A/N: One-sided Brittana.
TW: Brief reference to semi-public sex.
When she's with Brittany, Santana feels fresh, like she just stepped out of the shower. Renewed.
Brittany brings a cupcake to school for Santana's birthday. It's vanilla flavored and smells of pure sugar. The iced "S" is red and straggly and the "B" is blue, so fat its curves meld together. Multicolored sprinkles cover the white frosting underneath and linger down the front of Britt's Cheerio uniform.
The cupcake is delicious. It's from a box, but it's special because Britt made it for her. Well, Britt claims Lord Tubbington made it, because he loves Santana, just like Britt loves Santana.
Brittany laughs, eyes dancing between her bangs, after Santana insists on splitting it with her. While they're cramming their halves into their mouths, a blip of frosting smears across the top of Britt's upper lip.
Santana thinks about leaning over and kissing it off. She thinks about study sessions that devolve into secret-talk. Talking about nice things is easy, but even after Santana spills over with some of the mean things she swears just happen while she's there, Britt just smiles in that innocent, all forgiving way. "I understand, Santana," she says. "That's just the way it is. I love you."
Britt takes a long drink of Dr. Pepper and touches the tip of her tongue to the luscious blob of white. Santana looks away.
There are days when she wishes she could see in herself what Britt sees. Days when she's so fucking pissed at the world she bites some random kid's head off. Days when she yanks Puck into a bathroom stall and rage-fucks him. Days when she feels like she has to manipulate everyone just to get what she needs - what she really wants. Including Brittany, sad to tell, although there's a growing tide of feeling inside that tells her stop it, she deserves better than this. Better than you.
"Don't be sad," says Britt bouncily, "It's your birthday." She leans in, turns her head and kisses her cheek sweetly. Santana can feel the brush of her Cheerios curls, close by, and the imprint of her mouth, sticky-smeared; a soft, warm breath.
Britt really believes that she's better. Can act better. Can be better. Can be true. She sees potential or she sees only good. And before such purity of thought, Santana can only feel humble, which is what you would feel if your layers were peeled away, one by one, to reveal a newer, cleaner, truer self.
Britt is, indeed, very special. One day she'll have the courage to say it. Fuck the world what they think when she reaches in for a full, public kiss, one that she'll return. But right now, while they're demolishing the last of her birthday treat, she's content to bathe in Brittany's affection, knowing she's got no sins in her eyes.