"Santana, I can't, I'm already running late. And besides, if you can't walk or drive, surely you should be staying home?"
Santana was sitting cross-legged on her bed, one foot awkwardly stretching out, picking at the hemline on her Cheerios skirt.
"But, Quinn-"
"I'll give you a ride in tomorrow, or someone else will, but I can't this morning. It's not easy to get ready for school when you're throwing up from morning sickness-"
Quinn felt guilty then, for bringing up her pregnancy when Santana was upset. "Look, San. I know why you want to come in, but it's only a day. You saw us last night...I'll talk to her, okay? I've really got to go, hun. See you tomorrow."
Santana threw the phone onto the sofa across her room, but it bounced and fell to the floor. It clunked and the battery probably fell out but she didn't go to pick it up. She flopped backwards onto her back and gazed up at the ceiling instead. The plaster was peeling.
She followed the lines of the cracked paintwork. Quinn and Rachel were acting weird lately, she thought. They were both being really nice to her, not that they weren't normally, but sympathetically, cautiously nice. As if something sad had happened to Santana. She'd hurt her foot, but that didn't make sense. They both kept going on about Brittany.
She sat up and leaned over the edge of the bed, grabbing the phone, its back and its battery. She slotted them back together and reached for the Cheerios jacket that lay crumpled on the floor, snuggling into its heavy warmth as she waited for the phone to come back to life.
She texted Rachel, who was more likely to be honest – probably brutally so – than anyone else.
Why have you and Q being acting so weird around me? X
It wasn't long before she replied;
We just want to make sure you're ok.
It was really annoying her now. She didn't know what either of them meant. No-one was ever this nice to her, even the people in Glee club. It didn't bother her though; she knew she wasn't nice enough to anyone else to deserve it. And she had Brittany.
I can't come in today, no-one would drive me. You want to come over at lunch? :) xxx
She just didn't want to spend the whole day by herself, that's all.
"You have my jacket. " Brittany pointed at Santana, smiling. She thought she'd lost it.
"I do?" Santana looked down, the sleeves reached halfway down her hands, and she could see the shadow of hers hanging in her closet. She bit her lip. "Can I keep it on?" She'd slept in it.
"Sure! But I want it back. And I can't have yours, it's too small." She laughed and kicked her foot out to show her height. Santana smiled back, thinking about how Brittany wasn't ungainly or gangly, her height didn't lessen her elegance, it just enhanced it. Other girls were jealous, but Santana didn't need to be, it wouldn't be right on her, it was Brittany.
They both lay on the bed, Santana reached out her hand and found Brittany's, messily grasping her fingers. Brittany giggled and squeezed her hand.
"I missed you." Santana turned her head sideways, and Brittany mirrored her. They both smiled.
"Me too. Sorry I was ill on Tuesday."
"Britt, you don't apologise for being sick. And I saw you last night."
"I don't? But Quinn and Rachel said it made you sad. After you went home last night they told me off for not giving you tissues at the end of the film."
"Did Quinn talk to you this morning?"
Brittany looked away from Santana, to the corner above the door. She seemed to think if she couldn't see Santana, Santana couldn't see her. "Umm, no."
"Did she tell you not to tell?"
"Yes."
They were quiet for a while. Matching clothes, matching ponytails, matching smiles. Santana on the left side of the bed, Brittany on the right, their hands meeting in the middle. Symmetry was their best trait.
~~
"San?"
"Mmhm?"
"Are you like Kurt?"
"Am I what?"
Her eyes were locked with Brittany's, but the blonde didn't say anything, just watched Santana. Santana looked back, searching the blue eyes, but they didn't give anything away. A few seconds, then her stomach lurched. Her heart was thundering in her chest and echoing through her ears, as the full meaning of what Brittany meant became apparent. She became suddenly aware of their entwined fingers in the middle of the bed, and how her own hand was hot and sticky. She was still staring into Brittany's eyes. "I-I don't-" Her mouth was dry but her eyes were wet. She didn't blink in case they spilled over, and tried to steady her lips, that were quivering as her shaky breath passed through them.
"It doesn't matter," Brittany said quickly, sensing she'd done something wrong, "I don't mind."