A/N: This has not been updated in an incredibly long time.
Hopefully that trend will break now.
Enjoy.
It's still dark in the room when you open your eyes.
The first thought that goes through your head involves questioning what time it is, night, morning, whatever. That thought is quickly cut short when you remember exactly where you are, who you're with, and how you're dressed.
Well, "dressed" might not be the appropriate word in this situation. The word you're looking for involves not wearing anything at all, just the sheets you are wrapped in and the warm arms that circle around your waist, the heat of another body pressed against your back.
Undressed. That's the word.
Tonight, last night, whenever it was, was a special experience. You're pretty sure you've never felt so much intense and positive emotion in your life. All you could think at first was, why wasn't my first time like this, why can't I just hit a button and redo it all?
Eventually, those thoughts of regret, longing, whatever they were, were replaced by thoughts of pleasure, of love, and of awe every time you met Brittany's eyes.
Pretty soon you weren't thinking anything at all.
Now, you're thinking that you want to feel comfortable right now. You want to be okay with how you're lying here, completely bare, with just a sheet and Brittany's arm to cover you, and how when the sun comes up you'll wake up and smile and turn to her.
But you don't feel comfortable with that. Not now, perhaps soon, but not yet. Your cold, hard heart has not been completely thawed, and it's just a little too much to handle.
For now, you settle with slipping quietly out from under the arm she has unconsciously splayed across you, sliding the sheets off of you as you tiptoe over to the mess your pile of stuff has already become.
The clothes you'd laid out earlier are still where they were, and you slip on the soft boxers and large cotton t-shirt before turning back to the bed where Brittany sleeps. The heavy curtains in your swanky hotel room are not drawn completely, and a little bit of city light is peeking in. It may not be as beautiful as the moonlight you know you'd see back in Lima, but right now the way it plays across Brittany's face is the next best thing.
You're stuck standing there, frozen, watching her sleep. You feel creepy again, this is the second time in less than twenty-four hours that you've done this. You don't think you can help yourself anymore.
The past few years, all you could do was hope for moments like these. You spent hours of your life daydreaming about having a girl like her, having someone to text goodnight, or take on dates with extravagant finales, or even just hold the door for. You can't help being a sucker for chivalry and a bit of a romantic, even if Puck would tease you endlessly if he found out.
You reminisce about the old days of pining for romance a little longer, before realizing that you don't need to, because the ultimate, genuine, real-deal is currently lying across two-thirds of your massive hotel bed. Her body language is asking you to cuddle, even though she's off in dreamland.
You're not one to deny a cuddle-request. Especially not when it's Brittany.
Clearing your head of all the thoughts and worries and epiphanies that seem to constantly fill it as of late, you slip back underneath the sheets and press yourself back into Brittany's warm, slumbering figure.
You have all day tomorrow to fill your head up with thoughts. Now you're just going back to bed with your girl.
...
The next time you wake up, it's definitely morning. Your eyes aren't actually open, but you can sense the light streaming into the room. There's a big difference between this morning, the last time you woke up, and yesterday morning.
That difference comes in the form of Brittany, who, after you crack open one eyelid, is discovered to be hovering over you on all fours and smiling like it's already the best day of her life. She also appears to have put on clothes, because her chest is currently about six inches away from your face and you have yet to experience heart failure.
"Good morning", she whispers, like it's a secret just for your ears.
"Unph" is your oh-so-sexy grunt of a reply. You really know how to kill a moment.
She rolls off of you, laughing as she informs you that it's already eleven in the morning and she ordered chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast about ten minutes ago.
Yup, definitely a keeper.
Brittany took the liberty off pulling the covers off of you already so all you have to do is roll sideways and onto your feet, and you're out of bed.
You take stock of the room, noticing that the clothes that were on the floor last night are put away, or at least shoved into the bags they came out of, and that Brittany has covered up with a large t-shirt that says "World's Best Grandma".
You also notice that the sky outside the window is not completely gray, as the weather forecast would suggest, and that today might just be the perfect day to go shopping.
The pancakes arrive and the two of you feast. You're not sure if it's the previous night's activities or just normal morning hunger, but you ate more than you can remember eating for breakfast in a long time.
After you've finished eating, the two of you shower, separately of course. This time you think of the night before as you wash your body clean, freeing yourself from the sweaty feeling that you just couldn't get rid of.
By the time the two of you hit Michigan Avenue to do all the classic Chicago shopping, the sun is shining bright in the cloud-ridden sky, though no thunderheads are looming. Brittany drags you to every store that appeals to her.
By the time you've just made it to Water Tower Place, your feet are already hurting and you've got more brightly colored bags than you can count. Sure, a good number of them contain clothes for yourself, but Brittany has a thirst for fashion and she is absolutely ecstatic. Of course, she has managed to find all of the best deals while you've bought fewer items but paid much, much more.
It turns out that you spend the most time on the food level of Water Tower. You're all shopped out and Brittany can tell, she lets you know that she's content to just sit there and people watch, but she spends most of the time watching you.
She sips her iced-tea and smiles coyly at you from across the small plastic mall table, her fingers tapping a frenzied nonsense beat across the tops of your knuckles. It's about four in the afternoon on a Sunday and the place is bustling with people.
"Wanna get out of here?" she asks, looking around at the nearly-filled tables.
You do. You feel rested and you want to go somewhere quiet where you can just be with Brittany, and not so many loud foreigners or screaming children.
The wind has picked up when you walk outside, and you head back to Michigan Avenue, just walking and enjoying each other's presence. You walk for a long time, and the two of you make it all the way to the riverwalk on Lower Wacker Drive.
You stand against the ornate stone railing on the edge of the river and watch cars go over the nearby bridge as people bustle about on the sidewalks. The buildings are catching the late-afternoon (or early evening) light and the faded yellow reflections cast a magical air about the city, windows flashing as you turn your head to survey the view.
Brittany seems captivated by a group of pigeons pecking about on a lower level nearer to the water, and you're completely lost in your own thoughts.
By next Monday, you will be back in school at McKinley, back to worrying about making those last-minute college decisions (you know you've waited too long, but your mother has always said that you were stubborn and careful), back to taping ankles and spending mindless hours in the golf cart with Emma as she routinely sanitizes.
For now, you're just glad to be standing in this never-ending maze of people and bustle and emotions, where you can just turn your head and see something completely new.
Next to you, Brittany turns her head from the fluttering gray birds and looks back at you, smiling happily as the same light that reflects off the windows catches her eyes and causes them to shine bright blue. A breeze is blowing and a water-taxi chugs by in the river next to you.
"I think, Santana..." she begins, brushing a stray strand of hair from your eyes that you had failed to notice, "...I think that this city is sort of like us, in a way. Everything may seem random and sudden and loud, but if you take a chance to step back and really, really look, you'll see just how perfectly it all fits together, how perfectly we fit together."
Her words are powerful to you, bringing out emotions you didn't know you had. Sure, that could have been a line right out of a cheesy romantic movie, but it wasn't.
Times like these with Brittany are the ones you truly appreciate, times when you can listen to her speak, and look into her eyes, and feel tears in the corners of yours, those are the times that you don't want to end.
You wrap your arms around her completely on instinct, like it's your job.
Hugging her close, your head on her shoulder, you feel invincible.
"That was one of the most perfect things I've ever heard", you say, and it's the honest truth.
You can feel her smile, and she squeezes you tighter.
"I've been thinking about that all day," she confesses, "when I woke up before you, I sat and looked out the window for a long time. I watched the cars and people go by, and the stores open- only because it's Sunday and they open late -and I just couldn't help but feel it. It took me until just now on this bridge to really know what to say."
She giggles now, and it shakes both of your bodies, and pretty soon you both laugh and laugh, and then you're kissing and it just feels right, and everything is perfect.
You catch a cab back to the hotel and change into comfy clothes. Despite it being Sunday, and just the beginning of the break, you both are too tired to do anything so you decide to knock out a little homework.
Brittany calls Quinn to say hi and catch up, and you text Puck while sitting cross-legged on the bed with your multi-variable calculus book in your lap. Sometimes being smart seems like a curse and you're paying much more attention to the phone than you are to the math.
As you and Puck talk about the new sound-system he's saving up for, Brittany giggles loudly, probably laughing at some story Quinn is telling about a misadventure with Rachel this weekend. Sure, you've see the girl at plenty of parties, but when she's with the loud little diva they always seem to do the weirdest shit.
Brittany turns her head towards you to demand that you go to a zoo tomorrow, and you groan because it's probably going to rain but you'll probably end up going anyway.
You grab your phone and begin to look up a plan, smiling to yourself as the girl across the room dances and laughs and keeps up a conversation. It's the perfect night in and you hope there are many more to come upon your return to Lima.
The next morning you are both energized from the relaxing evening before, and Brittany dances along the street as you head for the train. It's not raining quite yet, but the clouds are brewing and Brittany has busted out the bright yellow umbrella.
Naturally, you hate the rain. It makes your hair frizzy and strikes a permanent frown across your face. Brittany told you earlier that your expression looked angrier than the clouds overhead and you just scowled, refusing to laugh as the valet man outside of the hotel giggled quietly.
The train ride is short and you get off and walk to the zoo. You feel like a pro for being able to find Lincoln Park zoo, nestled away in a quiet area on what you guess is the "North Side", with lots of smaller buildings and restaurants around.
The zoo is free, which is nice, and it is just starting to open some of the outdoor exhibits with the weather growing nicer, although the impending rain means that some of the animals have ventured into hiding places.
You walk around the stone paths with Brittany, and the two of you make a sort of game as the drops begin to lightly fall, spotting animals hidden away under rock shelters and in dry spots on ledges in each of the areas.
The hood of your red raincoat is securely on your head, and Brittany finds humor in pulling the tightening cord all the way shut so that you look ridiculous and will certainly end up with a kink in your hair.
If the rain makes you look like a damned idiot, it only makes Brittany look better. The droplets cling to her golden waves as she spins around, twirling the folded umbrella that she has not bothered to open. She is beautiful, and she is flourishing, and she is perfect.
Later, after the two of you have eaten lunch, you find yourself in the long hall that houses the big cats. Their snarls and growls are like frustrated grumbles as Brittany stands close to the cages, turning around to face you where you've kept your distance, informing you of the fact that these big babies have nothing on her own fat cat when it comes to being scary.
The rain is falling heavily when you exit the long, dimly-lit building, but your coats have dried and Brittany opens the umbrella, linking first your pinkies and later your arms, and pulling you close to keep the two of you dry as you walk back to the train.
She cares for you so much in that moment, and you thank her. She tells you that she intends to show you how much she really cares when you arrive back at the hotel, and that has you blushing as the two of you part for a moment to pass through the automated gates at the station.
On Tuesday when you decide to go shopping again, this time at the trendier stores and huge vintage shops in an area Quinn told you to head to, you feel the most comfortable you've felt in days. It's not just because this part of the city is called Boystown and plays host to Chicago's Pride Parade every June, but it's because you feel like you and Brittany have really escalated as a couple.
As you stroll up and down the concrete sidewalk, ducking into the shops that are hidden away in brick-paved alleys and racing up the stairs to find what each new floor of each new place has to offer, you feel safe, like this is a person you could do anything with.
You eat lunch at a place with a bright awning and fun cartoon maps of the area that are laminated and used instead of table-cloths. It's a nice place that you can see people coming to regularly, and you and Brittany agree that it reminds you a little of April's place back at home.
It's there that Brittany brings up the subject you've hoped to avoid since the beginning of the trip.
"Sooo-ooo" she says, dragging out the word and pursing her lips, "there was something I've been meaning to talk about ever since you kidnapped me on Friday."
"What's up?" you ask, thinking it's probably harmless or just a little question or story from Brittany's week. Obviously something important but certainly not enormous news.
She smiles, grinning like she has a secret that's just bursting to spill from her lips, her cat-like eyes slanting and sparkling with excitement.
"Coach told us that there were going to be scouts coming to our games for the next couple of weeks after break. They were there during winter intramurals and at try-outs, but this is the final stretch, the big recruitment month in Ohio. We don't have a game until next Friday but once break is over there will probably be two-a-days until Wednesday to get everyone back. I'm so excited, it's like with you here and this to look forward to, everything is finally falling into place!"
You can feel a pit begin to hollow itself out inside your stomach. Brittany is right about things falling into place here in Chicago, and the recruitment is amazing, but the chance of you and her getting accepted to a school in even the same part of the country is in no way 100%. It just fills your head with all the worries and anxiety you've be trying to suppress about school and friends and the people you love becoming separated.
You've seen what can happen to a relationship when people get separated, even as just friends. Hell, Rachel spent four days of the past week sulking when she learned that Quinn had accepted a scholarship to play lacrosse at Northwestern while the diva herself chose to pursue the arts at some east-coast school with an extra-long abbreviated name that you've since forgotten (it wasn't really important).
You don't want to have to find yourself in the same situation, wanting to be furious at someone you care about for choosing to follow their dreams and go to a school that will totally set them up to play their sport (Rachel told you and Brittany that she couldn't be upset with Quinn- Northwestern was the best school in the country for girl's lacrosse and she had to support her friend for following her own dream, even if they couldn't both end up on the East Coast).
You grab Brittany's hand, looking into her eyes and smiling, with a mostly-genuine look of excitement on your face.
"That's amazing, B! What schools will be there?"
She begins to rattle off a list of schools her coach said would maybe be there, and then one of schools that would definitely be watching them. The names all seemed to blur together except for one- UCLA.
You felt like you were in one of those cheesy television shows where the final clue is given and the detective has a sudden vision of the evidence he needs- your mind seems to zoom back to the one of the letters in a stack on your desk, the one with a single bright-blue post-it attached, the one that said "University of California Los Angeles".
It hits you then. If Brittany could somehow manage to stick out to just the UCLA scout, to look perfect in his or her eyes, then maybe, just maybe, you would have a chance of going to school together. When your father saw the letter in the mail, he made sure to put a post-it on to make sure you knew that this was a school he really approved of.
In true Lopez spirit, he jokingly told you that he and your Mami would kick your ass if you didn't go there, but you honestly didn't need any convincing. The warm weather and the thought of an exciting life on the other side of the country, while kicking off your own medical career was already enough persuasion.
"Have you thought about where you want to go?" you dare to ask, nervous about what her response might be.
She pretends to ponder it for a little while, popping a french-fry into her mouth and furrowing her eyebrows in mock-concentration.
"I'm pretty sure I want to go to any school that will have me that isn't in the Midwest. I mean, it would be sweet to get out of here, right? And I'm not a super-genius who will probably rule the world like you are, San, so when the letters or emails or phonecalls or whatever it is they do, when they happen, I'll pick what I like best and go from there. And how super-awesome would it be if we got to go to school in like, the same place? I'll definitely think about that when the time comes."
Her honest answer only eases your nerves a little bit. You nod your head in agreement that it would be awesome, and excuse yourself to the restroom after squeezing her hand.
Once you're alone, hands on either side of the sink and staring at yourself in the mirror, you feel your entire body shudder.
Come on, Lopez, toughen up. You can't let yourself get caught up in something like this. You've never worried about the details before and you can't start now.
Sometimes, you just want to punch your inner monologue in the face. It's something you've always had and while sometimes you enjoy the little pep-talks you get from yourself, they haven't happened in a couple of days and it's been nice to just relax. You usually only need to do this when you're really stressed or being an idiot.
Now is probably one of those times. You feel like a total self-centered asshole for getting like this every time you think about school and the future, especially on vacation and in the middle of a conversation that Brittany wanted to have.
Times like these make you want to be back home in Lima, sitting on Puck's roof and smoking a cigar stolen out of the case that sits untouched in your Papi's office.
You try to shake your head out of the dark clouds that form in your mind, heading back to Brittany with a soft smile on your face and a wink when you sit down.
The two of you take your time after lunch, sending pictures of awesome stuff to Quinn to make her jealous, even if this area will only be about 40 minutes away from her for the next 4 years, or so she's told you, bragging until you want to slap the smug little grin off of her face.
You always restrain yourself, though.
From what you've heard, Quinn always was a genius slapper.
Later, the two of you get manicures at one of the little shops that line the street. The ladies behind the counter don't even frown as you and Brittany present your...well, rather short nails after coming in holding hands.
It's just that kind of neighborhood.
Even in the early evening, the ever-changing Chicago weather is still nice, and the two of you decide to walk for a while, opting to get on the train at a station a mile or so South. You grab Starbucks at a shop hidden in a nearby grocery store before jogging up the steps to the platform. Brittany orders you something sweet and full of caramel and it's almost as if she knows you like the back of her hand.
Later that night as you are curled into each other in bed, close to drifting off, she tells you not to focus on the future, and to just enjoy the present.
Your eyes widen as you realize she saw your stress right through the façade you tried to put up. You curl into her and decide to stop hiding your emotions from people, or maybe to just start with her.
It's because she deserves it. She deserves to know when you're feeling right or wrong, happy or sad, and there isn't anybody else you'd rather share your feelings with, because feelings?
They suddenly seem to make everything better.
Feel free to drop a review and tell me how you're feeling about this story.
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