Sorry. Yeah. Long wait. This is moving in a little bit of a different direction than I thought it would. Lololol. Don't worry, I'm finishing it. Probably just past episode fifteen or sixteen (hopefully fifteen works out how we all want it to, fingers crossed) I'll start to wrap it up. Maybe do a future chapter. More on that later. Enjoy~

We were seventeen the first time I asked her,

Then what is dating?

It was a question in my head since we were thirteen, but I never asked until our sophomore year. Now, I can't really tell you what Santana was feeling. I can try and I can tell you what I think she was feeling. They're pretty good guesses, but they're still only guesses. Santana is really kind of hard to see through- even for me sometimes. But if I had to guess, I'd say Santana was scared. It's funny, because most people would tell you Santana is a fearless bitch. They'd be wrong. One hundred percent wrong. Santana was scared of a lot of things. She was scared of what we were doing, scared of what we were becoming. Scared of me. Scared of herself.

Scared of being alone.

We were having sex. Enough that she started coming to my house a lot more, which meant she was seeing Puck less. Sometimes she'd see us both on the same night, or she'd see some other guy before climbing through my window. Either way, she would always end her night with me. On those nights, the nights I had to share, she'd taste like cigarettes and spearmint when she kissed me. Sometimes the kisses would be a bit sloppy and I'd taste alcohol on her tongue. And then sometimes – rarely, but often enough for me to notice – she tasted like lonely.

That was the flavor I hated most and the only one I could make go away just by being with her. On those nights she'd come through my window (sometimes gracefully, sometimes stumbling a little) and she'd strip off whatever outfit she was wearing before she even got to my bed. Then the dark-haired girl would crawl in, pin me to the mattress, and kiss me hard. The lonely taste usually went hand in hand with cigarettes and spearmint, foreign flavors that meant she'd been kissing Puck or some other guy. Her kisses would be desperate, her grip tight. Sometimes I'd be asleep and wake up to this and I'd always know immediately that she tasted like lonely. I wonder if she noticed how I would gentle the kiss, trying to comfort her, trying to tell her I still wanted her. It worked either way because then her grip would loosen and my hands would be free and I could reach up to stroke her hair and back and cheeks. I'd say something simple to her. Just a little thing like 'hi, San' or 'I missed you, San.' It was enough. I'd keep it soft on those nights, take the lead, sooth her. Eventually that lonely taste would go away from her mouth and we would love each other slowly with quiet whispers and gentle touches. It was beautiful. But I don't know if she saw all of that like I did.

Sometimes she'd remind me after of the rule- sex is not dating. She'd whisper it when we were calm again and holding each other, listening to the sounds of nighttime. Sometimes it was in response to something I said. Mostly, though, she said it out of nowhere. Like, we'd just be lying there and she'd whisper it into the silence between us, like she didn't want to say it but needed to get it out. I wonder if she even meant me to hear those times. In my head I would wonder if she could like… hear how much I loved her because the words would be repeating so loudly in my head and it wouldn't have surprised me to learn that Santana had magical mind-reading abilities. Later, though, I figured out she was saying it to herself. To remind herself of whatever it was she thought she had to keep in mind when she was with me. And sometimes (usually on the lonely tasting nights) she would be gone when I woke up again.

I wasn't exactly happy about where we were, but I wasn't like constantly upset about it either. I loved Santana and, for the rest of sophomore year, I was content to take what I could get. I was patient and she, in turn, never lied broke a promise to me. After all, Santana was more than the person I loved. She was my best friend. Though our private togetherness had changed a whole lot, our friendship hadn't- not then. We'd still link pinkies walking down the hall. She'd still stretch her tan legs over my lap or rest her head on my shoulder. A few little things slipped through – the stroke of an arm, a lingering hug, an unguarded smile – but never something that led to suspicion. I slipped only once, on a party call with some of the Glee kids, but nothing really ever came of it. They were all distracted by Quinn's baby stuff and I guess they thought I had mixed something up or gotten confused again. Maybe they thought I didn't know what sex was- which is silly because I had such a slutty reputation in the school. Santana didn't get mad at me for it. She probably thought it was an accidental slip. I don't know. I never brought it up again and I never told anyone else… but it wasn't an accident. I'd just… I'd wanted someone else to know what was going on, wanted someone to know there was more going on between us. But it blew over and I'd gone back to keeping it a secret. No way could I get away with slipping twice.

I was so distracted by the stuff with me and Santana that I forgot about Coach Sylvester's plan to end Glee Club- consequently one of my favorite things about school. Santana never forgot. She wasn't like me. Maybe she had a million things to think about, even more than I did, but she never forgot any of it. Her priorities changed, but she never forgot a thing. Coach knew. She must have, because when she did things like ask for the list of songs for sectionals, she went to me instead of Santana. And without a thought, without a question, I gave it to her. Santana trusted her and I wanted to trust her, too. I wanted to believe the person Santana wanted most to impress was someone who deserved that level of affection from my best friend. But she wasn't, of course. We won sectionals, but it had been lucky, and if we'd lost it would have been my fault. Santana tried to make me feel better when we were struggling to work out choreography, but I could tell it was hard on her. Glee is the best part of my day, okay? She'd said that, and I had almost destroyed it all. When we won, though, Santana was happy again and everything was okay. She didn't go anywhere else that night- she went straight back to her place and we celebrated with wine and movies and a lot of sex.

The day we found out Sue Sylvester was a judge for regionals, Santana cried. At school it was like it didn't matter, but when we lay curled up in her bed, surrounded by the silence of her empty house, she cried like a child. She curled up on my lap and burrowed into me and sobbed out her aching heart, and I had to be strong because as sad as I was that glee club would probably be shut down, it was nothing compared to what she was feeling. Glee was different to her than it was to me. It was a haven. It was where she could show a bit of who she was without wearing the mask she'd carefully devised for herself. The wall was still there, but sometimes the club created little cracks the world could see through if they bothered to look.

The day we were told New Directions was safe, she cried again. That time, I cried with her. We cried and cried. We cried until we laughed. We held each other. And she kissed me, so softly. And for the rest of the night we just held on, whispering nonsense, pressed close on her living room couch. We didn't list rules or think of the future. We just held on, our hearts beating in sync.

A lot happened the summer after sophomore year which I guess really didn't help what happened junior year at all. My family went on vacation (though I said something about getting lost in the sewers later. It was a joke, and I learned that time that people as ditsy as me shouldn't make jokes like that because people are quick to believe it) and they told me they couldn't bring Santana because we needed family time. I explained that Santana was family, but they didn't budge and I was forced to leave Santana by herself for most of the summer. She blew it off and said she was fine, but I knew it was a lie. Her parents usually took a vacation to Europe over the summer and they never brought her, so she was even more alone than usual. I called her every night, but that didn't help. She would ignore her phone for days on end. Then one day, she called me. Her voice was quiet and sad on the voicemail. I did something stupid, the message said. I could just manage to hear her choke on a sob and my worry was instant. I didn't even listen to the rest, but quickly called her back.

"B," she said when she answered, breath hitching. "I'm so dumb."

"What happened?" I asked her.

"I was joking, B. I was joking, trying to get a reaction, trying to… I don't know… get them to fucking look at me for once." Another sob, and I wished I was there to comfort her. All I could do was listen, though. It was the only thing I could do to help her from my stupid vacation. "I said 'Gee, mom and dad, I really want a boob job.' And you know what they did? Just fucking guess!" She yelled the last bit, making me flinch as I clutched the phone tightly, as if by holding it tighter Santana would know I was trying to get to her. "They said, 'okay, Santana. Whatever you want. We'll make you an appointment.' They just… They just agreed to let their seventeen-year-old daughter get a fucking boob job without batting a goddamned eyelash, B! I was… I was so mad, Britt, so mad at them for letting me do something stupid. But I figured, I thought, wh-what the hell? I'm the captain now. People are gonna fucking notice me at the top of the fucking pyramid. Might as well make sure they fucking notice. So I went to the appointment. I got myself some new fucking boobs." She was choking on her tears now, and I knew she was clutching the phone just as tightly as I was. I wanted so badly just to hold her, to comfort her. But I was here and she was there, so what could I do? "What… What kind of parents do that?" she whispered brokenly.

And I thought, bad ones who don't know what they're missing, but I never said it. I just listened to her cry and told her everything would be okay. Even though sometimes not everything can just be okay again.

Soon enough though, school was starting again and I was home again. I didn't get to see Santana until the first day, though, and when I did… Well wow, yeah, people were going to notice. I didn't focus on her new chest any longer than that first glance, but other people sure did. That Jacob kid was very interested (hence my random joke about getting lost that he seemed to believe). Santana gave me a weird look, but when he left again, she smiled a little and squeezed my hand quickly before helping me organize my schedule. Not too long after that, Coach Sylvester found out and all hell broke loose because Quinn got Santana moved from the top to the bottom of the pyramid. I could only watch helplessly as my two friends tossed each other around. I could only half-heartedly attempt to intercede with a plea for them to stop the violence because I hated seeing it, hated being involved. When Santana stormed off, I followed her to the locker room. She slammed things around, screaming, as I watched helplessly. Her fists and feet battered against the lockers in her fury, fiercely, until she at last slid to the floor in a pile of insecurities I could do nothing about. I held her, thinking how strange the universe was- because just last year Santana had held me in this same spot after I'd told her I loved her.

Now most of this was pretty pointless back story. They were moments that stuck out, and individually they don't mean much. I'm sure a lot of people would look at this and think, Brittany's rambling again, what's the point, this is dumb. I don't know if they make sense as a whole to a lot of people, but they were all moments that made a difference somehow. They were highlighted changes, things that showed me how I felt and how Santana felt. They're important because it makes the rest make more sense. At least, I think so.

Because what happened next was Artie.

I can't even begin to explain how excited I was about the duets assignment. Once the initial duet/duvet confusion was cleared and I understood the assignment, I began thinking of songs. Santana and I always did our assignments together and with the winner getting a free trip to Breadstix (Santana's favorite restaurant and notorious date spot), I thought it was perfect. Then we could go on a date without thinking of it as a date because it would be a prize. It was a perfect idea in my head and I was super happy I'd be able to sing and dance with Santana in front of everyone. I even asked Santana to come straight home with me after school because of it, though I was still thinking of songs so I didn't see how distracted she was as she nodded and looked around the choir room. At my place, we ended up doing what we usually did. That is, we ignored homework in favor of each other. It was making out instead of sex, which I totally didn't mind because it was a lot easier to think when we were both clothed. Santana's lips were on my neck, pressing to my skin softly. I loved when Santana did this sort of thing. The soft, sweet things that showed me it was more than just sex to her. I was grinning, I couldn't help it. "I love your sweet lady kisses," I told her lightly, as I still sometimes did. She made a sound of agreement and lifted her head to look down at me.

"It's a nice break from all that scissoring," she said, teasing me because scissoring was the very least of what we did and not exactly my preferred method of sex with Santana. She leaned in, her lips hovering close to mine before she returned her attention to my neck instead, lips curving against my skin. I giggled, my hand sliding a little down her back to press her closer as she continued her kisses. I was blissfully unaware of what was to come. In my mind, it was like completely automatic that we were going to be working together on this assignment.

"We should do a duet together," I said cheerfully. Santana stiffened and ignored me. I didn't notice, not right then. I just kept talking. "We should sing Melissa Etheridge's 'Come to My Window'." The results were instant. Santana jerked her head back, giving me a rather annoyed look. I blinked at her, my smile slowly fading as my gaze flickered over her increasingly irritated features. My heart was slamming, but the pleasure of the moment was starting to decrease.

"First of all," she began, staring harshly down at me. There was a warning in her eyes I didn't understand. "There's a lot of talking going on… and I wants to get my mack on." Apparently she was satisfied that I was going to stop talking because her lips went back to my neck as I took a shocked moment to recover. Did that mean we weren't going to sing a duet? Not anything? I thought I had messed something up again and I struggled to correct myself.

"Well- I don't know," I choked out, "I figured that-"

"And second of all…" Obviously annoyed, she rolled away from me and moved to the edge of my bed, back to me. "I'm not making out with you because I'm in love with you and want to sing about making lady babies." My heart dropped into my stomach as I rolled onto my side, my head resting against my fisted hand as I stared at her back. She wouldn't look at me. She was scraping her hair back into the customary ponytail of the Cheerios, something I knew was her defense mechanism. I was hurting. Santana had never told me she loved me, but she'd never so blatantly told me that she wasn't. I was fighting tears, struggling with the disbelief filling me as she went on. "I'm only here because Puck's been in the slammer for about twelve hours now and I'm like a lizard." Cold? I thought. "I need something warm beneath me or I can't digest my food."

"Then who are you going to sing a duet with?" I managed to ask over the tears caught in my throat, my eyes falling away from her and toward my window. I couldn't look at her anymore. I heard her stand and move across the room, saw her enter my line of vision. My gaze shifted again to the spot she'd been sitting a second before. I didn't want to look at her.

"I don't know. Probs like, Wheezy or Asian chick." My eyes flickered back to her, my disapproval at her nicknames automatic. Then the sadness settled over me again and I looked away. "Britt, it just isn't a good idea for us to sing gay songs like that together. People will think we're totally dykes, you know?" I only stared at her, not caring, wanting her to change her mind and come back to the bed. She shrugged uncaringly. Her mask was in place. "I'm protecting us both. Trust me." I was sitting up now, my arms curled around my pulled up legs, the tears finally falling down my cheeks. She made some sound of annoyance, tossing her hands in the air. "I'm not throwing away all the work I've done to keep this thing just between us so you can suddenly turn all butch on me, Brittany," she snapped. "I'm doing the right thing here!" I wiped at my tears, silent, and for a minute something flickered across her face. She shifted, as if she wanted to go to me. Then another annoyed sound escaped and she slammed out of my bedroom, out of the house, and into her car. A moment later, it started up and was gone.

So, Artie. He was cute, in a nerdy kind of way. I didn't dislike him and he was really the only guy I could think of that Santana would see me with constantly. I wanted her to feel something when she saw me with someone else, someone not her. Since I was dating Artie now (sort of), I didn't sleep with her or make out with anyone else. And okay, I wasn't completely stupid. Maybe I didn't know math or stuff like that, but I knew people, and I knew Artie was using me just as much as I was using him. He wanted Tina and I wanted Santana. It was perfectly okay in my mind for us to use each other to get who we actually wanted to pay attention to us. The only problem was, it didn't seem to be working for Artie. I panicked the day he wanted to back out. I couldn't let him, not when it was working so well. So I did the only thing I could come up with at the time. I had sex with him. He was the first guy I actually went that far with and I didn't really like it, but that was okay. He didn't leave after that and even though he wasn't soft and curvy like Santana, even though he didn't know the best way to make my body happy, even though he couldn't wrap his legs around my waist, he was someone to hold onto. I thought, well, maybe Santana would notice this. Maybe Santana would want me. Maybe she would love me. And if not… Well, there was Artie to hold.

When he dumped me, I was super confused. I got that my reputation was a bit rough, but how could he say that sex wasn't important to me? I had only ever done it with Santana before, and that had always been special. I stared at him as he rolled away, wondering how I always managed to mess up good stuff.

"Britt." I turned at the sound of my voice, staring as Santana moved into my line of vision with her arms folded across her chest. She was smirking as she, too, watched Artie roll away. "Thank God you got rid of the crip." She looked smug, satisfied. And suddenly it hit me who Artie's reliable source was. I knew people. I knew Santana. I could only stare at her, and because she knew me, she knew she'd been caught. Her smirk slowly faded and her dark eyes returned to mine, searching.

"Why would you do that?" I whispered brokenly. This was not at all how I'd wanted any of this to turn out. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. I'd expected a fairy tale and got a nightmare. "Why would you tell him bad things about me, San? How could you…" I dropped my eyes to the hallway floor when they began to burn. "Did you ever consider maybe I liked him? Maybe I wanted to be with him? I don't belong to you."

Santana scoffed, moving closer to me. When I looked up, I could see the emotions raging in her dark eyes as she looked around to make sure no one listened to us. The bell had rung, however, and no one lingered in this hallway. "You don't like him, B. You were with him to make me jealous. I get it, okay? I'm sorry I hurt your feelings or whatever, but can we drop this act? You don't want him. You want me." She reached out to loop our pinkies, but my hand smacked hers away. I don't know which of us was more surprised, but I went with it anyway because I didn't want her to be right. Just this once, I wanted to be the right one.

"So what, San? So what if I want you? That doesn't mean anything. We aren't dating. You have so many stupid rules. Our pinky thing doesn't mean we're dating. Kissing doesn't mean we're dating. Even sex doesn't mean we're dating!"

"Britt, shh," she hissed pleadingly. "Come on, I just-"

"No!" Tears rolled down my cheeks as I stepped back, just enough so I was out of reach. "San, I'm so tired of this. I'm so tired of all these rules and I'm sick of you leaving and I'm sick of you just like, leading me on again and again only to go off in a different direction when you're scared. If all of that isn't dating, San… If my loving you isn't dating, if feelings aren't dating, then what is? What is dating? I'm so confused and I just… I can't keep doing this with you. I can't."

"B-"

But I was already walking away. For once, for the very first time, I was going to leave her.

So ends another chapter. What do you think? Angsty enough? I was totally listening to Landslide on repeat the entire time I was writing. ALSO I am going to ask this again because no one said anything. Final chapter, San's POV? y/n? Lemme know.