I just want to thank holycowomgitsjenn from tumblr for being the Santana to my Brittany in the roleplay that inspired this. If it wasn't for her posts, I'm pretty sure my characterization of Santana wouldn't be like this, so the thanks go to her.

Her dad had spent way too much time searching through stores in the area, going as far as Columbus to get it, but it just had to be perfect. It sucked you in, and was made of the softest, dark brown suede. The massive cushions would suck you in in the most comfortable way possible. It was cool to the touch, and on most days, at least 3 blankets were laying on top of the backrest.

In the summer, this was were the two girls spend most of their free time together. Intertwined, a mound of limbs and hair, they'd lay there for hours, watching movies, the wireless Xbox controller always within reach, neither girl wanting to get up to put a movie on.

Santana would always curl up top of Brittany, one arm wrapped around the blond's arm, the other arm's hand was laced with the other girl. Brittany never told Santana this, usually because she was never quite sure how to word it, but she loved the Latina's skin tone, and the pattern it created when they were like this. Britt was always weirdly happy to see her pale skin, mixing in with Santana's tan skin, the contrast pleasing her. But everything about the girls was contrasting. It was funny, Brittany could have easily been attacked daily by Santana, but she never was. From the start, Santana knew something was different about the girl, something her heart told her but her mind wasn't telling her what it meant. Even though Santana was cold to everyone else, she was soft and warm to Brittany.

"Remember that one time, like last year, when I broke my wrist and the doctor only gave me a brace and I cried so hard I forgot to breath because I wanted a cast?" Brittany mused softly, her free hand gently curled around a lock of Santana's dark hair.

Santana smiled and laughed, "You had snot all over your face, it was gross. I'm still pissed at that doctor. I swear Coach told him to do that just to punish you. It wasn't your fault you had to hold tubbers up. I wish he would have given you better pain pills. I hate seeing you cry." I wanted to punch him, she added silently. Santana had a silent oath to Brittany to always protect her. Always. When Santana was hurt, which was more than the brunette would let the blond recognize, Britt was there, softly petting the girl's hair and back.

"I wasn't crying because it hurt. I just wanted a cast so people could write on it and tell me they love me."

Santana's forehead wrinkled, "B, you don't need a cast just so people will tell you they love you."

"But then people could write on it."

"I know, but you don't need a cast for that."

"Should I ask them to write on my arm then?"

Santana suppressed a giggled, "I guess that could work, but the ink would wash off in the shower. I repeat, you don't need a cast to get people to say they love you."

"Oh." For a moment, Brittany looked minutely sad.

"Why do you want to do that so bad?"

"If someone says they love me, the words just sit in the air, and who knows if they ever make it to my ears before they go away. If someone wrote it, it's here forever."

Those simple words repeated in Santana's mind for a moment before she lifted her head, her brown eyes peering into the deep blue eyes of her companion. "B…" she smiled, her voice soft, shielding herself from the pang in her heart.

"If I wrote a book, would you sign it first?"

"Of course I would."

"San, I love you."

"I know. I do too." Santana whispered. She could never say it directly, never. No matter how much it meant, she could never say I love you too, B. It was too hard, and every time she tried, the words would get caught in her throat, and she'd feel like she was suffocating. So she started to settle and say things that she hoped Brittany would understand in return. Dittos and agreeing, that's all she could say. And most of the time, barely loud enough for the girl to hear.

"I can feel your heart beating faster. Are you going to die?"

Santana smiled a let out a soft laugh, "No, you goof." Santana wrapped both her arms around the girl, hugging tightly, her face hidden in the crook of Brittany's neck. She smelled of lemons today, lemons and roses. Brittany had several lotions and perfumes that she would use in rotation. Santana never told her how much she looked forward to Fridays. Thursday was lemon, but the lemon was strong so no matter how hard Brittany tried, it would last until Friday, and Friday was rose. It created this strange mix that only Santana appreciated. She'd never let her know, at least directly, but Brittany knew she was always extra touchy on Fridays, but she figured it was just because it was Friday and it was the day before Saturday.

"Please don't. One time Rachel talked about how she thought that Finn would die and that she wasn't looking forward to throwing herself at his coffin. I don't want to do that to you, San." Brittany smiled, her arms wrapping around Santana in return. "San. You smell."

"Well. Thanks."

"No, I mean, not badly," she sighed and closed her eyes, "Remember that one summer we went up to the big lake, and I said I never wanted to leave because I liked how it smelled? That's what you remind me of."

"A big... Stinky lake?" Santana lifted herself up, and quirked an eyebrow.

"No. Calming. Familiar. Artie smells like cheetos."

Artie.

Santana would never admit how hurt she was to find out her best friend was dating him, like she had some claim over the girl. She did, but one that wasn't going to be acknowledged any time soon, she thought. But it hurt. A lot. It started off as just a little heat around her heart, and then grew into a vicious biting sensation whenever she thought of her with him. And after that, she just tore everyone's relationship apart. But she tired messing with Artie and Brittany, it worked. A little. But fate pulled the two back together. And then she stopped trying to pull them apart, and just went for everyone else. Finn and Rachel, Quinn and Sam, although Quinn and Sam were already falling apart due to Finn, but Santana took note, and pride, in the fact that she was the messenger. She cleared her throat, "How are you two, by the way?" She tried so hard not to let her jealously poison her words, and she prayed for them to come out smoothly.

"Fine. I guess."

Fine. I guess."B, I don't like the sound of that."

"No, it's ok. Artie is cute and everything. But," She wrinkled her nose, "All he does is play video games and make comments about my boobs. It's silly, San, but it bothers me. When he touches me, it just feels like skin."

"Skin feels like that."

"No, I mean. When you touch the person you love, it should feel like you're on fire, but it's a good kind of burn that you don't want to get rid of. One that just… sits in your soul and helps you run."

"I'm not catching what you mean, B."

She didn't want to tell her that every time they touch, Brittany feels like everything goes hot. Starting with where Santana may have touched, from a simple hug to something much more, it heat starts there and just grows, slowing covering the girl. She didn't want to tell her that every time Santana touched her, that all she wanted to do was hold her in her arms and never let go. Santana may have been able to protect Brittany, but only Brittany could protect Santana's heart. But Brittany left it at, "I don't know either, San."

Santana nodded, seeming to accept the answer, and they spent some time in silence, the only sound was soft breathing and the movie.

"San."

Santana made a soft noise in response, her eyes closed.

"Will you grow old with me?"

"Of course," she mumbled softly.

"Will you go to the same nursing home?"

"Once again, of course. We'll run that joint."

"You run, Santana. I'll be behind you."

"Oh?"

"Always."

"Oh."

All she wanted to do was take Brittany's face into her hands, stare into her eyes, and whisper the three words her heart never wanted her to say. All she wanted was to take Brittany in her arms and never let go. All she ever wanted was Brittany.

All she ever loved was Brittany.

But she couldn't have her, at least not now, or maybe even ever. All Brittany knew is that Santana made her happy, maybe she didn't know just how much she loved Santana. Santana knew though, she knew how much Brittany loved her. And Santana hoped people didn't notice just how much she loved Brittany. The silly little glances, the way her face softens around her, the way that Santana always gripped Brittany's pinky with her own more tightly than the other girl's.

Brittany was the only one who ever say Santana truly cry. Not the loud nasty cries like Brittany has. But when Santana truly cries, from her heart, she sits there, tears streaming down her face, too powerful to make any sounds, her body forgetting about everything else except tears.

"I'll be next to you forever."

I hope so.

"Can we have wheel chair races down the hallways?"

"Of course."

"Artie has lights on his wheels, did you know that? I want lights on my wheels."

Santana laughed, she never noticed the lights on his wheels, but knew that she'd probably be focusing on them from now on. She was sure that's what Brittany did too. "Sure, B. I'll even get you a card that you can clip on somehow for it to make noises when you roll."

"Artie told me that when he was younger, he used to make car noises whenever he'd have to use his wheelchair."

"That's… both sad and sweet, B."

"You're very sad too, San."

Santana's voice caught in her throat, unable to respond. She hated how Brittany always knew when something was wrong with Santana.

"You're a lot like Dave, San."

She grumbled, "Do. Not. Compare. Me. To. Him."

Brittany brought a hand to Santana's face, touching her cheek softly, "No, it's true. You're both sad. He's hurting, just like you, San." Brittany pressed her forehead to Santana's, lining them up, and closed her eyes.

"Don't say that."

"But it's true. I can't lie."

"You don't have to lie, you can just not say it. I'm nothing like him." She knew she was, deep down in her soul, but she just didn't know how, as the idea that Dave Karofsky was indeed a homosexual never crossed her mind, at least in a serious fashion. But then again, the idea that she was a homosexual, or even bisexual, never crossed her mind because she'd reject the idea before she started to think about it. "Let's not talk about this right now," She said, avoiding the subject. Santana shifted positions, placing a soft kiss on her couch-mates forehead. She could feel Brittany's forehead wrinkle, then soften. She softly dragged her finger down Brittany's arm, her fingers lacing with Brittany's again. Brittany pulled the arms in between the girls, and settled them down on her chest, just above their hearts.

`Brittany let out a soft breath, and the movie credits started to roll, and they spent the few minutes of black screen and white text in a weird silence, each feeling the other persons heart beat next to their hands.

"I love you, San." Thump… Thump.

"I know, I do too," she repeated. Thump, thump, thump, thump. She felt like her heart was going to fall out of her chest, or explode from her chest and go flying around the room like a deflating balloon. But she just swallowed, the words locked in her lungs.

I love you, B.