Shrieks and tiny laughter echoed through the gymnasium.
Santana first met Brittany in gymnastics class. She followed the girl in line over the mats and padded ramps mimicking somersaults and tumbles. Brittany most often received praise and applause while she, a curt nod or silence. Three years later, in gym class, she couldn't do a handstand or a forward roll, but she could call Brittany her friend.
"Plié" and "piqué" exacted in the mirrored room.
Santana first observed Brittany dance in her ballet classes after school. The Lopez and Pierce families had agreed to provide alternating nights of supervision. The Pierce night almost always consisted of Santana tagging along to another ballet class where she was dropped in the back of the room against the mirrors to complete her math problems. More often, she found herself glancing up in the mirror at Brittany's pointed toes and perfect twirls. Her eyes washed over the girl as she flourished across the room and into a spellbinding jump. At home, Santana found herself practicing her own pliés in the bathroom mirror alone.
Chirping crickets whirred the familiar sounds of a summer evening.
Santana's lips first slid against Brittany's under the tented sheets of middle school cheer camp. Brittany had found her bed on the second night of camp, complaining that the thin sheets her mother packed were too cold in the night's air conditioning. Santana opened the dorm window. Minutes later, Brittany slipped under her covers and whispered that Santana would warm her. On the third night, Santana's eyes followed the fluttering of Brittany's eyelashes, the rise and fall of her chest as she slept, and the way her lips twitched when she was deep in sleep. In the morning, with bleary eyes and tired muscles she was demoted to the bottom of the pyramid. On the fourth night, she just wanted to test how soft they were. She was sure they'd be the softest thing on Earth. She was sure they'd make up for being on the bottom of the pyramid.
Thumps of the bass drum pounded off the walls of Noah Puckerman's basement.
Santana first laid her hand on Brittany's hip at one of Puck's parties. She didn't say a word. She didn't even make eye contact. Placing her hand on the dancer's hip was everything she needed to say. Brittany raked her hand down her body to grasp Santana's and leaned back into her. Santana buried her head in Brittany's neck, breathing in a mix of shampoo and sweat. Her nose nudged against Brittany's skin, her breath warmed it. Their hips snaked against one another in time to the beat.
Breathy moans and a creaking bed.
Santana first immersed herself in Brittany's rhythm three hours after Puck's party. Her bed was stripped but for dark gray sheets. Pillows and a comforter lay in a clump on the floor. She watched as Brittany danced to the thrust of her fingers. As with any other dance, Brittany moved fluidly and without thinking, her body in time with an internal beat. Santana studied her movements. The hitch of her fingers brought a new rhythm. The pause of her fingers, a whimper and a forceful hip gyration. Side-to-side movements, tears to her eyes and a swing to her hips. A new motion, a new rhythm. Finally, nearing her climax, a distressed surge and an echoed wail. Santana's soft brown eyes fixed to her decrescendo, studying now the slowing of her hips, the rise-and-fall of her chest, the flush in her face. The memory of their rhythm burned behind her eyes.
I love you.
Santana first lost herself in the mundane dance of Brittany S. Pierce on a Monday night. Surprisingly, it was the first time they'd ever brushed their teeth in the same room at the same time. Brittany was caught up in the beat of the brush bristles sweeping across her molars. Her arm rocked on every other beat as her mouth crooked a smile in the mirror at Santana standing behind her. The toothbrush clanked into the sink when Brittany saw Santana's tears. With a foamy mouth and a rattled brow, she pulled Santana into a minty hug, toothpaste lather dissolving into Santana's hair.
"I love you."
Santana first whispered the most fearsome words of her life on a Monday night. With Brittany's toothpaste still drying in her hair and Brittany's easy breathing setting a deafening tempo in her skull, she loosed the words that would begin to change her life. When she knew for certain that Brittany hadn't heard, she purged it again and again.
Santana wasn't sure of the exact moment that Brittany danced into her soul. She never tried to figure it out. She knew she'd never have the words to describe it. The words were always just written in the air.