I'm sorry I suck and haven't updated This Isn't Dating in ages. I swear I'm going to. I'm sorting through my feelings for this season and working shit out. Promise. But meanwhile, have some fluffy Brittana.

We were four when we met, okay? Back before kids thought of everyone as 'boy' or 'girl'. So maybe I fell in love with her then before I knew I wasn't supposed to. It doesn't make me gay... It just means I never stood a chance.

Like, how was I supposed to resist her? She was a skinny little thing with two blonde braids and bruised knees. Everyone could always see the gap where her first lost tooth had been because she never stopped smiling – or hardly ever – and she was always making friends even though not everyone understood half the things she said. I did try to ignore her. Seriously. She said "Hi, I'm Brittany!" and held out her tiny hand and I ignored her and kept scribbling on my coloring page. So she leaned in closer to me and pressed her hands to the table top and whispered, "Your drawing is pretty." Again I ignored her. Then it was, "Why do you write with your funny hand?" I got mad then and told her that she should shut up or I'd hit her in her funny face. Most kids got scared of me when I said stuff like that. Brittany only smiled and whispered, "If you colored those clouds pink, they'd taste like cotton candy."

How the actual fuck was I supposed to resist that?

"What's your name?"
"Santana."

"You're really pretty."

"… whatever."

"I like your hair."

"Leave me alone."

"Do you want to be my very best friend forever, Santana?"

"…. Yeah."

She had me wrapped against her goddamned red-marker-stained finger. Sneaky little bitch.

By the time we were fourteen, boys and girls had very distinct roles. Boys liked girls (and I'm not talking about the crappy band). That was just how it was. I spent the summer after eighth grade singing the praises of Noah Puckerman, my future high school boyfriend, while Brittany spoke vaguely of the idea of dating Mike Chang. Still, despite our bright dating plans, we spent that entire summer together- just like every other summer. We talked about those boys, but we didn't bother to talk to them in all the spare time we had. Instead we watched movies and cuddled, moving back and forth between our two houses but never leaving one another for more than two days in a row. I mentioned something about wanting to kiss Puck during one of our sleepovers and Brittany went quiet for a while. Then she asked, "Do you want to kiss him?" and all I could ask was "Who?" because that conversation had been like, a whole five minutes ago. "Puck," she replied. "Yeah, I guess. That's what happens when you like someone, BrittBritt."

"You like me."

"Of course. You're my best friend."

"Do you want to kiss me?"

"I… That's a different kind of like, Britt."

"I want to kiss you, too."

And then she kissed me and I was totally wrapped around her watermelon-lip-smackers-coated mouth. Or whatever, because that kind of sounds weird.

So now here I am, eighteen years old and so hopelessly in love with her that I can't even fucking try to love someone else the same way. Why would I want to? My Brittbritt was perfect- sweet, kind, happy, beautiful, and really good with her hands if you know what I mean. I love to touch her. I love to be touched by her. And not just like that, you fucking perv. But like… the simple things. The linking of our pinkies, the brush of her fingers over my knee, the way she'll lean over and peck me on the cheek when I do something that makes her super happy. And it was hard at first. To accept that I loved her. I guess I fucked it up for a while, but whatever. I got my shit together for senior year and asked her to be my right-there-in-fucking-public girlfriend.

She had me totally wrapped around those long dancer's legs. In several really interesting positions.

And that totally doesn't make me gay.