"Okay, chat, I'll just go make something to eat," Brittany winked at her webcam as hearts and all manners of gifs were popping up in her chat. "Officially six hours in! No fighting," she reminded cheerfully before getting up and out of her room.
She'd barely closed her own door when Santana's door clicked open. It was the pixie haired girl from last night, her makeup faded and a side of her hair sticking out at an odd angle.
Brittany took a deep breath as she ignored the smile-wave the girl gave her, and made her way to the kitchen.
"Hi," the girl spoke anyway, approaching Brittany. "I was just… wondering, if you were Santana's—"
"I'm not," Brittany replied shortly. She opened the fridge, her eyes scanning the half-empty shelves. Something about the sight of Santana's beer stash on the bottom shelf irked her. She didn't know why, because Santana rarely drank at home. She supposed it was the smell of beer lingering in the apartment. It had been months since her first ever visit, but the smell of beer was admittedly something she was taking some time getting used to. Plus, it only reminded her of what she saw last night. Brittany huffed as she took out a carton of chocolate milk and turned to get a glass from the top drawer, kicking the fridge door to close it. She sighed when she saw that the girl was still there. "I'm not Santana's anything, and I'm not supposed to talk to you," she added, pouring herself a glass of milk. "You should leave, y'know, before she wakes up."
"Oh, I think it'll be awhile before she gets up," the girl replied, smiling almost to herself. "She was up all night, after all."
Brittany took a sip from her glass and shrugged. She knew what the girl meant, of course. She had to readjust her mic settings last night because she was scared the loud wailing from the other side of the wall would infiltrate her stream. She knew Santana's voice enough to be sure that it wasn't her, but having a stranger wail into your stream wasn't preferable either. "I really, don't know what to do, with that information," she finally said.
"I'll go," the pixie haired girl finally said. Why did she look so proud of herself, anyway? "Maybe I'll see you again soon. Brittany, right?"
"Um, don't bet on it," Brittany mumbled. She watched the door close, thankful the girl probably didn't hear her right. So that's why I'm not supposed to talk to them. She didn't think she'd feel so irritated, but something about talking to that girl made her feel so… wrong.
For some reason, Brittany couldn't help but stare at the spots on the girl that she'd watched Santana touch last night. Her hips, her back, her face. Even after the door had closed after her, Brittany's mind reeled back to the two drunken girls, giggling in between kisses, almost walking into her room. She realized now the difference between seeing Santana the morning after, when she would be sober and sleepy, and seeing Santana in action, giggly and confident and drunk shitless. They seemed like two different people, and Brittany really only ever got the chance to speak to the first version of her roommate.
It took the latina in question to speak out for Brittany to shake those thoughts off her mind.
"Brittany," Santana repeated. She was at the kitchen now, just feet away from the blonde. Her dark brown hair was messy, and traces of her makeup from last night still remained. It took a minute for Brittany to realize Santana was wearing a tee and no pants. "You okay?"
"Santana," Brittany breathed, taking her glass of milk straight to her lips. "I didn't see you wake."
Santana glanced at the door where the pixie haired girl had just left. "Heard you two talking," she shrugged.
"I'm sorry," Brittany began. "I know I'm not supposed to." She made to leave the kitchen, glass of milk in hand. She didn't know exactly what it was, just that she didn't want to look the brunette in the eyes yet, scared her thoughts would show.
Santana put her hand on the blonde's arm, stopping her. "I'm sorry, about last night," she meant it. "She was… a talker, kept asking me about you."
Brittany forced a couple blinks. She remembered, again, the sounds coming from Santana's room last night. "No, you're good," she shook her head. "I was just, still jumpy, from the scary movie. Heard you guys coming in, I forgot you were coming from work." And forgot about your one night stand routine. "I didn't—tell her anything, by the way. About you."
Santana smiled. "Thanks, Brittanerd," she gave the blonde a light squeeze on the arm before loosening her light grip. It was too much interaction for so early in the morning anyway. "I'll try and keep them away from you next time."
"You don't have to," Brittany replied quickly. "It's your life, and your place."
Santana let go of her elbow. "I know, I just—I'm sorry we scared you, last night."
"I'll, um, get back to my stream," the blonde waved. Screw making something to eat. She wondered what she looked like, looking blank in the kitchen like that. Did she want to stay and talk longer? Probably. But she was scared the latina would catch on to the things going on in her mind, and she still really had 18 hours of a livestream left to focus on. "See you tonight?"
The brunette nodded. Brittany couldn't help but feel she was being judged, those brown eyes studying her face. Scrutinizing. She started to walk away, back towards her room.
"Roommate," she heard Santana say as she opened her door. "You can say you're my roommate—or friend—whatever. Next time, I mean."
