"Yeah but I wasn't too sure if you wanted to." Brett's cheek were flushed, and Santana had a feeling it wasn't because of the beer.

"Why wouldn't I want to?"

Brett scuffed the floor with his sneaker. "'Cause you always leave in a hurry," he mumbled. "Even when the song hasn't finished yet."

Santana felt a pang of guilt. She grabbed her bottle of beer again and downed the remaining contents in one gulp. Brett's eyes were on her, looking with a mixture of curiosity and something that Santana couldn't identify. Whatever, Santana couldn't afford to be thinking much tonight of all nights. She took a deep breath.

"Well, tonight is going to be different."

She took his hand and together they made their way to the dance floor.

Dancing with Brett could only be described as heavenly. The way his body moved, all fluid and graceful, was a treat to watch, but to actually be grinding against it? Orgasmic. Santana could feel herself getting lost in the rhythm of Brett's body against hers, his torso pressing against her back, his arms wrapped around her waist, over her own arms. She spinned around to face him, putting her hands behind his head, threading through his short blond hair. She was already breathing heavily, and she was pleased to note that so was Brett. She looked into his eyes and saw that they were dark, so dark like the sea at night-time. She became aware of the thudding of her heart in her chest, and of the sticky sensation between her legs. Keeping one hand on his hair, she let her other hand travel down his chest and abdomen, scratching lightly the abs that were prominent even through his shirt. She heard the hitching of his breath, and emboldened, she slipped her hand under his shirt, exploring the contours of his muscles.

"San…" His voice was low and warning. Santana smirked and grinded her hips against his. She could feel him getting hard, and unlike earlier with Puck, she didn't shove him away. Instead she pressed even closer. She felt something nip her ear and a voice, deep and husky, asking, "Should we go somewhere?"

Santana's eyes were half-closed already and she was about to answer when she caught sight of piercing hazel green eyes from across the room. She pulled back sharply, almost knocking into somebody. Santana looked at Quinn who was walking towards her, with her bumbling Frankenteen boyfriend in tow, and at Brett, whose face showed confusion and—was that hurt?, and then back again at Quinn.

"Santana."

"Quinn."

Quinn turned to Brett. "Brett."

Collecting himself, Brett smiled widely. "Hey, Quinn!"

"Hey guys," said Finn, with a dopey grin on his face. Santana just rolled her eyes while Brett nodded in acknowledgment.

"Did you two come here together?" Quinn asked.

Santana's mouth went dry, and in one fleeting moment, she wondered how is it that Quinn could make her feel so ashamed to be with Brett, Brett who was nothing short of amazing. At the corner of her eye, Santana saw him watching her carefully, his face blank.

And it struck Santana that Brett was waiting for her to run away again, like she had been wont to do.

The feeling of shame for treating Brett this way overweighed the one that Quinn seemed to almost always inspire in her.

"Yes," Santana said in a firm, clear voice. "We came here together."

Quinn arched her eyebrow. "So, is he—"

"He is. We're together." Even as Santana said these words, she was acutely aware of the omission of the defining terms like boyfriend or dating. She felt her insides twist uncomfortably.

She waited for Quinn to say something scathing or insulting, but to her surprise, Quinn just nodded, and it may have been just Santana's imagination, but she thought she saw relief in those hazel eyes. She blinked and the look was gone, and Quinn was wearing that cold icy mask again.

"Well then, I'll see you two around."

As Quinn left, with Finn trotting behind her, Santana suddenly felt weak. Strong hands held her by the shoulders, helping her stay up. She turned her head to look at Brett standing behind her. There was a soft smile on his lips and his eyes shone with a proud light. "Come, let's find a place to sit."

After a couple of 'oops, sorry, carry on,' they finally found an empty room in the second floor. Judging by the tidiness of the place and the almost bare walls, this must be Scott's older sister's room, the one who had went off to college in Chicago. But whatever. It was kind of difficult to keep thinking of other things when Brett was pressing hot open-mouthed kisses on her jaw, sucking and nipping on her neck. She let out an embarrassingly loud moan as he began sucking on that spot just below her ear that never failed to make her toes curl.

She tugged at Brett's shirt until he pulled away just long enough to remove it. Santana only had a brief moment to admire the beautifully sculpted body Brett possessed, his lean and muscular form and his defined abs. She let her hands wander to the latter, her thumbs trailing down and she began rubbing circles around his belly button. His fingers began fumbling with the zipper at the back of her dress. In no time, Santana found herself only in her underwear and she huffed when she realized that Brett was still wearing his pants. She made quick work of it and soon, Brett was hovering above her in only his boxers—with cute little ducks printed all over it. She could see all too clearly the bulge on the front and she cupped it, all the while pulling Brett closer for a kiss.

Brett moaned at the contact, and Santana took the opportunity to slip her tongue inside his mouth. She began undulating beneath him when she felt his hands slip under her bra, palming her breasts. He pulled back before diving back again, sucking Santana's bottom lip, caressing it with his tongue. He then began a burning trail downwards. He unclasped her bra, and Santana thanked God it was strapless so that it was easily done away with. He took his time (re)acquainting his lips with her skin, and Santana was getting impatient. She bucked against him, pressing pelvis against his crotch.

A groan escaped Brett's lips and Santana could feel his fingers digging on her skin.

"I need you now," Santana hissed, bucking against him again. She could hear Brett inhale sharply, and felt how his body trembled slightly.

Brett lifted his head to look at her in the eye. He shook his head. "Not yet."

Santana closed her eyes tight as she let him take his time exploring her body with his hands and lips. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought this was his first time. But she had known enough of Brett that he did sleep around quite a lot, having slept with most of the Cheerio girls, maybe even most of the female population. Santana had a nagging suspicion that Brett might have even exceeded Puck's record, but that was something she didn't exactly want to verify.

Her mind was going hazy with Brett's ministrations, and she could feel the ache between her legs intensify.

"Please, Brett, I need you," she choked out as she slipped her hand into his boxers, taking hold of his cock, caressing it until it lengthened in her palm. Brett's breath hitched and he hastily grabbed for the condom he tossed into the bed when they first entered the room. He quickly tore open the packet, as Santana slipped her panty down. Brett pulled back just enough to slip the condom on before resuming his position above her. He spread her legs wider, stroking her already wet center, rubbing tight circles on her clit. Santana could almost feel herself coming and she took his cock between them, guiding it to her opening, until Brett eased himself inside her.

Brett watched her closely, waiting for her to get used to him being inside her before moving in and out in slow, steady rhythm. He started kissing her neck again, sucking and nipping, as Santana felt herself climbing higher and higher, her muscles tensing in anticipation.

"Look at me, San," Brett whispered hoarsely, trying to keep the rhythm.

Santana, who had her eyes closed, had a hard time opening them, but because of the almost pleading tone in Brett's voice, she did her best, and she found herself looking at Brett's dark eyes. Before she even realized what was happening, she felt her insides clench. She dug her fingers on Brett's back, the waves of pleasure crashing over her as she let out a muffled cry.

She tried to keep her eyes open but as the last waves rocked through her body, she couldn't help but close them again. She felt Brett collapse on top of her before pulling out and rolling away to the side. She could hear his heavy breathing on her ear. Usually she would dress hastily and leave without a second glance, but she had never been this spent with those other boys. Only with Brett did she come so hard that she forgot how to move her body for the moments afterwards. So she stayed, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling in time with her still wildly thudding heart.

"Can I be your boyfriend, San? Even when this night is over?"

Santana opened her eyes and was met with darkness slashed by the strips of orange light filtered through the blinds from the streetlamp outside. She wondered dimly what she had been fighting against all this time. 'We're friends,' she thought, 'and nothing ruins friendships faster than romance.'

But she knew it wasn't just that.

Brett was…

Brett was different.

And being different was something unforgivable in high school.

Even so, Santana couldn't bring herself to hurt him. She let out a shaky breath as she said softly, "Okay."

oOo

Brett wasn't her first.

Noah Puckerman was. It happened in one of the parties, and in hindsight, Santana wondered why she had chosen to lose her virginity to someone as careless and rough as Puck. It wasn't really because Puck couldn't make her come; he could, but she really could have done away with the soreness at the pit of her caused by him pounding away without a care in the world.

It wasn't like she actively chose Puck; it just had to be anyone but Brett.

A kiss was one thing; friends kiss after all. Just look at the French.

But sex? Well yeah, there were friends with benefits and fuck buddies, but Santana couldn't bring herself to taint their friendship with something so carnal, so dirty (this last, courtesy of the banging in the pulpit on Sunday masses… ooh, wanky).

Besides, sex was merely a currency she could use to climb to the top of the social ladder.

Sure, sometimes it was good, but it being good didn't make it anything other than what it was. A tool.

Until one thing led to another and after winning the National Cheerleading Competition, she found herself in bed, with Brett.

Brett, who had been looking a bit dejected ever since she had slept with Puck (which Santana was pretty sure he found out through that idiot Puckerman bragging about his sexcapades).

Brett, who only gave a small smile when Santana started cancelling out on their friendly dates (for fear of not being able to stop herself next time).

Brett, that one person that Santana was absolutely sure she wanted to sleep with (…literally).

He was gentle and the way he spent time to know her body, know the spots that would drive her crazy or those that made her melt, made Santana's heart clench almost painfully. He was everything that Santana didn't know she had wanted, and at that moment, she wished that he was her first.

Maybe then sex wouldn't be just a tool.

When he finally entered her, it was one of the best feelings that Santana had ever felt in her life, like this should be the one she strove to experience time and again.

And afterwards, when she lay panting in the darkened hotel room (the rest of the Cheerios had gone partying at one of the larger rooms), she knew that this would happen again.

He didn't ask her anything, unlike before when they had kissed for the first time. Like he expected that she would say the same thing as before. It sat sourly with Santana, but she couldn't have said anything otherwise anyway.

She expected her first words to him to be, "You have to leave before they come back."

But what came out instead was, "Stay."

Brett turned towards her, a happy contented smile on his face. "As long as you want."

Santana shifted closer to him, until her face was buried on the crook of his neck. She revelled in the scent of him, strong and musky, with the hint of vanilla he was so fond of. He smelled like the rest of the guys that Santana had slept with, and yet not like them as well. Always there was a feeling of disgust that rushed towards her after being with those other guys, a feeling that made Santana want to scrub herself raw to wipe away the sensation of their touch on her body. But this time, with Brett, she felt none of that at all. If anything, she wanted to stay close to him for as long as possible.

And she would have, until she remembered the reasons why she had been distancing herself from him. Reasons she would rather not think of now, reasons she would think of later.

So she let the moment last for a little while longer.

Of course, the now ended and later came.

Brett dressed himself quietly, shooting her furtive adoring looks every now and then. Santana pretended not to watch him, absently thumbing her phone instead. Normally she would be feigning sleep as her fuck-of-the-night slunk away, and honestly she would have done that but Brett made sure that she was awake before getting out of bed.

It made Santana's chest hurt.

Despite him not saying anything about what this meant about their relationship, his actions alone were enough to shift the boundaries. And Santana wasn't ready for this change.

Afterwards, Santana thought about their relationship, how it wouldn't be such a big deal if they became more than friends. Those things do happen after all. Childhood sweethearts and all that jazz and salsa. Sure, not all of them work out, but that's life and she shouldn't be too afraid to take that gamble. It was kind of obvious that Brett cared about her and liked her enough to do 'stuff' with her.

But the memory of those lonely days of being an outsider rushed back to her, and how it was just Brett who had saved her.

Brett was never just a friend to her. He had always been more than that. What he meant to her was something that no chick flick or romcom—not even Sweet Valley High—ever covered; she couldn't depend on their formula to decide which direction she should take.

Brett was far too precious to lose and she would be damned if she ever took any risk at all to jeopardize their comfortable and stable friendship.

And yet, she couldn't completely resist the pull, especially when in the weeks afterwards, Brett started coming over to her place more often.

(Brett seemed to have impeccable good timing or maybe a really good parental-units-radar, since whenever he came over, Santana's parents were always away.)

She woke up before Brett did almost every single time, and she would find herself staring at his sleeping face, so peaceful and unworried, which wasn't really different from his usual expression when awake, but somehow when he was asleep, Brett managed to look almost angelic. The sight made something stir within Santana's chest, a too-big and too-warm feeling.

And it would scare Santana every single time. So much so that she would hastily yet also carefully (so as not to wake him) get out of bed.

And as if to make up for this new level of physical intimacy, Santana found herself spending less and less time with him during the day. If Brett noticed this, he didn't say anything. But not long afterwards, Santana noted that the frequency with which Brett came over lessened as well.

She wondered if it was Brett's way of telling her without actually saying it that he wanted to be friends with her more than just having sex with her.

And it dawned on her how different Brett was, not only from the boys, but from everyone else, herself especially.

He was special.

He was better.

And because of that she vowed to treat Brett accordingly. She stopped sleeping with him; in the now-rare times that he came over, they would just hang out the way they used to, before the kiss and everything. She hung out with him in between classes, and after practice. She still went out with the other Cheerio girls (she had to keep up to maintain her popularity after all), but now she was learning to divide her time equally.

She was finally acting the way a friend should.

But that didn't completely quell the constant craving inside her.

xxx

The cheer practice was even more gruelling than usual. Santana's whole body ached from running the extra laps that Coach Sylvester made them run. It seemed like with every Nationals win, Coach was hell-bent in topping the level of difficulty of stunts and exertion of the human body. Or maybe trying to see how many laps it would take before one loses a leg.

(Times like this, Santana was a little grateful that she wasn't the captain or the assistant choreographer; as it was Quinn and Brett had to do extra work—Quinn, to make sure everything was accounted for, and Brett, to consult with Coach regarding the proposed stunts and maneuvers.)

Santana used what was left of her strength to drag her feet towards the locker room, nearly collapsing against the metal when she reached her own locker. Her fingers mechanically twisted the combination. She opened the door, staring at the contents blankly. Crap. She was too tired to even remember what she needed to shower.

"Hey Santana, I heard you and Brett Pierce are an item now."

That jolted Santana out from her stupor, and she could feel her heart starting to beat wildly in her chest. She knew that she should have expected this, even when she hadn't explicitly stated it in the party last night. After all, Quinn did ask her clearly to bring her boyfriend to the party, and it was a simple logical conclusion that since she brought Brett then he must be her boyfriend.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. As she was debating whether to confirm or deny this, the speaker continued, "Are you serious about that though? I mean, sure, he is hot and all, and is pretty good in bed—"

Santana slammed her locker shut as she turned to face the speaker. She narrowed her eyes and her mouth twisted in a snarl. "Listen here, Chubby McGee, unless you get to the point in the next second, Imma go all Lima Heights up on your fatty ass!"

Unperturbed, Chubby McGee just shrugged her shoulders. "You haven't heard then? He was spotted making out with some guy at the bleachers last week."

"And I heard that he has been giving head to the whole football team," another Cheerio muttered from somewhere to Santana's right.

Santana felt her head swim, and dread crawl under her skin.

"I mean it's pretty obvious, isn't it? Any guy who chooses to join the Cheerios has to be gay."

"I heard he also does ballet. I can totally see him wearing tutus!"

"Think he plays for both teams?"

"Guys can't be bi; they're just either straight or gay."

"Whatever. It's still disgusting. The thought of having ever slept with him makes me want to bathe in bleach."

"Do you think it's contagious?"

"That's really too bad though; he is really hot."

"My god, do you think we should get tested? I mean, who knows what he might have been carrying."

The voices became garbled in Santana's ears and the faces of the other Cheerios seemed to be melding into one monstrous hodgepodge of color. She felt a wave of nausea come over her and she leaned against the locker for support.

What next registered to her mind was Chubby McGee in front of her, squeezing her shoulder in mock sympathy with a pitying look in her face, and saying, "I'm so sorry your boyfriend… isn't who you thought he was."

That brought back a little more of Santana's awareness, and her eyes darted among the girls who were looking at her in a way that made Santana's blood run cold. There was a predatory glint in their eyes, which sent the message loud and clear: she was about to take a tumble from the social ladder if she didn't say anything in the next few seconds.

In the space of half-a-heartbeat, she saw once again the sneers, heard the jeers and taunts, felt the burning sensation of skin hitting the rough ground.

Before she knew it, Santana's lips were forming the words, "Don't be an idiot. I only brought him last night to put Puck in his place. I wouldn't be caught dead dating that sparkle-snatcher."

Chubby McGee studied her face, looking for cracks that would indicate that she was lying. But apparently she found none and she shrugged her shoulders and turned towards the shower stalls, her pony whipping behind her. The rest started to file into the stalls as well.

Except Santana.

She grabbed her bag and headed towards the parking lot.

xxx

Santana stayed in bed the whole night. When her mother came up to check on her, she just burrowed even further into the blankets and feigned sleeping. She heard her phone go off a couple of times, and she soon turned it off, as if by doing so, she could delay confronting the reality of what she just found out.

Her insides were roiling and churning so much she felt like vomiting.

'Those jealous bitches were just lying,' she thought feverishly. 'I should just ask Brett; I'm sure there was just a misunderstanding.'

But she remembered the incidents when Brett could elicit attention from men, and how sometimes it seemed like he was flirting with some of them. These incidents didn't make much impression on her mind at first, since Brett had always been more open and affectionate with his gestures, so much so that even his most innocent look or touch could be construed as flirting. Santana had been immune to this misconception since she had been friends with him for so long. But for people who didn't know him, they could be taken as an invitation.

'Yes, that's probably it. Those idiots just twisted things to make him look bad.'

She closed her eyes and begged for sleep to come, before the seeds of doubt could sprout again and choke this last comforting thought. Unfortunately for her, sleep eluded her and she was forced to relive in her mind seemingly trivial incidents she had stowed away, of Brett casually mentioning a hook-up here and there, how he would say 'he' or 'him' and Santana dismissing it as a slip-up on pronouns, the seemingly generic 'Charlie' and 'Alex' (and fine, the 'Brian' and 'John' but these Santana had dismissed as Brett's disjointed way of telling stories and mixing up names), and what Puck had implied last night.

Wow, she really missed out on the billboard with flashing rainbow-colored lights.

But Santana also remembered how he made love to her last night, confusing her thoughts even more.

She sighed and turned to her side. She wouldn't think of this tonight. The answer wasn't with her; it was with Brett. As she repeated this to herself, these thoughts started to quiet down… only to be replaced by the other thing that happened earlier, the words she had spoken mechanically when she had been cornered.

She had denied Brett.

And she had called him a 'sparkle-snatcher.'

(Well, to be honest, Santana wasn't entirely sure what a 'sparkle-snatcher' was, but the way she had said it and the way those other girls took it indicated it wasn't something very nice.)

'I didn't say he wasn't my friend… I just… I just said I wasn't dating him,' she argued to herself. 'I didn't do anything wrong.'

But even so, just as Brett had some explaining to do with regards to the other Cheerio girls' accusations, Santana knew that she had to explain as well. It wouldn't take long before this becomes campus news, especially since this tilted towards the unsavory gossip type.

She felt sick all over again.

xxx

"Santana Lopez, aka second banana aka Quinn Fabray's sidekick aka McKinley High's resident slut, what do you have to say regarding the rumors of you dating the quote-unquote sparkle-snatcher, Bretton Pierce?"

"Get out of my way, Jewfro, before I cut you up!"

"According to eyewitnesses, you have been spotted bringing him along to Scott Orson's party, which was tantamount to a declaration of your relationship status after Quinn Fabray gave you the explicit command to bring your boyfriend to the party—"

"Listen up, you freak! One, Quinn Bitch doesn't command me to do anything. Two, I can bring whoever I want to bring, and it doesn't have to mean anything."

"So you are denying of having relations of any kind with one Bretton Pierce?"

"He's—he's—"

"Looking hot and flustered there, Lopez!"

"Shut it, Puckerman!"

"Are you or are you not dating the quote-unquote sparkle-snatcher?"

"No, I'm not!"

"There you have it, folks. Straight from the horse's mouth. This is JBI reporting, over and out."

xxx

Brett was late for Glee. For the first time that anyone in the club could remember, Brett and Santana didn't enter the room together. Santana came at the usual time, though with Puck (who, for all his faults, wasn't the type to hold grudges and had only smirked and said, "I knew you'd see the light; after all, no one can resist the Puckasaurus for long"), and she sat beside him, instead of her usual seat at the back row.

"Has anybody seen Brett?" asked Mr. Schue. "He told me yesterday that he wanted to present something this afternoon—"

And as if on cue, Brett entered the club room. He glanced briefly at Mr. Schue and mumbled, "Sorry, I'm late," before making his way to the back row.

"Wait, Brett, didn't you have something prepared for the rest of the club?"

Brett had already settled on his usual seat, seemingly unperturbed with the vacant one beside him, the one where Santana usually sat. He just stared blankly at Mr. Schue, who began coughing awkwardly.

"Well, since Bretton has obviously changed his mind about doing a performance, which I am pretty sure would either be a dance party anthem or a rap—genres which I do not discriminate against but which I feel would be superfluous to try our hand on, considering the nature of show choir competition—I shall gladly take his place and deliver my rendition of a Streisand classic—"

"Shut it, hobbit! Can't you pull your head out of your bloated egoistic ass long enough to wait for him to respond?"

"Santana, language!"

That snapped out of his trance. His eyes skimmed over the rest of the group and lingered on the back of Santana's head. Her shoulders were squared in the way that they usually get when she was gearing up for a fight or when she was tensed.

Brett stood up. "Yes, Mr. Schue, I have a song prepared."

Eleven pairs of eyes followed him as he made his way to the front, but Brett didn't pay any attention to them. He went over to the guitarists and drummer to instruct them before taking center stage. Santana noted for the first time that the musicians were wearing baggy shirts—which reminded her of the fashion staple more than a decade ago—and the bouquet of roses almost hidden by the drums.

Mr. Schue, who had taken a seat on the side, clapped his hands and said, "I've got to say I was surprised with you taking the initiative to present a performance, Brett, but I'm really glad you did. Show us what you've got!"

Santana noticed that Brett looked pale, and there was none of his usual sprightly energy. His mouth was stretched thin and his eyes were resolutely fixed on the wall behind them, above the heads of the glee club members. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably and she inched away from Puck.

With the first strains of the guitars floated in the air, Santana's eyes widened in mingled surprise and recognition.

I didn't ask, they shouldn't have told me,
at first I'd laugh, but now—
it's sinking in fast, whatever they've sold me.

This was definitely not a dance party anthem or a rap. It was one of those sappy love songs that used to be popular back in the 90s.

Well baby, I don't want to take advice from fools
I'll just figure everything is cool
until I hear it from you.

But Santana soon noticed that the arrangement wasn't that of the original; it was slower, stripped down and almost… sad. It also didn't seem so smooth, it was almost like the arrangement was made hastily, like just a minute before it was presented.

Realization dawned on Santana as she put two and two together.

Brett had prepared this song since yesterday, probably to sing to her as some kind of a public announcement that they were now officially together (he had always been a fan of spectacle declarations, his favorite being Heath Ledger's performance in 10 Things I Hate About You), but had changed the arrangement at the last minute because… because…

He has found out.

Santana felt a lump growing in her throat. Then Brett turned his eyes to meet hers. They looked so sad and almost pleading as he sang the next lines of the song.

I can't let it get me off
or break up my train of thought.
As far as I know, nothing's wrong,
until I hear it from you.

He was giving her a chance, telling her that her word alone would mean anything to him. She could say that it was all part of a conspiracy that the jealous Cheerio bitches were cooking up to drag her down, that she had never called him any names, that she didn't just stand silently as the other girls called him names, that she didn't deny that he was her boyfriend.

She could, but she wouldn't.

Brett kept his eyes on her, waiting, but Santana found that she couldn't bear to keep looking at him. She turned away, knowing full well that by this act she was giving Brett her answer.

By this time, everybody was squirming in their seats for two reasons: one, they were surprised to see this side of Brett Pierce they didn't know existed; two, the song, or rather the way he sang it, was actually pretty depressing.

When the song ended, nobody moved a muscle. After a minute, Mr. Schue stood up, clapping, which some tried to follow but the sound of weak applause only made everything more awkward.

"All right, Brett!" Mr. Schue's face looked strained as he forced a smile. "Thank you for that… mellow performance. So now—Brett?"

Brett had grabbed his bag and stormed out of the club room before anybody could take in what was happening.

Santana noticed that there were tearstains on his cheeks.

xxx

Santana had been itching to run after him, to explain, to apologize, to do anything to make up for the shitty way she had been acting. But always, this feeling of cowardice chained her to where she sat and she could only stay until it was over. Puck must have noticed that she was out of it since he didn't make his usual indecent proposal. She had made her way to the parking lot, and glancing around, she saw that Brett had already left the school. Unsurprising, really. She thought of just going home, but instead she found herself walking towards the bleachers. She found a pack of cigarettes, which she suspected belonged to those trashy wannabe-gangsters—the Skanks, they called themselves—stashed in between some of the band equipments.

She had been sitting silently, smoking stick after stick, when a shadow fell over her.

"What is wrong with you?!"

"Leave me alone, Fabray," Santana said dully, without looking up, as she took a drag from her cigarette.

"No, I won't, not until you get up your ass and explain to me why you're on the frontpage of that creep Israel's blog!"

"Well I'm sorry I tarnished your reign as the Queen-Bitch-in-Charge of the Cheerios!" Santana turned towards Quinn, her eyes blazing angrily. "No wait, I'm pretty sure you had this all planned out—to remove me from lieutenancy."

Quinn crossed her arms in front of her chest. "And why would I do that?"

"You really want me to spit it out? Fine! Because you hate me! Which is totally cool with me since I hate your guts as well, with all your virginal veneer to cover up the conniving little bitch you really are inside!"

Santana didn't notice that she had jumped up, thrown her cigarette to the ground, and started pointing at Quinn repeatedly as her other hand gestured wildly for emphasis. What she did notice was Quinn standing impassively before her, her lips pressed together in a thin line.

"You really are an idiot."

Santana had the urge to lunge at her and claw her eyes out but restrained herself. Instead she gave her a withering look before resuming her seat on the ladder. "Whatever, just go away."

But Quinn didn't. Instead she found a seat on one of the band equipment opposite Santana.

"I was rooting for him, you know."

"What?"

"Brett. I was rooting for him."

Santana stared at Quinn, incredulity painted on her face. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I was hoping giving you an ultimatum would finally speed things up between you two." At Santana's still puzzled look, Quinn let out a sigh of impatience. "Oh come on! The sexual tension between you two is so thick, it's actually suffocating. And it's pretty obvious that Brett wanted to be with you. Why do you keep resisting?"

"Hell if we have a heart-to-heart, Fabray!"

"You know what? Forget it. I'm actually trying to help you here—"

"Why? Why do you even care?"

"Because you're my friend, goddammit!"

Santana's eyes widened in shock. Wow, she didn't see that coming (the swearing and the admission both). After a minute of gawping, suspicion crept in. She studied Quinn's features, looking for any indication that she was playing with her—a slight arch of the eyebrow, or the narrowing of those hazel green eyes, or that twitch of her lips when she was planning something devious. But she saw none of those, and not even that icy mask that Quinn almost always wore. There was just anger blazing in her eyes. Santana slumped her shoulders.

"He's my friend, Q," she said in a much softer voice.

Quinn frowned in confusion. "I know."

"No… I mean he's my friend, my childhood friend, my best friend, my only friend, and I guess I was just afraid of… things changing."

"I get that, but you have been… sleeping with him, right? Isn't that a form of change as well?"

"It was a mistake that I kept making, but… I tried to stop it, Q. And we haven't been doing it for months, until… until the party the other night. I don't know, I don't understand. I mean, it's supposed to be simple, right? There are shows and books for this kind of shit but none of them ever featured someone like Brett!"

After a few seconds of silence punctuated only by Santana's thudding heart, Quinn asked casually, "So what makes Brett special?"

Santana gaped at Quinn in something akin to horror. Was she seriously asking this? There was only honest curiosity in Quinn's eyes so Santana bit back the string of expletives that nearly made its way out of her mouth. She took a deep breath as she recalled Brett's smile or the way his eyes would go all soft and hazy when he was daydreaming (which was pretty often), or how he would come up with such baffling answers to questions (like recounting the colorful tale of how the unicorn got its horn when asked to explain the nitrogen cycle), or how he could make Santana feel it was all right to be herself around him.

"Brett is… he's just… wonderful."

"Wow, that was a pretty lackluster answer." Santana shot her a dirty glare but Quinn only chuckled. "Good thing your face was able to tell me more."

Santana still remained scowling as Quinn stretched her arms.

"So I take it, he isn't gay then?"

Santana reddened as she felt heat rush to her head. "Why, will you damn him to eternal perdition if he is?"

"Your prejudice astounds me," said Quinn dryly, in a way that made Santana think of a younger version of their Coach. "And somehow, you manage to make this conversation all about me when I'm trying to make it about you and Brett. Are you sure you don't have a crush on me, Santana?"

The urge to punch the smirking captain was so tempting but Santana settled to just clenching her fists on her side. She took deep breaths to clear her head before the image of bashing her oh-so-perfect nose became too irresistible.

"Don't flatter yourself, Q," said Santana in a cool, even voice. "Even if I was wearing flannel and eating jicama, I'd sooner tap RuPaul than you."

But that only made Quinn laugh out loud. "You do realize how gay you just sounded, right?"

Santana jumped to her feet, quivering with rage. "If you're just going to insult me like this—"

"Oh, just calm yourself. Sit back down." Santana hesitated but Quinn gave her a look that made her obey grudgingly. "You are aware that you are stringing Brett along, with the way you're acting with him?"

"I hardly think you're in any position to tell me that, Fabray. We all know you're not keeping Pilsbury DoughTurd because of any noble, ardent feeling on your part."

"Can we stop talking about me for a second? Seriously Lopez, your fixation on me isn't flattering at all—"

"Shut up!"

"You said it yourself, that Brett is special, that he's different from all those other guys. And I do like Brett, even when I don't understand what he's saying most of the time. He's talented, he's kind, he's—like a promiscuous and less intellectually gifted version of Mike Chang."

"Oh and I know how badly you've been wanting to tap that," Santana said under her breath.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, go on."

"I like Brett, and I like you, you two are like the only friends I have in this squad—yes, Santana, I consider you a friend, even when you're bitching at me; I can see now that it's only your attraction to me rearing its head." Santana opened her mouth to retort but Quinn continued without even pausing for a breath. "Besides, you are actually nicer when you two are together. That makes things a little more bearable in Coach Sylvester's training-in-hell."

"You know, I don't see where all this is heading."

"What are you so afraid of, Santana?"

Santana furrowed her brows as she watched the daylight fading with the sunset, the horizon was bathed in gold and red. She debated whether to tell Quinn the truth. But she was too tired to keep everything in and isolating herself, so she whispered, "Of being different."

Quinn didn't say anything, waiting for her to continue. Santana took another stick from the pack she found, lit it and puffed a few times before speaking again. "That's really the reason why I did," she gestured to her uniform, "all this. I wanted to belong, you know? Or if that wasn't possible, at least to have enough power to not be pushed around. But Brett…" Santana let out a hollow laugh. "Brett doesn't care about all that. He doesn't mind being different. And that scares me. Even more than changing things between us, I'm afraid that I won't be strong enough to stand being different with him."

"Why don't you just change him instead?" asked Quinn, as if that was the most obvious solution in the world.

Santana's eyes flashed angrily. "His being different is what makes him Brett! I'll be damned before I try to change any part of him!"

Something flickered behind Quinn's eyes. "Is there anything that would make you try and brave everything to be with him?

"I don't know, Q… maybe, if I could be sure that he lo—cares about me the most, I'd be brave enough. You know how he is, how he's so kind and giving to everyone—sometimes, I don't know what makes me special to him."

"God, you really are an idiot," muttered Quinn. Then she asked in a louder voice, "If he gave you any indication that you are something irreplaceable to him, you wouldn't mind all the talks? You really wouldn't mind that he sleeps around with boys as well?"

"If I'm really special to him, he wouldn't be sleeping with anyone else anymore," Santana answered with conviction.

"So all this trouble because you aren't sure if Brett Pierce is in love with you?" Quinn stood up, dusting off the back of her skirt. Santana flinched at the l-word. "Why don't you just ask him then? Hopefully you're not deaf as well as blind."

Santana just stared as Quinn walked away across the field towards the parking lot, all the while wondering when she had fallen down the rabbit-hole that led to this fucked-up dimension where she and Quinn were… sorta-friends.

xxx

Santana shivered with the chilly night air even through her hoodie and track pants. She knew she totally looked unglamorous right now but she could care less. She looked at the window on the right, by the old oak tree. The light was still on, meaning Brett was still awake.

Santana took a deep breath to give her courage, before she went over to the Pierce oak tree. It had been years since she last climbed trees but she doubted that her ability diminished drastically, what with all the sick exercises Coach Sylvester forced onto the squad. She found that she still managed to find the right spots to hold on to, to step on to, and in no time at all, she found herself atop the branch nearest Brett's window. The curtains, which featured prancing unicorns in a blue background, were drawn. Santana's heart warmed at the familiarity, at this weirdness that her friend had always possessed and until that moment, she didn't know she had come to lo—ahem, she had come to be fond of.

She knocked against the glass window three times.

After a few moments of silence, she heard some shuffling and then the curtains were parted to the side, revealing suspicious blue eyes. When Brett saw her, his eyes widened in surprise and he soon lifted the window up. But as he took a step back, he seemed to remember that they were fighting so instead he leaned over the sill. Santana thought that if anybody could see them now, they would make such an interesting picture: her on the tree, him by the window.

"What are you doing here, San?"

"Can I come in first? It's kinda chilly and I really don't trust this branch to hold my weight for long."

Brett just crossed his arms and frowned at her, and Santana was afraid he wasn't going to invite her in at all. But after a minute, he extended his arm. "I'm mad at you, but you're still so hot."

Santana blushed as she took his hand with hers and held on to the window frame with her other. She rocked herself on the branch to gain momentum before swinging herself into the room.

As she regained her posture, she became aware that she was still holding on to Brett's hand. She wanted so bad to just keep holding on to him, have his hand so warm and firm on hers forever. But she knew she had something to fix first, and so she withdrew her hand with much reluctance.

Brett crossed his arms across his chest again, waiting for her to speak up.

For a brief moment, Santana wondered if this was something she could just gloss over with sex, but she immediately junked the idea. She had never really done this before, this apologizing thing—well, not for anything major. She and Brett had never really fought before, not in a large scale, at least. And so now, she was at a loss how to go about this.

Well, one could never go wrong by saying sorry first.

"I'm sorry," Santana said in one breathless whisper.

The expression on Brett's face didn't change, still cold and stony. Santana knew this wouldn't be so easy, but dammit, she certainly hoped it wouldn't be too difficult. And despite being the one in the wrong, Santana could feel her temper rising the longer that Brett stood there silently.

She was never really patient to begin with. But she had enough sense not to lash out, not to say anything that would just worsen the whole situation, a situation that she had brought about in the first. So she took a deep breath and tried again.

"I'm sorry, Brett. Please, say something."

Brett seemed to have softened a little and he uncrossed his arms. He walked over to his bed and sat on it. Santana remained by the window, unsure where to place herself. It had been a long time since she had been to Brett's room, and even though nothing much had changed in it, except perhaps more pictures on the wall and framed ones on the table, she found herself a stranger here. This was Brett's safe place, after all. A place where Santana wasn't sure she belonged, ever since she had let high school change her. She bowed her head as she wondered why she had made herself a stranger to him.

"I honestly thought you would be the last one to forsake me, but apparently I was wrong."

Santana's head snapped up at the sound of his voice. It took her a moment before the words registered to her. And before she could control herself, she was saying, "Don't be unreasonable! The rest of the Cheerios—"

"—would make fun of you for dating a sparkle-snatcher," Brett finished for her, his blue eyes flashing angrily.

Santana froze.

After a minute of Brett glaring daggers at the space above Santana's left shoulder, he lowered his head, slumping his shoulders. He covered his face with his hands. He swallowed before speaking in a softer, sadder voice. "I know what people have been saying about me… and yeah, their words used to hurt me, but… I learned not to mind them since I had this one person, this wonderful person… who thought I was wonderful, too." He dropped his hands and looked at her. "I thought I had you."

Santana felt her heart twisting painfully inside her chest. She took a step towards him. "Brett…" She reached out to touch him but stopped herself. No, this wasn't the time to distract themselves with actions. Words were needed now, words to clear up the mixed messages that she had been sending to him for almost two years now, words to salve the wounds she had caused. She clenched her fist and dropped it to her side.

She took a few more steps toward him until she was only a foot away from him. She then sat herself on the floor. Brett watched her closely but didn't say anything.

"I never stopped believing in you, Brett. I still think you're wonderful, that you're this amazingly smart, talented and sweet person, the best in this world. And I know this doesn't excuse whatever I said to JBI or to those girls but I didn't mean any of those words. I'm really sorry for putting myself and my fear first, for hurting you time and again, for not being the good friend, the best friend that you deserve." To Santana's surprise, her eyes were stinging with tears. She inhaled sharply, to keep the tears at bay. She thought of pausing until the feeling passed but she wanted to take advantage of the momentum of truth-telling/heart-baring, so she powered through. "You mean so much to me, and I swear that if you forgive me, I will never deny how much you mean to me."

Santana stopped when a sob almost escaped from her lips. She lowered her face because she didn't think she could keep the tears from falling anymore. And hell, she wouldn't want to pressure Brett into forgiveness because she started crying.

Brett was silent for a while and it took everything Santana to keep her shoulders still and to not make any sound. Just as she thought she was about to burst, Brett spoke.

"Do you promise?"

Santana took three shallow breaths and one deep one before she lifted her face. She met Brett's blue eyes steadily. "I promise."

Brett broke into a small smile. "Then pinkie-swear it."

He raised his right pinkie and held it in front of him. Santana felt her heart ready to burst at the seams as she raised her own right pinkie and twined it with his.

"I pinkie-swear it," Santana sobbed.

In one swift motion, Brett gathered her in his arms, lifting her up and twirled her around. Santana let out a squeak of surprise. After a minute of twirling around the room, he put her down on the bed. Dizzy, Santana flopped like a bag of potatoes. Brett's bed was soft and comfortable and smelled so much like him, musky with a hint of vanilla. She closed her eyes as she tried to gather her wits, but she soon rolled over to her side, nuzzling the covers for his scent. The bed dipped as Brett laid himself in front of her.

"Now I'm jealous of my bed."

Santana's eyes shot open as she reddened. Brett was looking at her with this big smile on his face, his blue eyes twinkling with such unbridled happiness. Santana's heart smote her as she realized how quickly Brett got over every crappy thing she had done to me.

"You forgive me?" she asked in a small voice. "Just like that?"

"Yeah." He rubbed her arm when the half-doubtful, half-contrite look on her face remained. "Hey, even Jesus forgave his bestie and ate out at KFC after he denied him three times, right?"

Santana chuckled. She reached out to grab the hem of Brett's shirt. He quirked an eyebrow as a coy smile appeared on his lips. "Are we getting to the make-up sex part? 'Cause my parents and Hailey are at the art fair."

"Feeling frisky, are we?" laughed Santana. She ran her thumb at the seams of his shirt. "Can we… can we just stay like this for a while?"

Brett nudged his forehead against hers, his face so close that Santana could count the freckles. "As long as you want," he whispered, his breath tickling her lips.

As much as she wanted to close the distance, Santana focused on watching Brett's eyes instead, how the light and shadows changed their blueness, making them known and unknown to her, how they could shift from the color of a clear blue sky to the deep dark depths of the sea. Santana couldn't help but feel that despite having known Brett for eight years and knowing stuff from his shoe size to the quirky way he would twirl his thumbs when he was excited, there were still a lot that she didn't know about him. She wondered if this was because she had never really paid attention, or if they were recent changes that had escaped her notice. Either way, it still boiled down to the fact that it was because she who hadn't tried hard enough to know everything there is to know about him.

"You're thinking too much."

Santana snapped out of her daze. "Huh?"

"You have this look on your face." Brett furrowed his brows and wrinkled his nose which made Santana laugh.

"No, I don't, you dork!"

Brett relaxed his features into his gentle smile. "No, you don't," he agreed. "Have I told you how much I love your laugh? 'Cause I do. I love it very much."

"Good, because you make me laugh all the time."

A look of tenderness crossed Brett's face. He leaned closer to Santana. "I'm going to kiss you now."

Santana only smiled and waited for Brett to claim this. When his lips touched hers, a jolt ran straight down to her center, urging her to press even closer to him. It felt like the first time all over again. She caught his lower lip between hers, sucking it. Brett shifted and he ran his tongue across Santana's upper lip, which earned him a startled gasp. Santana felt him smile against her lips. They went on kissing wetly until the need for air became too urgent.

A whine escaped Brett's lips as Santana pulled away. She smirked.

"You want me."

"I do."

Santana stopped at the look of such frank honesty on his face, his blue eyes dark with want, his face flushed and his breath coming out in pants. He leaned over to kiss her again. "I want you."

And with that, all thoughts of teasing fled Santana's mind. This wasn't just any guy who she could play with, who she could dangle sex in front of and then bait until he grovelled to her feet. No, this was Brett, Brett who was everything good in this miserable, stinking world.

She reached out to touch his face, her thumb caressing his lower lip before she put her hand at the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her until his whole body lay flushed against her own.

Santana would have been content to lie like this when she remembered something, something that she told Quinn didn't bother her so much but which, in truth, bothered her a hell lot. Brett must have felt something shift inside her since he pulled back a little to look at her in the face.

"What's wrong, San?"

"It's…" She wanted to say nothing, but she didn't want to start lying and covering up again, not when she had made such good progress tonight, not when Brett had given her his trust once again. So even if it embarrassed her to be broaching this topic, she urged herself on. "H-Have you been… um…" Santana began again in a voice that was barely above a whisper, "g-giving head to the football team?"

To her surprise, Brett didn't look offended at the question. He just said, "No," and then his face screwed up in disgust. "I wouldn't give head to guys who don't wash their junk. That's, like, revolting."

Santana sighed in relief before realizing something. "Wait, so you don't mind giving head?"

"I don't. If the bits are clean, of course."

She froze, her blood turning cold. "Brett, are you gay?"

Without missing a beat, he replied, "And happy, too." At the torn expression on Santana's face, he amended. "I like everybody, San."

"B-but, how can you like both boys and girls? How can you still like boys, when you can have girls?"

Brett grinned. "Wow, now that just sounded gay, coming from you."

Santana could feel her face heating up in embarrassment. "Not you too," she groaned. "I've had enough of that from Quinn."

Brett's eyebrows quirked up in interest. "Oh? What'd she say?"

"Nothing much," said Santana, hoping to divert the conversation. "She just gave me a talking to. Can you believe it? Quinn, of all people!"

"That's not really surprising," Brett hummed against her hair. "Quinn's nice."

"You think everybody's nice."

"No, I don't. I think Finn's an idiot and Puck's a jerk. But anyway, I know what you're doing, Santana. What did Quinn say?"

"I'd rather not relive the conversation, Brett. It still feels surreal to me."

"Like Fruit Loops?" Brett frowned. "It was tasty? Were you hooking up with Quinn?"

"Dear god, Brett! No! Surreal, like it was so strange that it seemed like part of an alternate world." She glanced at him and saw that he had his puppy-dog eyes and pout on. She sighed. "You really are unfair, you know that? Quinn was just being her egoistic self, I swear Berry must be rubbing off on her." Santana added inside her head '… wanky.' "She was spouting all this crap about me…" She flushed and she mumbled the next words. "…having a crush on her."

"Well, Quinn is pretty. Hey, maybe we can invite her over!" Brett grinned. Then he added in a sing-song voice. "One two three, not only you and me…"

"Are you for real, Brett Pierce?!"

"Yup!"

"No, we're not inviting her or anyone else! If we're gonna have sex, it's just going to be you and me. So you better deal with it!"

"Hmmm, I don't find anything worthy of a complaint with that." Brett nuzzled her neck, kissing down a trail. "So what made Quinn think you've got the hots for her?"

"You're really not dropping this, are you?"

"Hey, any information regarding your potentially fluid teen sexuality is a matter of great importance to me." Santana could feel him grin cheekily against her skin.

Santana sighed before lowering her eyes. "It's how I know so much about her, I guess… and how much I hate her. Things that apparently have to have something to do with attraction instead of just plain utter loathing."

"Well, why do you hate her, San?"

"Because she's such an overachieving bitch."

"Saaan."

Santana felt heat rush to her face. "She's… I don't know. She's like this poster girl for what a girl should be like in high school—cheer captain, popular, straight-A, blonde. I guess she's everything I've always wanted to be."

"Oh San." Brett gave her a firm chaste kiss. "Quinn's great and all, but she has nothing on you. You're the awesomest girl in the school, even without those things that Quinn possesses. You have a good heart, and I should know, I've known you for an eternity!"

The too-big, too-warm feeling bubbled inside Santana's chest, but this time, instead of running away, she pulled Brett even closer to her. She rested her head under his chin. "You're biased," she murmured halfheartedly, as tears began to gather in her eyes.

"I'm awesome."

"That you are." They lapsed into a comfortable silence, broken only by the cadence of their heartbeats. After a minute of this, Santana asked, almost shyly, "Brett, what does it mean, you liking everybody?"

Brett squeezed her before answering. "It means just that, San. It doesn't really matter much to me what a person has or hasn't, physically. Besides, I love the human body, and I love exploring the ways in how to make people feel good because it also helps me how to make myself feel good."

"Oh."

When Santana didn't say anything more, Brett frowned. "Are you okay?"

Santana felt a lump forming in her throat. "I… It's stupid, Brett."

"Hey, I'm sure that whatever it is, it's not. Come on, San. Tell me."

"I… I want you to be mine… and mine alone." Santana ducked her head to hide her embarrassed blush. She began fiddling with the edge of the blanket again. "Told you it was stupid."

Brett raised himself up with his elbow. "Hey," he said softly. "What makes you think I'm not yours?"

"Because you espouse that 'free love' shit. You said it yourself you love sharing yourself with others. But I'm not as good as you are. I'm selfish, and I want you, only you… and I want you to want only me, too." Santana let out a nervous laugh. At the silence that met her words, she grew anxious and she shook her head. "Just forget what I said."

As she turned to get out of bed, she felt Brett's hand on her wrist, stopping her. "Wait, San."

Santana stiffened at the contact. She didn't move for a few moments, gathering whatever was left of her courage to look back at Brett. When she turned her body to face him, she kept her eyes on the bedsheets. "Yeah?" she mumbled.

"Hey, look at me." Brett tilted her chin up until her eyes were on his bright blue ones.

"I want you, Santana. I do, I really, really do. I've wanted you ever since I first laid eyes on you, when you were the tiny potty-mouthed Red Ranger who swore to protect the other children at the playground from the likes of Rick and Azimio." He looked into her eyes with an intensity that made her shiver. But as Santana was drawn into his eyes, he seemed to be searching something in hers as well. She wasn't sure if he found it but he flickered his eyes down. She was about to ask him what was wrong when she saw that the tips of his ears were pinking.

"Brett?"

At the sound of his name, he raised his face again and hesitated only for a brief moment before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. Which nevertheless made Santana want more, and as he was pulling back, she trailed after him. It was kind of amazing how the admission of him wanting her could turn her on more than anything.

But Brett let out a soft laugh as he gently pushed her back. She pouted in annoyance.

His face was pink, and his mouth was quirked up in that lopsided smile which usually meant that he was going to admit some secret. A secret that Santana could care less about at the moment because honestly, she just wanted to get her mack on. This shy boy persona that Brett showed at times never failed to shoot straight to her core.

Santana leaned in once again but Brett firmly kept her in place. "I want to tell you something," he said, somewhat breathlessly.

"Well then, tell me now. Or maybe after. After is good." Santana zeroed in on the freckle sitting at the right corner of his mouth. She licked her lips and she took a small sense of satisfaction to see it caused Brett to squirm.

But instead of pushing her down to the bed, he took a deep breath before pressing his forehead against hers so that she would meet his gaze again.

"I love you, Santana. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else in this world." He rubbed his nose against hers in an Eskimo kiss. "I love a lot of people, but I love you the most, and I will choose you over everyone else every single time." He paused before adding in a softer voice, "I'm yours, if you'll have me, sparkle-snatcher and all."

Santana could feel a lump growing in her throat as she flung her arms around Brett, holding him close. "What are you even saying?" she choked out. "Of course, I'll have you, I'll have every inch of you, everything you are… you know I'll always love you most, Brett Pierce." She could feel him smiling against her neck. She drew back to look at those blue eyes again.

"And we'll be sparkle-snatchers together."

xxx

"All right, guys! Before we begin discussing this week's theme, Santana has something she wants to perform for us."

"Wait a minute, Mr. Schue; last time, Bretton had asked for the very same thing and while I do applaud my clubmates for finally seeing how music can be a great avenue for them to channel their otherwise carnal energies, might I remind them, and you too, Mr. Schue, of the pressing need for us to focus on our Sectionals performances, which would feature my voice prominently, hence every opportunity given to members to indulge in their half-hearted attempts to showcase their mediocre talents is an opportunity that I am deprived of and which very well may cost us—ow!"

"Oops." Santana shrugged as Rachel rubbed the side of her head where a crumpled piece of paper (which suspiciously looked heavier than it should have any right to be) had hit her.

Santana made her way to the front. She could feel her heart hammering inside her chest although there was none of the usual feeling of dread, only a desire to do things right. Her face broke into a wide smile, which made the rest of the club draw their chairs back a little in suspicion. Santana just rolled her eyes, undeterred. She took a deep breath before speaking.

"This song is for my boyfriend, Brett Pierce."

As the first notes were plucked out of the guitar, Santana, still with a huge smile on her face, turned her gaze to Brett, who also had a huge grin on his face.

Daydreamer
sitting on the sea, soaking up the sun,
he is a real lover
of making up the past and feeling up his girl
like he's never felt her figure before.

Brett's face pinked as he probably remembered the night before, or rather the nights ever since they had confessed their love to each other. There was just so much love and pride in his eyes, like he was feeling so lucky at having his girlfriend sing a song to him.

Santana shook her head at that; she was the one who was lucky here.

Daydreamer
with eyes that make you melt, he lends his coat
for shelter
plus he's there for you when he shouldn't be
but he stays all the same and waits for you
and sees you through.

Santana could feel the truth in the lyrics, remembering all those times when Brett waited for her patiently to realize things on her own.

For so long she had been afraid of being different to the point that she had changed much of herself, and almost forsook Brett. But then she realized that in the end, what mattered was to find somebody who would hold her hand and not be afraid to be different with her, and to be able to do the same for him.

There's no way I
could describe him;
what I'll say is
just what I'm hoping for.

She didn't need other people's approval, not when she could have somebody love her the way Brett loved her, or rather, have someone like Brett love her.

But I will find him sittin' on my doorstep,
waiting for a surprise
and he will feel like he's been there for hours.

As long as she had him, being different wasn't so bad after all.

And I can tell that he'll be there for life.
I can tell that he'll be there for life.

And she could only hope that in those other worlds, if they existed, she wasn't as stupid as she was in this one.

Because a world in which she and Brett didn't end up together was a world not worth being in.

But somehow she knew, deep in her heart, that they would always found their way to each other.

They were soulmates, after all.

---

A/N: Title taken from Naya Rivera's tweet. Songs used are Gin Blossoms' "'Til I Hear It From You" and Adele's "Daydreamer."