O hai. I totally didn't expect this story to generate as much of a response as it did… Thanks for all the reviews and alerts, though! I know I said I'd get this up fast, but I've been swamped with work. I haven't gone to bed before five am once since Wednesday- partly because I joined a Glee RP on tumblr and it's amazing so it's taking up a lot of my time… Anyways, yeah, here's chapter two. (:

We were fourteen the first time Santana told me,

Kissing isn't dating.

The thing you have to understand about Santana to get this part of the story is that she's…. sensitive. Not that anyone could be blamed for not knowing that. She hides it well, she always has, and a lot of the time she brushes off what people say to her or about her anyway. It's really only certain things that get to her. If someone calls her a bitch, it's okay. That's how she wants most people to see her. She's Santana Mother-fucking Lopez, head bitch in charge, and that's how she'd always wanted it to be. People could even call her a slut and it didn't hurt too bad. She had a reputation as one by mid-freshman year, though it wasn't true, and she didn't bother to fight it because it helped her reputation instead of hurt it.

Reputation. It's probably one of the longest words I knew the definition of at the time because it was an important one to Santana and she had been careful to teach it to me early on. That was what Santana was most sensitive about. What people thought had always been a big deal to her and if someone thought the wrong thing, something she didn't want them to think, it really got to her. Sometimes she was hurt and sometimes she was angry (usually a mixture of both), but every time the only person who realized it was me. Somehow I always knew when a comment had hurt her. I guess I had just learned how to read her. There was a subtle tensing to her body, a slight thinning of her lips. Often this would prompt me to hook my pinky around hers in the gesture she had taught me and make some random comment to change the topic. This always got her to relax again, something I was proud of. How many people could say they knew Santana like I did? Being her rescuer made me happy.

I always thought that Santana just needed to know someone knew the truth about her, understood her, and was there for her. I was really the only person who could do that, the only person she let get close enough to see the full picture. She wasn't good at opening up. Sure, she made other friends – Quinn, Puck – but I don't think that they really ever understood her either. That was my job, just like it was her job to understand my comments and vague simplicity. Santana never once called me stupid and I never called her a bitch or a slut. We got each other, better than anyone else ever could get another person. At least, I always thought so.

Santana, to her credit, worked hard to keep the promise she made me about staying on top. By the time we were halfway through freshman year, we were super popular. We were Cheerios (two of the best), we were hot, and our reputations – always that word – were what were expected from popular girls. We'd joined forces with Quinn Fabray – the next captain, so it was rumored at the time – and her intelligence and superiority complimented us well; her smartness to my simple-mindedness, her chastity to Santana's (rumored) sex life. Her personality was kind of like a mix of us, sort of. Really, it was a good match. Santana also urged me to make out with a few people here and there – all about the teasing and not about the pleasing – while she decided to lose her virginity to Noah Puckerman.

That was what started it, I think. Fourteen is pretty young to lose the v-card and Santana wasn't ready for it all so when it happened, I guess it got to her. Living under the weight of your social status is hard, though, so she gave into it and got into bed with Puck. I didn't know, not until after, which made it a little worse. If I had known before what she was thinking of doing, I could have talked to her about it and maybe she would have figured out she didn't want that. But she didn't tell me, and even though I had known there was something going on, she never brought it up. I knew Santana, but I still couldn't read minds. She must have been planning it for a while – she never did anything without a plan – but she didn't say a word. I guess she was scared of what I'd think, though I don't know why. She usually told me everything, but not this time. Probably because she didn't want me to tell her not to… or maybe she was worried I'd tell her she should.

The night it happened, I fell asleep clutching my phone in my hand. I was worried Santana had gotten lost or something because she hadn't texted me back in a while and she never ever forgot to text back. I did sometimes, or I'd forget to charge my phone or something, but Santana never did those things. So, I clutched my phone and waited for her to answer, eventually falling asleep just like that. It wasn't until 3:21 (I remember because the numbers were in backwards order) that the phone buzzed in my hand. I stirred and flipped it open groggily.

It said, Britt, roll over.

I read the text a couple of times through, eyes peering tiredly at the screen before I did what my phone ordered me to do. A few moments later, the window slid open and a long, tanned leg appeared, followed quickly by a head and body and then another leg. Santana closed the window slowly and quietly behind her before sneaking across the room to my bed. I watched as she pulled down the blanket on the side of the bed I had just rolled away from and crawled in before pulling it over herself again. "Hey, Britt," she whispered, and her warm breath washed over my face. It smelled like spearmint where it usually smelled like Santana, and I remember I didn't like it very much.

"Hey, San," I whispered back and I smiled at her because it was good to see she wasn't lost. I reached out an arm and she made a small sound as she slid under it and cuddled against me. My arm wrapped tightly around her waist and I pulled her close for a hug. I loved hugging Santana. We'd always been close so none of this was really out of the norm, except I think I remember liking it more and more as time passed. I didn't say anything to her though because Santana would talk if she wanted to talk and because I was kind of sleepy and thought maybe Santana had just wanted to sleep over to get out of her empty house.

But no, Santana wanted to talk. She was plucking at the strap of my tank top now, her fingertips brushing my skin lightly as she did so. Even in the dark I knew her eyes focused on her own hand because she sometimes did that when she was nervous- watched hers hands, I mean. It was rare, and it made me worried. "San?" I asked, trying not to annoy her. My hand moved in gentle circles on her back, though I'm not sure who the gesture comforted more- me or her. She looked up and our eyes met in the semi-darkness (semi because I had a duck shaped nightlight plugged in- I've had the same nightlight since I'd first started being afraid of the dark). The hand that had been toying with the strap of my tank top curled around it now, tightly. I heard Santana take a deep breath.

"I slept with Puck." She said it quickly, like pulling off a band-aid.

"Okay," I replied, confused. Obviously she hadn't stayed sleeping with him if she was here now. I didn't get what she was trying to say, which I think she realized a moment later because she shook her head quickly.

"No, I mean… We had sex, B."

My body froze at the words and I could only stare. "Oh" was the solitary word my brain could send to my lips. I didn't understand the feeling that made my stomach churn then, but I knew I didn't like it. It really wasn't nice at all. Actually, it kind of made me feel sick. My arm slid away from Santana's waist and I rolled onto my back to stare at the ceiling with my arms clutched tightly around my upset tummy as I tried to think of what to say. All I could think, though, was that my belly felt awful and I wished Santana hadn't done it. She was talking, giving me reasons why she did it. All I got was that it had to do with stupid reputations again and it was making me… well, mad.

I didn't get mad often – never, really – so I didn't know what to do. I don't think Santana even realized it at first, which is really weird because usually Santana knew how I'd feel about something before even I did. Slowly, though, she stopped talking and rolled towards me so that she was looking down at me. There was a line between her eyebrows so I knew she was worried about the fact I hadn't said anything in a while. "Britt?" No response. "Brittany?" I flinched at the sound of my full name, but stayed silent. Santana was getting really worried now I could see. I had never, ever ignored her like this before. Her voice got harsh with her anger, but I knew her and I knew she was not mad at me- she was mad at Santana. "Come on, B, say something!"

"Why?" My eyes shifted from the spot on the ceiling to meet hers and I pouted. "Why did you do that, San? You didn't even tell me you were going to! We're supposed to tell each other everything!" My voice got a little louder, that I knew better than to actually yell. If my parents came in here, they'd be mad Santana snuck in again. Even if I was mad at her, I didn't want her to have to go home and be alone.

"Not everything about me is your business, Brittany!" The words were mean and both of us stopped talking. I was shocked, and if her wide eyes meant what I thought they meant, she had surprised herself too. I didn't get it. Santana was my business. She was my very best friend, why wouldn't she be? I didn't understand what she meant and I really, really didn't like the feeling in my stomach now. It was all too much. My eyes filled up and I sat up quickly, curling my legs against my chest before curling my arms around them. I could taste my tears now as they met the corners of my mouth and I didn't like that either. I hated crying, which is why I didn't do it a lot. San knew that, too, of course. That's when she sat up quickly after me, swearing in Spanish. At least, I think she was swearing. I spoke a little Spanish because of her, but she wouldn't teach me the bad stuff.

"I'm sorry, Britt," she whispered to me as she ran a hand down my hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. It's a lie. We're each other's business. I just… I was afraid to tell you." I looked at her, thinking about her words. Santana never said sorry, and she admitted to being scared even less than never. So after a second, I smiled at her to make her feel better. I could never stay mad at her for long. She sighed and smiled too, her hand tucking my hair behind my ear. She then leaned in and kissed my cheeks, whispering "sorry" again and again as her lips took my tears away. I don't think either of us knew why she was apologizing for sleeping with Puck. It wouldn't strike either of us as strange until later, and even then, only Santana would think about it too much. I accepted the reason with ease because to me, it was the simplest thing in the world. That was much later, though- at least for me. I never really knew when Santana started thinking about everything.

And then those gentle cheeks kisses stopped and Santana's lips were on mine in a kiss that tasted like tears and spearmint and Santana, and I guess probably like me too even though I couldn't taste that. At this point in my life, I had kissed a lot of boys, but none of those kisses had ever been like this. It was soft and sweet and warm and nice. The biggest surprise, though, was that I was not surprised. It was as if kissing Santana was what I was made to do, like we were made to have been doing this forever. Like our lips had been designed for each other's and no one else's really fit. I was dazed, but I kissed her back without hesitation, my hands lifting to her shoulders. "What was that?" I asked when she pulled back again. I felt like I couldn't hold air in my lungs, but in a good way. My stomach felt better, too- like she was medicine.

Santana smiled softly and touched my cheek, her other hand loosening from where it had tangled in my hair to stroke soothingly down it. "A sweet lady kiss," she replied teasingly, leaning in to place another small kiss on my lips. I didn't protest, but melted into the rightness of the feeling.

"I love your sweet lady kisses," I replied after a minute of this, something I would tell her every time we kissed from then on. I wanted her to know that she was wanted, that I liked this, that I really didn't want it to stop. She only smiled in response and closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against mine. We stayed sitting just like that for a long time. I was thinking and I couldn't talk and think at the same time. I don't know what she was doing. Thinking too, probably. At last I asked, "San? Does this mean we're girlfriends?" Wrong question. Her eyes snapped open and her smile disappeared. She stared at me, mouth open slightly, before she shook her head. I pouted as she ended all forms of contact between us and inched back away from me. Then she said it.

"Kissing isn't dating."

I continued to frown after that, growing a bit upset at the sudden denial. I looked quickly away from her and suddenly felt like crying again. She knew. Santana always knew. She sighed and moved forward again, cupping my chin to tilt my face up to hers. "That doesn't mean I don't want to kiss you, B," she whispered. "I do. I just… We can't tell anyone. We can't do it in public. So we can't be dating. But we can still kiss." I thought about it- or at least tried to. But she was kissing me again and I was giving in because I loved kissing her, it was my new favorite thing. It's funny, because she didn't seem surprised by this either. Sometimes I wonder if she knew since we were four exactly where we would go.

Mostly, though, I think we were the only thing she never planned for.

So. This is a lot longer than the last chapter. I kinda sorta got carried away. Oops. Enjoy, and REVIEW PLZ. 3