A/N: I can't even begin to say how sorry I am for the slow rate this is going at. Nonetheless, here's another chapter for you and your Brittana-needs, for once. Thank you all, and most of all to xxraquelita, who has the most patience in the world. Let me know what you think.
By the time they climbed out of the car in the school's parking lot Thursday morning, Santana regretted getting up at all. The three and a half hours of sleep she'd managed to get in the end were not even near enough, and even though Kurt had tossed four different moisturizers at her when she stepped out of the shower that morning, she could tell her eyes were still puffy and tired.
She could not even remember how they got back to bed; she just knew that somehow they did, and somehow they managed to fall asleep again. And, more importantly, they somehow managed to get up when Kurt's alarm went off, which was completely beyond Santana's comprehension.
She had no full recollection of what had happened at breakfast – only a vague memory of a strong cup of coffee came to mind when she tried to will the memories to appear. She did not even remember being annoyed with Finn, neither at breakfast nor in the car, which was probably both a good and a bad sign. Because if Santana was not conscious enough to be bothered by Finn, she would probably be close to unconscious in class.
Santana could not decide whether the day was one of the slowest of her life, or if the thick haze that seemed to have settled in her mind actually made the day go faster. But when the last class was dismissed and Santana pushed her chair back, she realized that the most prominent thing about that day was her losing all kinds of concepts regarding time.
It was like nothing had come through to her that day. Not a thing any of the teachers had preached about had made it into her mind. Whenever people had tried talking to her, all she had been able to answer was at best a confused, automatic reply and at worst an empty stare.
Santana had never done well without sleep. She needed a lot of the basics to be able to function properly; without a ton of sleep and crazy amounts of food her mind and body simply refused to cooperate.
"It's kind of like being hung-over," she groaned to Brittany as she picked up her backpack and followed the stream of people out of the classroom. "Whenever I'm hungry, sleep deprived or hung-over, I turn into this creature that just… The HMS – Hung-over Monster Santana."
She knew before she even said it that the joke and comment was completely lost on Brittany. That did not bother Santana in the least and she knew that Brittany could not care less about not catching the references, either.
But the sudden realization that hit Santana as she walked through the classroom door and entered the hall, absolutely startled her.
Kurt would love that joke.
She did her best not to stop walking completely as the thought hit her dazed mind – not just because of the simple thought that Kurt would appreciate one of her meaningless jokes, but because of what that implied.
They were sort of alike. She had never thought of it that way before. She had thought of them as friends in spite of differences so huge it was almost blinding. She had thought of them as something very close to opposites.
But this. They were alike. Santana Lopez – head Cheerio, head bitch in charge, sassy, raging, snappy Santana Lopez – was rather similar to Kurt Hummel. Kurt Hummel. Two or three years ago, Santana would have never even considered that possible.
Back then, to her Kurt was the pale gay kid that always covered himself up in ridiculous outfits, had a voice higher than any girl she knew and insisted on strutting around the school looking like he thought he was so much better than everyone else.
Now, not only did she actually know who Kurt was beneath all that, but she could also see their similarities. Kurt was just as sassy as she was sometimes. Kurt could be a bitch when he wanted to, too. His standard setting "air of superiority" was not that different from her standard setting "seriously raging Lima Heights bitch." But above all; their wit.
They were alike.
She had barely even finished that line of thought when something vaguely solid, blue and incredibly cold collided with her face.
She barely even registered the guy that threw it at her, and she was not completely sure what it was he shouted after her after the impact, because all she could think about was how to open her eyes when her entire face was nothing but a sticky, blue slushy mess.
Santana swore the entire way to the girl's bathroom and did not stop even when they got there. She let Brittany rinse the worst of it off her face, but also let herself continue the swearing.
She was not sure if the words tumbling out made her feel any better, but she figured that at least it would not hurt.
She was not sure what was the worst part of it all was, either. If it was the dickhead that threw the slushy, if it was the fact that the crowd in the hallway had only reacted with indifference and a couple of sneers, or if it was the stinging and burning sensation in her eyes.
"Look, some of it splashed onto me," Brittany said and looked down at her own chest as Santana inspected the blue discoloration on her own clothing. "It kind of matches my eyes."
Santana let out a laugh and met Brittany's eyes in the mirror.
"True," she said, and reached up to redo her slightly wet and untidy pony tail. "Not that your eyes are all neon, but still."
Santana pulled her pony tail with a final tug and turned halfway around to look at Brittany directly instead, and flashed her a smile.
"It's too bad my eyes aren't as matching," she said and turned back to the mirror, well aware that only Brittany could make her come up with an honest smile while corn syrup was burning her eyes.
"It's okay," Brittany said and walked up right behind Santana, meeting her eyes in the reflection, resting her chin on Santana's right shoulder. "You can match mine."
The sweet magic and constant surprise of Brittany's mind would never stop baffling Santana, and the perfection of the two of them in the mirror made her blush and look down into the sink in front of them for a second.
She looked up again only a moment after, just to get a second look at the image in front of her.
Her and Britt. Blonde versus dark. Blue versus brown. Matching slushy stains.
It was weird how a low standard school bathroom and a mirror image full of blue slushy stains became the most romantic place Santana could imagine at the moment.
"I love you."
Dinner at the Pierce's had always been like taking a break from reality; but in the state of sleep deprivation and emotional exhaustion Santana was in, it was an even more absurd experience than ever before.
She could clearly remember how Brittany had first introduced her parents to her when they first got to know each other in middle school. Brittany had invited Santana over after school, and not two minutes into the visit had Brittany proudly stuffed Lord Tubbington into Santana's lap.
"It's okay," Brittany had assured the somewhat skeptical Santana. "He doesn't have anything contagious, I promise. I've checked."
Santana had been fairly sure the fat cat in her lap only put up with her because of laziness and perhaps some amount of gratitude towards Brittany, but he stayed in her lap and blinked slowly at her.
"Uh… You know a lot about cats, then?" she had asked, and had immediately felt like a complete and utter idiot.
"I have to," Brittany had answered solemnly and crawled up further into her bed. "My parents are hippies that don't believe in vaccination."
What was years but felt like a lifetime later, Mr. and Mrs. Pierce prepared a chick pea curry with coconut milk and sweet pepper, and gave Santana the honor of lightening the candles on the kitchen table while Brittany set the table in all the wrong ways.
It made Santana feel both a warm kind of fuzz in the pit of her stomach, and a slightly uneasy, prickling sensation in her gut; her emotions colliding. There were the families she had left, and there were the ones she had lost. There were the things that had changed and there were the things that had stayed the same. It was the same kind of feeling that kept pumping through her veins every time she entered the Hummel-Hudson kitchen or opened the tap in the bathroom upstairs.
Safe but sore.
She smiled at Brittany throughout dinner, offered to do the dishes she knew they would never let her do and then disappeared upstairs with Brittany mumbling something about sweet lady kisses in her ear.
Brittany; the constant surprise. It always seemed so much at random when Britt did or did not understand irony and sarcasm, that it always took Santana by surprise when she suddenly found herself wondering if that right there was Brittany using it herself.
Sweet lady kisses. They had not called them that since before Santana stopped denying what they meant. It felt like a childhood name of an adult concept – what it used to be called before they knew what it was.
It was not"sweet lady kisses" anymore. There were no illusions between them anymore, no more excuses. Not that year. It was only them, hip to hip, mouth to mouth, both girls well aware of what they were.
They were them, together. Nothing else.
In the end, all Santana had to do when Brittany whispered those words, the words they had not used since forever, was turn her head and look at her. The grin on her girlfriend's face told her everything she needed to know.
It was a joke alright, a joke only they could grasp the entirety of. Only the two of them on top of the covers of Brittany's bed knew what it meant, the ironic use of the words they once had to protect themselves, the words that used to have Santana's heart in a firm, solid grip.
Her heart was not chained up like that anymore. It belonged to herself, or at least to the two of them.
Loneliness was very far away.