This is my first time writing HeYa, so I'm a bit nervous about posting it, but I hope that you enjoy it. It's fairly angsty and fluffy at the same time, so I hope that it makes you smile and cry. Well, I don't hope that it makes you cry, but you get the idea. I hope that it makes you FEEL something. Please R&R. Also, it's a second-person perspective from Naya's POV, so hopefully that doesn't confuse you.
"Please teach me gently
How to breathe without you."
- The xx, "Shelter"
You feel out of character as your body shakes and heaves against Heather's firm hold around you. Your family is the last thing you want to see right now and you feel like Heather is the only one that you can rely on. She's been through something like this. After all, people can't offer proper condolences when they're going through the same exact pain that you are.
Heather currently has a death grip on you, as if she's afraid you'll go and kill yourself if she lets go. Your head is buried into her breasts and she doesn't seem to mind, which is strange in a slightly comforting way. Maybe it's the heat of the moment. Maybe she's returning your long hidden gay feelings towards her. But right now, you really can't keep your mind on anything else for too long.
You look, hoping to maybe catch a broken and solitary breath, but no such luck. Your crying actually deepens when you see that Heather's eyes have slightly filled up and then spilled over. You know what this is for. She's crying for you. She can feel your pain and anguish filling your tears and then seeping into her pores.
Your cries reach a climax, even though you thought that they couldn't get more intense, and you're suddenly fairly aware of your surrounding for a minute. But just a minute. You think that Lea and Dianna can possibly hear your sobs in their trailer next door. But then, after only a moment, you lose your senses again. You can't breath, you can't see, you can't hear. The only thing you know is that you can feel Heather's warmth around you like a blanket. She's rocking you back and forth, your face still buried in her chest. You've lost the use of your legs as they're splayed out limply on the couch behind you. Your throat is raw, your lips are chapped and you're shaking like you're an epilepsy patient.
Heather has no idea what to do. You're too out of control to do anything for yourself, but she's barely ever seen you cry with the exception of a few times, much less have a full-out mental breakdown. You're not a very emotional person. She's afraid that you're going to hyperventilate and pass out. In all reality, her ideas and worries are extremely plausible.
She was in a similar situation ten years ago - that dark time when she was an outsider in high school and ignored everybody else. However, she can't seem to find a comparison to the utter pain, anguish and heartbreak radiating off of your emotionally broken and scarred body since you first found out.
R.I.P. Mychal Rivera.
You didn't cry when you first found out. You didn't even move or speak. Ryan was the one to tell you when you were on break. You never saw it coming. One minute you were trying to read whatever the latest thing was - people were shocked when they found out that you had a strange fetish for reading - and the next minute you were sitting there in a lapse of pure shock.
Heather was on vacation. She was in Louisiana, visiting her boyfriend, Taylor, when Ryan burst into your trailer looking dejected and telling you that you could have a week or two off to piece things together. The only words you said over a three day period were "get the hell out of my trailer."
But other than that, you didn't say anything. You just sat there in stony cold silence, waiting for Heather to come back. A bee flew in when Amber came to offer her condolences. It stung you, but you didn't react. Not at all. Each and every cast and crew member came to offer their sympathy and prayers, but you sat there, shutting your body off, unwilling to move or speak or cry. Heather was the only one who could offer real empathy.
Then, finally, on the third day, Heather came back from Louisiana and didn't expect you to be in the trailer. You assumed that you had lost about five pounds or so during the course of the three days.
Heather dropped her bags on the floor of the trailer and made her way in, only to see you still sitting there, hands tangled through your hair. She's cautious coming in, sitting down next to you and draping an arm around you.
"Hey," she whispers. "I heard what happened. I know you know that I'm here if you need me."
You looked up into her eyes, the most beautiful and gentle things you've ever seen and suddenly, you just broke. Something inside of you tore and the pain was ripping throughout your body. You began sobbing into her chest, shaking and dry heaving repeatedly. She looked down upon you with so much love, compassion and empathy in her eyes that it was enough to make you stop breathing all together and gasp for a simple dose of oxygen.
She held you for an hour and a half as you let out all of the pent-up feelings you had been hiding since eight seventeen on Monday night until Heather's flight got it at five thirty seven Pacific Time on Thursday evening.
You're told that one of Mychal's last wishes was to be cremated and have his ashes spread around the Tennessee Volunteers football stadium. You swallow tightly before you tell your mother to let the funeral home do it so that you could get everything over with faster.
You walk over to Heather's outstretched hand by where she's standing in the lobby and she kissed your cheek gently and squeezes your hand tightly. You grip it back like it's a lifeline walking back to the car because you've just realized that you'll never see your brother's face again, whether he's dead or alive.
Suddenly, your knees stop functioning and Heather catches you quickly just before you almost collapse completely.
Both of you are sitting in the trailer after visiting the funeral home, and all you're trying to do is pretend like nothing's happened. You compare yourself to Quinn's parents in an early episode: if you don't talk about a bad feeling, it doesn't exist.
Oh, but this one does. It does and it's powerfully eating away at you every second, but you're strong. You sit there with Heather before deciding to get up and look through the cupboard for some sort of snack.
"Naya, could you hand me the Goldfish?" Heather's voice sounds out from behind you and you grab them off the middle shelf and hand them to her, reaching a hand behind your back as you roll your eyes surreptitiously.
"Goldfish. Of course, what else?" You realize that your voice is weary and shows traces of crying and rawness. You ignore it and you think that Heather does too.
You're trying to get back into your mood of pure sarcasm and humor, but it's not just Mychal's death that's eating away at you like a leech getting on your body and never coming off. It's your feelings for Heather as well. You're overwhelmed and you can't take it. You want to break down, but you've already done that. It really didn't do much for you except allow you to bury your face in Heather's breasts.
You want her so badly. You also want your brother back. "Don't talk or think about it," you whisper to yourself. "Just don't."
"Sorry, what was that?" Heather questions innocently, and you know that she just wants to hear what you said.
"Nothing," you reply airily, sitting down with a package of peanut butter crackers. "Nothing at all."
She looks at you curiously and seems to be examining your face to see if she can find any trace of vulnerability or willingness to let your emotions shine through at least one more time.
You remain a rock. Your face will not crack with the indenations of simple salty tears. "So, do you have your lines memorized for the next episode yet?" you ask, because all you really want right now is some casual conversation. Your mask won't crack. It doesn't, much to your relief.
"Yeah, I do. I have the best lines, as always. But why do you? I thought that Ryan was giving you some time off?"
You look down and twiddle your thumbs, a surprising talent that nobody else can really seem to get the hang of. "Yeah, he did. I just chose not to take the majority of it off. No real reason too once you've gotten your main emotions out and the rest of your family is planning the funeral. All I have to do is attend."
"Naya," Heather puts her hand on yours, and you can feel a subconcious breath intake, which, thankfully, she doesn't notice. "I know that you're far from over this. It's hard to handle your emotions, and honestly, I don't know how you're doing it." She pauses slightly and then continues. "I know what it's like to lose somebody close to you, Nay."
Dammit, HeMo, you're making me break! You're lip is trembling and you know it. You let a solitary tear slide down, and bam! You're mask is split in half.
"It's okay to cry."
"I'm just really, really overwhelmed right now," you admit to her, and then you begin to lower your voice. "It's not just Mychal. You're breaking me, and I - I just don't know what to do."
Heather's next breath is sharp. "What am I doing to break you, Naynay? Are you mad at me?"
"Oh God, no," you let out a watery chuckle. "Oh, Heather, I could never be mad at you. It's just...It's just..."
Heather looks away out the window. You look out too and you can see Cory and Amber walking side by side, laughing so loudly that you can hear them inside the trailer.
Thank you, God. Distraction gladly taken.
But the distraction doesn't last long.
"Just spit it out, Naya. I don't really give a damn what it is. I just want to know what's eating at you."
Crap. There's no way out of this for you.
"It's just Mychal, and when I was doing nothing for those three days, I finally just came to terms with myself." You leg is shaking uncontrollably under the table. "I've known about this forever, but I finally just accepted it." You take a deep breath and try to prepare yourself. "I love you."
Heather laughs. "I know you love me!" she says enthusiastically, her goddamn perfect eyes gleaming. "I love you too!"
"No, HeMo. I'm in love with you."
Heather goes quiet and the color drains from her face. Her breath is coming shortly and quickly and you can't stand to see her stressed. She stands up and grabs her jacket.
Your eyes widen and you can't believe you just told her what you did. "Where are you going?"
"I - I," she stumbles. "I just need some fresh air. Let me think about this, Naya."
You watch her walk out of the trailer door and then realize that, as your face crumples, that it's the first time that you've ever cried since you came onto set without her here to comfort you.
You walk out of your trailer at night and the air is crisp. Ryan had called it a day a few hours ago, but you've always sort of enjoyed being on the lot by yourself. There's an air of mystery.
Your boots click on the concrete and a wary blonde lifts her head up from the ledge by the gate and stares straight at you. You know she's watching you so you try and walk faster. She calls your name and when you try to ignore it, she calls it again. You stop, but you don't make eye contact.
"Naya, honey," she pleads. "Please stay. We can talk about this. Work it out."
You freeze. "Really, Heather, because the last time I checked, you abandoned me in the trailer because you didn't want to talk about it. At least it seemed like that." Your expression is fierce and your voice cold and hostile.
"But I'm ready to talk now. I've done some thinking."
"I've been through enough, these past few weeks, HeMo. Just let me be. I may sound like a hyppocrite because I'm the one who wanted to talk about this and all that shit, but please just leave me alone." To your eternal shame, your voice is slightly quivering.
Your face remains as hard as a stone.
"Fine," she concedes. "I'll just go home."
You want to scream and shout, so you do. "You're right! Just go home to your damn roomate and your damn cat and go call your damn boyfriend!"
She hops of the ledge, her face fixed in a slight frown, as she strides over to you. You don't even know how she made it that fast.
But then she's kissing you. At first it's tender and romantic and you don't even realize what's going on until your body begins kissing back for you. It turns intense and you cup her face and you allow her searching tongue entry and it grazes the inside of your lip.
She begins kissing your neck and then trailing your collarbone. You let her.
Suddenly, you jump away, realizing you're in the middle of the studio parking lot. Regardless of it being close to midnight, there are still lingering paparazzi. They know that you like to hang out there late.
"Oh my God, oh my God!" you're whispering to yourself and Heather puts a hand on your shoulder.
"I thought this was what you wanted, Nay." Her eyes are full of concern and love.
You proceed to freak out on her. "Not in a parking lot! I swear there are still a few paparazzi around. They like you, you know. They're able to get a lot out of you."
"I know. I just thought that if you wanted me, it wouldn't matter or not if it was public."
"HeMo, you have a boyfriend! Remember him? Remember Taylor? I just mentioned him before...you know."
Heather looks down at her shoulder, her eyes lingering there for a minute and then back up at Naya's wide eyes. "I've always loved you, Naya. I have to be honest. I was just so shocked when you told me that you loved me too that I had to go somewhere to freak out."
"This is just too unreal," you mutter, running your fingers through your hair.
Heather sighs. "C'mon, Naynay, let's get home. Do you mind if I sleep over? Just to sort stuff out?"
"Fine, yeah..." you trail off. Oh my God.
Your mother calls you the next afternoon, worry lacing her already raw voice. "Naya, your cousin just bailed on part of the funeral planning, and as you know, the funeral's two days from now...Oh my God, honey, can you believe it? That he's really gone?"
She hasn't mentioned anything about the pictures yet. This is a good sign, you decide. "Yeah, mom, I can believe it, but it was a week ago. It's sort of set in with me by now. Besides, I'm pretty distracted right now with...Stuff - you know my job."
"Oh, sweetie, I thought Ryan gave you time off."
"He did, mom, I took a few days off to grieve, but since I wasn't handling the funeral, I came back faster than anticipated."
You can hear your mother's ragged sigh over the line, - the loss was probably much harder for her - and she continues. "Speaking of the funeral, like I said, we need extra help. Can you help out in reception area after the service, just getting stuff set up?"
"Yeah, sure, whatever. Look mom, I love you and all, but I really need to go. It'll all be okay."
Your mother holds back a sob over the phone. "Love you too, Naya. Bye."
You disconnect the line and turn to put in back when you notice Heather in the hallway, holding her cellphone limply, looking dumbfounded with silent tears streaking her cheeks.
You pull her into a tight hug. "Oh, Heath, what's wrong, baby?"
"The pictures were released, and he say them. Taylor." Her voice is wavering. "He broke up with me. He told me he couldn't trust me."
You're honestly worried about her and hurting for her, but you can't help but genuinely worry about the pictures that have been released. Your breath tightens.
"You know what, HeMo, how about you just rest for a while? It might calm you down."
Heather just nods and you help her lay down on the couch and give her her iPod. It's no surprise when the first thing that comes up is the album xx by The xx. You would usually tease her about how much she listens to it, but you decide that right now isn't the right time, and while you like to bother her about it, you have to admit that it's actually really good music.
She falls asleep on your couch and leaves you browsing through the Internet before you finally decide to search your own name on Google News to see what's up. You click on the link.
Glee's Naya Rivera and Heather Morris a Couple?
You read through the article, and it makes a very explicit point of showing that Heather has a boyfriend - now ex. Most of the comments were positive. "I'm happy for them" or "It's about time" and some of them even offer condolences about your brother, but it makes your body shake in anger when you sees comments accusing Heather of being a slut or a lady player.
You leave an anonymous comment of your own telling them to leave Heather alone and that your also very happy for them in a sudden sort of way. They don't know why the anonymous user thinks it's sudden.
You look at her sleeping body with compassion and run your fingers through her hair. It's almost peaceful just looking at her and it gives you a sense of calm from all of the stress you've been experience for the past week or so.
Regardless of showing your feelings or not, you haven't gotten over your brother. You're still devastated contrary to most of the cast's belief, but generally, you're not a very emotional person. You have to get used to this state of emotion and just stay quiet for a bit. Besides, Heather's just as confused. She needs you more than you need yourself right now.
You begin planning out what you're wearing for the funeral two days from now.
The funeral passes uneventfully, but making your way in is a nightmare. You didn't have to travel since all of you had grown up in L.A., but that meant paparazzi. You have to pull Mark and Dianna away from them to get everyone inside to start the service on time. You see Ryan with Ian and Brad in the back, wearing that damn watchcap, but this time it's black. How fitting.
Before you had entered, Heather had been holding your hand, and you'd better believe the paparazzi noticed. They had swarmed you like a pack of hyenas, but then again, what's so different about that?
They rag on Heather about her boyfriend until she finally loses it and practically screams in their faces that they broke up. You can't help but notice how out of character this is for her in terms of interaction with the stalker photographers. For some reason, that's when you remember her mother. This must be why she's acting so stressed. You don't know why it took you so long to realize this.
The funeral passes by incredibly slowly. Heather sits up with you in the front and you've chosen not to make a speech. You cry, of course, because that would look wrong if you didn't. When you do, she hands you a tissue and squeezes your hand.
You head out just before the recessional because you have to get stuff set up in the Church's parish hall. Heather comes with you. You realize that you're all alone in the room, so you kiss her gently, and she kisses you back slowly and softly until you realize that both of you need to stop shoving your tongues down each other's throats and start arranging little cheese cubes on a platter.
You pull away and clear your throat. "Alright, so I'll get the cookies out, and you don't have to do anything, but if you want to..."
Heather blushes and she looks at the door. "Um, yeah...I'll just get out whatever's in the fridge."
"Yeah, good idea."
Heather's phone rings, and you notice that she's changed her ringtone tone to your version of "Songbird". You find that flattering and creepy in a way.
She picks up. "Look mom, right now's not really a good time...Yes, I know that we need to talk...Look I'm at Naya's brother's funeral right now, okay! Okay, I love you too."
The guests start filing in just as you put the last thing down on the table. The reception goes by faster with idle chatting and low music.
You drive Heather back to your house, and her mom calls on the drive there.
"Mom, believe me I know we need to talk."
She puts the phone on speaker so you can hear the conversation, but then signals you to be quiet so that her mother won't sense your presence over the phone.
"You're damn right, we need to talk, Heather Elizabeth! How could you not tell me this? You're going against your beliefs!"
Heather looks like she wants to laugh, but you silently praise her for holding it back. "Mom, honestly, I've never had a problem with gay people. It was just you. I love Naya, and honestly, I can't believe that you would be unhappy with your daugher's happiness."
Apparently, that one struck Ms. Morris fairly well, because all you can hear is her heavy breathing on the line for a few seconds. "Look, Heather, I'll always love you, but honestly, the whole situation makes me quite uncomfortable. It's not in the Bible."
"Mom, just because I'm a Christian doesn't mean I think being gay is wrong. I mean, look at Naya, she has a freaking cross tattooed on her freaking back and she's been supporting the LGBT community for a long time now."
Heather's mother sighs across the line. "Okay, you know what? I'm glad that you're happy, Heather. I really am. I just can't picture you with another girl. It just doesn't compute, and it makes me extremely uncomfortable, so I'm going to have to ask that you just give me some space for a while."
You can partially hear Heather sigh and then a defeated "Fine. I'll talk to you when you're ready to accept me. You may think that you do, but I know that you don't in the bottom of your heart."
You pull up to your apartment and Heather follows you inside, capsizing onto the couch. You put a movie in and at the end you're both quietly crying with your head on her shoulder and her arms around you.
Your brother just passed away, you just confessed your newly-found feelings for your female best friend and you both just accidentally went public with your relationship which caused your mother not to react and Heather's mother to throw a fit, but you're both okay. You're safe and healthy and Heather's hotter than ever. You're happy.
Everything's finally worked itself out.