A/N: This story was written for the Brittana U Monster Fic Mash Project on Tumblr. Like the Christmas story I wrote last year, it is a companion piece to accompany terriblemuriel's story "Hollow." It can stand on its won, but it's 1000 times better when you pair it with its better half.

Kind Of

This isn't a date.

He wouldn't have invited my little sister if this was a date. He wouldn't have said that he didn't want her to miss out on the best corn maze in Ohio if this was a date. He wouldn't have joined in as we sang along to the soundtrack to The Hunchback of Notre Dame the whole way here if this was a date.

But he probably wouldn't have showered and put on aftershave if he wasn't hoping this would turn into kind of a date.

Everything is kind of right now. I'm kind of a senior. Kind of not. Kind of rehabilitating Lord Tubbington. Kind of not. Kind of making more friends. Kind of not.

Kind of with you.

Kind of not.

My sister is dressed as Nicki Minaj, because really, it's a shame to waste a blue wig, fishnet tights, half a Lady Gaga costume, and a makeup kit she got at Toys R Us. She looks awesome and she knows it.

"Hey Nicki," Sam says as we pull into the parking lot. "What happened to the stereo in your parents' car?"

"What?"

"The bass is messed up," he says.

"It is?" my sister asks, wrinkling her nose.

"It doesn't sound very super."

"What?"

I roll my eyes and giggle a little bit as the tires of my parents' van crunch on the gravel outside the corn maze.

It's the night before Halloween and the place is buzzing with kids in costumes. I spy at least three Jack Sparrows, two Tinkerbells, one Dorothy and Toto, and dozens of ghosts and witches and princesses. One baby pumpkin is dangling from his mom's hip, and a Cinderella is having a tantrum beside her mom's SUV. All the children are swarming around the ticket booth and waiting in line for their turn to enter the haunted corn maze, a few occasionally darting around the hive like bees to find a friend or to peer between the stalks, trying to catch a glimpse of what awaits them inside.

I've been coming here for as long as I can remember. I was probably like that baby pumpkin, hanging off my mom's hip, the first time I came here. I watched my sister throw a tantrum just like that Cinderella a few years in a row. I know every monster, every trick, every effect Big Bob uses year after year just like I know my sister's screams are happy screams, not scared screams. Everything about this outing is familiar.

Except this year you're missing.

I wasn't sure if I should come here at all. Even though I've been coming here since before I met you, it feels strange to continue a tradition that became about us the first time my parents invited you. It feels strange to know I won't be leading you, eyes clamped shut, through the maze toward safety. It feels strange to remember hiding while my dad called for us, stealing kisses and trying not to get too much cornhusk in our hair. It feels strange to look at the barn and remember the way you pushed me up against the back wall and whispered naughty things in my ear as you slid your hand up my skirt last year. It feels strange to think maybe I'll never come here with you again.

And it feels strange when Sam offers me his hand, silently asking me to make this a date.

I look at his hand. It's strong. Clean. Handsome. The masculine line of his arm flows up to his face where it's attached to a big-hearted smile that says he wants to walk through the maze holding my hand and exchanging bashful smiles that make me blush up to my ears. Part of me wants that too.

Kind of.

Anything to feel less alone.

When you said it was normal to be attracted to other people, you said it like it was some gem of wisdom you'd excavated from the intellectual mines of Louisville. I nodded and said nothing because I just listen when I see you taking deep breaths for courage. But I knew attractions were normal a long time ago.

I knew when we were eleven and played Truth or Dare and was happy to kiss everyone in the room. I like kissing. It's like a miniature dance. I like the way boys pretend they're in charge of the kiss even though they aren't. I like the way girls get giggly and pretend not to like it as much as they do. And when I got a little older, I learned I like touching and being touched the way I touch myself in bed at night. I like the way boys get quiet and soft and look at me like I'm a lake in a desert or Princess Leia in her gold bikini.

But most of all, I love the way you whisper my name against my neck, dampening me. "Britt... oh god, Britt..."

But being attracted to someone is a far cry from being in love. I'm only in love with one person, and I'm not sure where we stand. I thought being kind of together just meant I shouldn't wait up for your calls and texts every night. I thought it meant we were still best friends. I thought it meant you'd call when you wanted to talk.

But you didn't. I haven't heard from you in three weeks and four days and I don't know what that means. I don't know if you're missing me as much as I miss you. I don't know if your fingers have hovered over my name, contemplating a text to send that would make my stomach stop hurting and my chest stop squeezing. I don't know if I'm like your Cheerio uniform, a once-loved, everyday outfit that now hangs in the back of your closet, the warmth of your skin forgotten in its threads as it gets passed over day after day for something newer. I don't know anything anymore.

I don't know when I'll stop seizing with tears unexpectedly. I don't know when I'll stop waking up gasping in the middle of the night, wondering if I dreamt everything after you are the best thing that's ever been mine. I don't know when I'll feel like my feet are on the ground and I've stopped drifting through my days. I don't know if being unofficially broken up means I have to force myself to try to have fun with someone else because that's how we get what we need, at our age. I don't know if my hand will ever fit with someone else's in the corn maze.

So I reach into my pocket and take out a piece of gum, placing it in Sam's palm. He looks down at it and gives me wincing chuckle.

It isn't what he wanted, but it's what I have to give.

"You know I'll need more than one piece," he says, opening his mouth to remind me he could fit a softball inside.

I giggle and take out another piece.

We approach the ticket booth and the is-this-a-date-or-not tension flares in my stomach. I wish I had more time to figure out if I want this to be a date. I like Sam a lot. He's super attractive and he makes me laugh. He never makes me feel stupid. He's kind to everyone and sweet to my sister.

But he's not you. No matter how charming or sweet or handsome he is, he will never compare.

He pulls out his wallet and I feel a pang. I know he doesn't have much money, and it's sweet that he offers to pay for all three tickets. But that would make this a date, and I don't know if I want it to be. Luckily my mom gave me money for me and my sister, and even though I want to get Tubbs a feline in early recovery collar to motivate him, I mumble something about not lying to my mom. Sam lets me pay for two of the tickets.

I turn away from the ticket counter, shuffling between a few genies and wizards as I count my change and put it in my pocket. I'm relieved I didn't have to decide about the date yet. I'm about to hand my sister her ticket when she sticks her finger in my ribs.

"Britt!" she hisses.

I look up and see the most frightening, wonderful vision in the world.

You're standing there in your Louisville letterman jacket, hands jammed in the pockets as you eye the cornfield. You look radiant, despite your wariness. It's cute that you're still scared of a few stalks of corn and some people in costumes. Your hair is getting long. I love when you wear it down and it shines like your eyes. You haven't noticed me yet, but your little cousin has. She grabs your arm and points to me. I wish I could be like that lady fromCharmed who can freeze time with her hands so I have a minute to prepare for meeting your eyes.

You look spooked, but so beautiful. My heart starts fluttering - or is it pounding? My ears ring and everything but your face blurs. I am sucked into the well of your eyes. I linger between your parted lips. I brush the fear off your cheek.

I see you move towards me, slow and cautious, like you're not sure you should. But your steps grow more sure and a smile spreads across your face like light breaking through curtains in the morning, illuminating every surface and dust particle.

Three weeks and four days is the blink of an eye. You are timeless.

My heart is pounding in my ears. The air around me grows warmer with each step you take. I can't wait to feel your arms around me and sink my nose into your shoulder and breathe in everything that will unclench my stomach and warm the ache in my chest.

We'll hug, right? We have to hug. I think I'll die if we don't.

Before you're close enough to speak without raising your voice, your hand is on my back. I'm confused. How did you do that?

"All set, Britt?" a deep voice asks.

I turn and I'm startled to see Sam's goofy grin.

It's Sam's hand, not yours. I couldn't tell through my jacket.

When he sees my face, his smile turns into a smirk.

"Aw, spooked already?" he asks.

I give him a strained smile and shake my head. I realize I'm not breathing.

His smile wavers and he looks around. After a second, he sees you. He's startled, but not nearly as startled as I am.

He takes his hand off my back.

"Santana!" he greets, moving toward you. "I didn't know you were in town!"

He lurches for a second, unsure if he should hug you. But he does, and even though his back is to me, I know he's smiling his genuine, trouty smile.

Your eyes are still locked on me as you peer over his shoulder. You look more scared than ever.

Sam asks the usual questions. How are you? What are you doing here? How's Louisville? I see your lips move and you force your eyes to meet him as you respond. Good. Babysitting. Fine.

You don't return the questions, your eyes flickering to me. There's a moment of silence that makes my throat feel tight. We have to fill the silence. Oh god, make it stop.

"Hi, Britt," you breathe.

"Hi," I choke.

I love you.

"It's good to see you."

"You too."

I'm shaken from my reverie by my sister, who is tugging on my arm and hissing, "Britt, can I got through the maze with Es?"

I look at you.

"Sure," you exhale, nodding and shaking your head in a weird circular motion. "I'll wait out here." Your attention snags on Sam. "Have-" Your voice catches. "Have fun."

My stomach twists. You don't want to spend time with me.

"I'll take them," Sam says, interrupting as he steps towards the girls. "What better protection from zombies than Nicki Minaj and... what are you, again?"

Esperanza rolls her eyes. "Costumes are lame."

My sister looks down at her costume, doubting herself. Esperanza catches herself and says, "But yours is cool, Ashley."

My sister smiles and itches along the edge of her wig. "Thanks. Britt helped me make it."

There's a moment of silence and tension brought on by Sam's offer. He just offered to take the girls through the maze. He just offered to step out of the kind-of date. He just offered to leave you and me alone.

You clear your throat. "That'd be cool," you say, shrugging like it's no big deal. "Just don't lose them."

You and I know that it's rather difficult to lose Es and Ash in a cornfield. It took us fifteen minutes last year to sneak away so we could have sex against the far wall of the barn. But Sam doesn't have a reason to lose them.

We're at the front of the line now. Sam offers his arms to each of the girls, saying, "Ready, ladies?" Just before they disappear into the corn, Sam's voice drops and takes on a thick, Schwarzenegger accent as he looks over his shoulder at us. "I'll be bahck!"

Now it's just me and you. You look everywhere but at me. That hurts a little. You used to not be able to keep your eyes off me.

"We should go through," I offer. We both have tickets anyway, and we're at the front of the line. And at least if our feet are moving, it will feel like we're doing something other than standing around wondering what the other person is thinking. Maybe in the maze we'll lose the ickiness like we lost the ten year olds last year.

You grimace. "Sure."

When it's our turn to walk in, I poke your shoulder and give you a little smile.

I'll protect you.

Your steps are quick and tenuous, making sure not to trip on any severed stalks. A few yards in, we hear a deep, rumbling laugh from one of the actors that hides in the stalks to scare the children. You shiver.

"So..." you say, trying to ease the tension.

It doesn't work. We're just more tense.

"So," I echo.

There's a pause. I want you to slow down. I know your mind is spinning like the circular Rolodex my dad used to have on his desk when I was little. But we have all the time in the world. We can stay in the cornfield all night if we want. The rest of the world will wait.

I want to know everything that's happened since the last time our lips parted. I want to know every thought, every breath, every footstep. I want to know what you ate for breakfast and if a single touch of your hand on mine will make my chest hurt less. I want to know if I'll ever breathe you again.

"How are you?" I ask.

Some stalks nearby rustle. I see you try not to shiver.

There's nothing too scary in here. Some of the kids that go through are really little, so there's no chainsaws or blood, just a few scarecrows and clowns and sound effects. A crow caws in the distance.

"I'm okay," you say, fumbling with the snaps on your jacket. "Busy."

We walk for an excruciating ten seconds in silence before you ask. "How are you?"

Horrible.

"I'm okay.

"Good."

Another ten seconds crawl by until I can't stand it anymore. This is the worst maze in the world. I stop in my tracks, waiting until you turn, face asking why I've stopped.

"You said you didn't want it to get weird," I say. It sounds accusing. I didn't mean to sound so harsh.

"I don't want it to get weird," you volley back.

My words came at you too quick. I soften. "So let's stop being weird," I murmur, giving a soft shrug. "Let's just be us."

You bite your lip. "How?"

Isn't that the question? How to be us now that we're kind of not together?

I try to think of something that's always been ours, even before you could say you loved me and before you held my whole hand, even if you needed a napkin for a while.

I bite my lips into my mouth and extend my arm, holding out my pinky, praying I won't be turned down. You've never turned my pinky down.

You eye my hand, unsure for a moment before your shoulders relax and you exhale, as if resigned to the fact that you can't say no and not have things be weird. I think I kind of meant to do that. To not give you a choice.

You extend your arm and as you hook your finger through mine, it takes every ounce of strength I have to not fall forward into you, kissing you with the full force of my body, smothering you, drowning out the last few months of distance and loneliness. If we stay in the cornfield long enough, we'll forget. Maybe this year the maze will chase the haunts away, rather than the other way around.

I hear you inhale, shaky air quivering through your chest. I feel it too as the surge of warmth from your finger courses through me, fortifying me, awakening me. I squeeze your pinky and start walking again, a smile breaking over my face. For the first time in weeks, it doesn't feel forced.

"So what's the best part?" I ask.

"Of what?" you ask.

"The maze," I smile. "It's the biggest corn maze in Ohio, you know," I say, mimicking my dad. He reminds us every year, and every year we echo, "We knowwww."

"I know," you grin. "Um... I'm partial to that scarecrow in the far left corner."

I push away the memory of kissing you behind the scarecrow's back. I'm pretty sure that won't be happening this year. But as long as I'm holding your pinky, I'm okay. Kind of.

I smile and roll my eyes. "That's the least scary part, S."

You give me a playful shrug. "I'm not a fan of scary things."

I squeeze your pinky and swing our hands between us a little. You say you're not a fan of scary things, but you decided to push us into this scary kind-of-together-but-not space. I wish it were different, but I understand why you did it. Kind of.

"Okay," I say. "Let's go find it."

I lead you off the trail through stalks, holding them out with my free hand so they won't snap back at you. They're scratchy and course against my hands, and the last thing I want is for one to fly back and hit you in the face. You take careful steps, hopping over fallen stalks and severed bases. Your steps seem lighter now. Kind of playful.

As our steps pick up and we fall farther into the fold of the maze, suddenly we're seven again and don't know heartbreak or distance or fear beyond the spooks of the maze. The tightness in our bellies is only of excitement, of newness and wonder and too much candy. Our pinkies are small and still padded with the last hints of baby fat.

I wish hearts could be padded too.

The air feels bigger in my lungs out here. Our steps keep accelerating until we're almost running. My arm swings in front of me, fighting off stiff stalks and husks and dust. Your pinky jostles in mine as you keep up, but I'm not afraid it will slip. After a few minutes we're panting and I realize I'm starting to laugh.

I think we've outrun our haunts, Santana.

I look back at you and you're smiling too, full and bright like the moon blinking through the stalks. You brush debris out of your hair and giggle, squeezing my pinky.

"Almost there," I say. "I hope he's not grumpy with us this year."

"You'd be grumpy too if you were on a pole for that long."

"I'd be rich though."

You burst out laughing, surging forward and wrapping an arm around my waist. I can breathe better now.

I grin, easing into your arms as our footsteps slow so we don't knock against each other.

Suddenly I wish I hadn't run so quickly. Here, we're insulated. We can hold each other as the currents outside change and we forever define and redefine ourselves. But inside, I'll always be yours.

Our feet move slower, searching out each step, scuffling through dried husks and leaves and weeds. The air is colder, but only in comparison to your side pressed to mine. It seeps into my cheerio jacket all over one side of my body. My other side is numb in comparison, so I turn abruptly, startling you as I press my entire front to yours, letting go of your pinky to wrap my arms around your neck. I perch my head on your shoulder and let you flood through me. It feels like sliding into a perfect bath: not too hot, not cool cold. All my muscles relax and I exhale, loosening.

While my body slows down, my mind speeds up. I'm finally calm enough to talk about things. About us.

But there are too many things to say. I love you. I miss you. You are the best thing that's ever been mine. I'm still yours. This is home.

I stay in those thoughts and feel your hands on my back, pressing into me, reassuring me, listening to me. I'm pretty sure you hear everything I'm saying with the steady silence of my breath.

You pull away first, just far enough to search my face. Something flickers over your face, as if a crow flew in front of the moon. Maybe I need to say something out loud to reassure you. You've always needed reassurance. That's another thing that won't change.

But I don't know which thing to say. I don't know what's okay with the new rules. I don't even know the rules yet and I don't know if you do either. So I say the safest thing, the thing I've always been able to say.

"I'm really glad you're here."

You pause, other words quivering in your throat. "Me too."

I want to kiss you so badly. Every inch of my skin wants to be closer, wants to converge on your lips and melt together to be absorbed. But I can't, so I do the second best thing.

"Do you remember the first time we came here?"

You nod, a smile wavering on your lips.

"You got so scared that you didn't want to walk all the way out. I carried you on my back most of the way."

You look at our feet, remembering as your smile turns bashful.

"I wasn't scared. Just tired."

I feel my smile drift to one side of my mouth as I smirk at you. You were scared and we both know it.

"Well I hope no one jumps out at you tonight and makes you tired."

"Me too."

We're frozen, staring at each other, suspended in a time capsule of corn. Every moment that passes could be filled with kisses or hugs or tears or laughter. But instead we just stare.

A breeze rustles the stalks and I realize it's eerily quiet, as if we're the only people in the maze. We might be. Under your gaze I have no concept of time. But now the wind restarts it and I feel restless.

"Want to go find the not-sleep-inducing scarecrow?"

You nod and, for the first time ever, lead me through the corn, holding stalks at bay with Amazonian fierceness.

I wonder where your courage came from. You've thrust yourself into so many unknowns in the past few months, and now it seems to be driving you through the corn, leading me as you search out a landmark, a memory, a symbol of something constant. In a few minutes we find him; a dilapidated old scarecrow that looks like it hasn't been moved or changed for years. He looks smaller and duller, more devoid of life than previous years. His mounting pole juts out of the side of his neck, his head flopping onto his shoulder with what was once a friendly grin.

You stop, your courage draining and refilling with quiet. I look up at the scarecrow, wondering if he's actually different or if it's just our eyes projecting our outside weariness onto him. Maybe he's holding our pain for these few minutes so we can feel light and young and in love again.

You move forward, arms reaching out as if you're going to right him on his perch, dusting off his shoulders and straightening his neck. But before you do, someone bursts through the corn next to you, laughing ghoulishly before darting off to frighten someone else. You shriek, hands flying up in front of you as your body jerks and twists away from the startle.

I'm startled too, but more frightening than the spook is how you twist and topple down onto a makeshift bed of cornhusks. You land with a thud and I shriek at the impact. In an instant, I'm on my knees at your side, hand on your shoulder and hip, checking to make sure you didn't shatter. I see your face twist in a wince.

"Are you okay?" I gasp.

You cough and nod, propping yourself up. I help you to your feet, and once you're righted, you look me in the eyes. You freeze there, and I realize my hands are on your waist to steady you. Under your jacket, they fit perfectly into your subtle curve. I can feel your heart pounding rapidly, recovering from your fright.

I don't want to move my hands. They fit perfectly where they are. Your eyes are piercing through me, almost too intense. I break their hold and scan your body for injuries, noting that nothing has changed. You're steady and solid before me.

"You sure?"

You nod. I start to pull my hands away, and your nod twists into a shake. Your eyes dart down and you shift your weight onto one foot.

"I think I hurt my ankle," you mumble, looking beside us where the intruder startled you.

You don't sound convinced and I'm not sure you're telling the truth, but I don't care. If you say you've hurt your ankle, I will carry you out.

If you say you we're together again, we are. In a heartbeat.

I pout at you, sorry for your injury. "I'm sorry, baby."

I freeze. I wasn't supposed to say that. But other than a lightning-quick blink, you pretend not to hear.

I try to remedy the situation. "Do you... want a ride out?" I offer. My words are too hopeful, too optimistic at the thought of feeling your warmth flush against my back as I ferry you to safety, too willing to relive the past.

But you bite your smiling lower lip and nod. "Sure."

My chest flutters with happiness as I return the smile, spin around and crouch, waiting for you to wrap your arms around my neck and clamp your legs around my waist. You do, strong and determined, and I feel as though I've been sent out on the most important mission: to deliver the most precious cargo to the nearest port.

You adjust your limbs, tightening your grasp on me. As you do, my heart tightens too, relieved to be rid of its ache, filled to the brim with you. I hitch your legs up over my hips, getting my bearings before taking a few steps forward.

What I really want to do is take you somewhere - anywhere, the barn, the hayloft, the back of the antique pickup - and tell you we should just stick it out through these rough few months and not change everything. I want to tell you that I'll forget these few weeks as if they were just another stalk of corn in a field. I want to tell you that a few weeks is nothing next to the lifetime I want to spend with you.

But I don't know what you want, so I ask, "Which way?"

"To safety," you say, sounding convincingly like a damsel in distress.

I nod and try not to show you I'm already straining under your grounding weight. I don't know what you mean by safety. If I had my way, we'd stay in the cornfield all night, curled around each other with one jacket under our heads, the other draped over us. That's the only safety I can think of.

"Which way?"

You let go of your wrist just long enough to point to the left, in the direction of the exit, before grabbing back on again.

I grunt and steer towards the end.

I get heavier as the stalks thin, more weathered than the ones we passed as we forged our own trail, battered with traffic. My steps slow and I feel the ache creeping back into my chest. Even though my arms and thighs are hot from the exertion, I don't want to set you down. I don't want to lose your warmth. I don't want to drive back home and get in my bed alone.

But all too soon I see the edge of the pumpkin field that marks the end of the maze. I'm not ready to leave.

"I think I can walk now," you say quietly.

It's the last thing I want to hear.

I'd be happy to keep the burn in my arms and legs if I got to keep holding you. It sure beats the ache in my chest and the knot in my stomach. I'd carry you all the way home if you asked.

"Here we are," I say as I set you down. I don't do a good job of masking my disappointment.

There's a second of silence and I turn and see you surveying the scene at the exit. There are people around, but I don't look at them. How could I, when you're here?

You purse your lips.

"I didn't expect it so soon."

That's the thing about endings. They always come before you want them to.

I shrug. You could have told me to stay in the maze all night. I would have listened. But now we're at the end.

I hold you there with my eyes, clinging to the last threads of corn maze joy. I bite my lip and stare into you, hoping to find some of my own thoughts reflected, hoping you'll tell me it was all a mistake and I can count on a hundred more years of corn mazes with you. But as I look at you, you seem sad. Unbearably, hopelessly sad, as if I'd told you this was our last corn maze together. I would never tell you that because I would never, ever want it to be true.

You put your hand on my cheek, your brow crinkling with regret. You stare into the depth of me.

"Take care, Britt."

Your hand slides down my cheek and you turn away, walking with heavy steps towards your car. Your shoulders hunch and I feel punched in the gut. Why do you walk away so quickly? Why did any of this happen so quickly?

Why is it always me left waiting?

"Took you long enough!" Ashley says, appearing at my side, itching her wig. "Did you guys get lost again?"

I swallow, still watching you as your cousin chases after you.

"Something like that," I mumble.

Sam appears beside my sister, unchanged since setting foot inside the maze. "Have fun?" he asks.

I try to nod but my chest is aching and my stomach is knotting harder than before. I end up shivering instead.

"Cold?" he asks.

"I'm fine," I choke.

I turn away, heading back toward the car, and before I know what's happening, Sam's jacket is draped over my shoulders. It weighs me down, heavier than you were as you clung to me only moments ago. I am so drained, so numb, I don't have the energy to shrug it off.

Sam doesn't touch me, but I feel him hovering by my side, confused and concerned. We approach my parents' car and I reach into my pocket to take out my keys. I unlock the door and climb inside, feeling as though my weight will sink the tires into the mud.

"You get spooked in there?" Sam asks, patting me on the shoulder.

I think about all the things I felt in the maze. Happy. Weightless. Playful.

Loved.

And I think about how I feel none of those things now.

I swallow.

"Kind of."