A/N: Took a break from "She Plays For The Other Team" to write this. I couldn't get this idea out of my head. I have a feeling this might have been done before though. Nevertheless, please review.
In your life, you've experienced four very different dances. They were different, not because your dance partners were different, but because of how they made you feel. The context of each dance was so different from the other, and every single of those dances defined you at some point in your life.
The first significant dance of your life was Karofsky. But you call him David nowadays.
Taking him to Junior Prom was just a way to get back at and to get back with Brittany. Finding out that David was gay helped your plan. After one meeting at the Lima Bean, he was onboard—mostly because you threatened to out him. You could read the fear in his eyes when you made that threat, and some part of you wondered if that's what you looked like whenever someone questioned your sexuality.
On the dance floor at prom, you were both terribly awkward. Zero chemistry whatsoever. It wasn't because he was hideous or anything. David has his own charm after all. But first of all, he wasn't a girl; and secondly, he wasn't Brittany. There was a certain way that his arms simply rested on your waist. He didn't try to embrace you, and you wondered why it felt like he was almost ready to push you away at any second. You kept your arms around his neck, just in case he tried to do that, but you didn't want to get too close either. You could smell his minty aftershave, and that made you sad that night.
She always smells like strawberries.
Later that night, you were engulfed in her scent when she held you after you lost to Kurt. Deep down, you know you were glad that you lost. Because losing meant that she came running back to you. And that's all you ever really wanted.
The second significant dance of your life was with her on Valentine's Day in senior year.
With the God Squad onstage serenading Brittany, you took her hand with a smile and led her to the dance floor. That night was the opposite of Junior Prom. You were no longer hiding. You wanted to dance, out and proud, with your girlfriend. You looked around the restaurant that night, and you saw nothing but smiles on everyone's faces—no judgment, no prejudice. You looked into Brittany's eyes, and you saw nothing but love.
She pulled you close that night. Her left hand pressed on the space between your shoulders, your right hand pulled her back close to you, and you intertwined your other hands as you both spun around slowly. You thought of all those secret pinky-links that led to this honest gesture: finally holding her hand and dancing with her. You're glad that you fought for her.
As the song ends, she looks into your eyes and says something. You're not quite sure what she said, and you should be sorry that you didn't pay attention because it was probably important. But at that moment, your eyes were captivated by the sight of her lips that you've been stealing glances at the whole night. And right then and there, you wanted to kiss her.
And you did.
Her nose brushed against your top lip, and your knees almost buckled on the dance floor. When your lips touched hers, you forgot how to breathe for a millisecond—but you remembered how, once she smiled into the kiss. Her breath poured into you, and you realized that you had never felt that alive.
Around you, people are cheering. You break apart to catch your breath. There's a look in her eyes that you how proud she is of you, for finally being honest with yourself and everyone else. You smile at her to let her know how proud you are of both of yourselves.
It was almost like a dream.
But like most dreams, you had two choices: either to wake up or watch it turn into a nightmare.
Terrified of hurting Brittany, you tried to force yourselves to wake up. But you underestimated your love for her—your dependence on her. She really is like a drug to you. After breaking up with her, you came crawling back, only to see how the dream of seeing Brittany had transformed into the nightmare of watching her and Sam, obliviously happy in their own corner of the world.
The third significant dance in your life was Quinn. She was your second best friend, that one person who knew and accepted you before everyone else did. Slapping the crap out of each other is practically a show of affection between you two.
When you saw Brittany dancing with Sam at the wedding reception (when the wedding didn't even push through), something in you died that night. You stopped believing in soulmates. You stopped believing in true love. Hell, you stopped believing in Brittany. And it hurt you inside to realize that.
So you drowned the realization with alcohol. Nothing makes the truth easier to swallow than a shot of tequila with lemon. Or ten. In a row. Quinn joined you as you raided the bar, and you remembered that she has been through a whole lot more when it comes to feeling neglected and abandoned. You couldn't blame her for always looking for love in the wrong places. It was probably because no one had shown her what real love was like. At that moment, you felt sorry for her, because at least you had Brittany, even just for a while.
But you didn't show Quinn that you were sad for her. You laughed. You drank. You danced. Then a slowdance came up, and suddenly, you were in her arms. You never thought you'd dance with Quinn Fabray like that. It felt strange—unfamiliar and surprising, but not unpleasant. She was a good dancer, though not as good as Brittany.
You could actually see Brittany dancing with Sam just a few feet away. His arms were locked around her waist. Her arms were wound around his neck. You could feel your breath hitch in your throat as you watched them over Quinn's shoulder. A sick part of your mind wondered if Brittany had always wanted a partner who was taller than her, so that she could steady herself on his shoulders like that. You remembered how you used to lean on her like that, and it stung to know how hung up you still were over her.
"I've never slowdanced with a girl before… I like it."
Quinn's voice pulled you out of your reverie, and you leaned back to look at her face for the first time while dancing. She gives you a small smile, and you can't help smiling back. You really appreciated Quinn at that moment, because she always seemed to know what you needed to hear. She'll always know the best way to tear you down—and the best way to build you back up.
At that moment, you became aware of just how tightly you had pressed yourself against Quinn during the dance. Your arms were practically squeezing her chest to yours. But she hadn't said a word. In fact, you noticed how her own arms encircled your waist, as though she was trying to support you and keep you from falling. Without her holding you like that, you were pretty sure you would have collapsed, either because of Brittany or the alcohol in your system.
What happened after the slowdance was a blur. You remember running through the hotel corridors, kissing in the elevator, fumbling out of your dresses in the dark—and basking together in the after-glow of two rounds of great sex.
You never spoke about it again, but you're glad that happened between you two. While drunken hook-ups have ruined countless other friendships out there, your friendship with Quinn Fabray was weird and unusual enough to actually become stronger.
Though whenever either of you sees the other drinking from a water bottle, you can't help grinning like idiots.
After Quinn, there was one more dance that defined you.
The fourth and last significant dance of your life was with…
A/N: Left the ending ambiguous for now, because even I have no idea how to end it! Oh the woes of being a newbie fanfic writer...