Title: Some Things Are Meant To Be [Part Six]
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9.3k

Notes: This story is just about to get interesting... Me gusta. Also, thank you for the reviews! Just over 50 on the last chapter! Insane in the membrane!

/

She waits, panting heavily as she stares into blue eyes and she can see the fight behind them.

She can see Brittany trying to resist, trying to fight the pros and cons of doing this and fuck, there's a part of her that just wants to grab Brittany by the back of her neck and crush their mouths together. That just wants to remember how it feels to kiss her, to be wanted by her and shit, she needs to stop thinking like this because she's not too drunk, but she's sure as hell drunk enough to give in to her urges and kissing Brittany is one hell of an urge.

Fuck it.

"You guys are boring and you're taking too long," someone blurts out, their words slurring and suddenly their little daze is broken and Santana's pulling away faster than she can say her own name. Her hands grip along the bar top and she supports herself as she shuffles backwards and away from the blonde, making sure not to look her in the eye and see the rejection flashing across sapphire orbs. "I think it's my turn with HIM!"

Of course, it's Jason's sister and if Santana wasn't feeling entirely weird about what just happened she'd roll her eyes because this girl's just getting on her last nerve. She points toward one of the male strippers and Santana takes in a deep breath, finally looking up to find Brittany walking off toward the door that leads to the bar downstairs. Her chest tightens at the image and she clenches her jaw against the rush of emotions that pulse through her body. For fuck sake, why does she feels bad for doing the right thing and not kissing an engaged woman?

She closes her eyes, hangs her head and shakes it from side to side, trying not to let this get to her. It's the alcohol that's affecting her and Brittany and she knows in the morning the blonde won't remember it, or will be pleased she didn't kiss Santana, and Santana, well, she can't say she'll be pleased because she's not, but she's still glad she didn't fuck everything up.

Still, when she jumps down from the bar and grabs her shirt, she suddenly remembers that she has actually kissed someone tonight and freezes, slowly lifting her head to find Dani chewing the side of her cheek and staring at her quizzically. And she has nothing to say. She can't explain any of that without a whole load of shit pouring out, without spewing out everything that's going on between her and Brittany, and so she sticks her head through her shirt, pokes her arms through the holes and beams at Dani like nothing happened, offering out her hand.

"Drink?" She tries to sound cheery, but the waitress tilts her head to the side and stares a little harder.

Nevertheless, she ends up bobbing her head, removing the curious expression from her face and joining Santana in a shot as they watch Jason's sister have another go with one of the male strippers that's certainly not going home with her tonight, their hands finding each other only moments later.

As for Brittany, Santana just spares a quick glimpse at the door the blonde left through and manages to pull her thoughts away from it.

She didn't do anything wrong. That's what counts here.

/

The night slowly dies down and gone three in the morning, the terrace bar begins to shoo out the hen party. Most of the women are too drunk to even notice, already calling their other halves and whispering dirty things down the line to them—apparently male strippers rile them up—and several cabs are pulled up outside by the sidewalk, waiting for unwanted conversations and possible dried puke to clear up in the backseats in the morning.

Santana definitely doesn't envy them.

But anyway, she's heading outside with Dani beside her and they're heading to the other side of the street to get some peace and quiet—well, as much as they can get outside a bar that's kicking out rowdy, drunken women—and it's a little awkward. Dani hasn't asked about the near-kiss after the body shot, nor about the sheer jealously that's obvious in Brittany whenever Santana touches Dani or vice versa, and for that she's kind of grateful. She doesn't really know how to explain it and so it's a bit of a relief when they come face to face and Dani's not just walking away without another word.

"So tonight was fun," Santana starts off, tucking her hands beneath her arms. It's fucking cold.

Dani chuckles and kicks at something on the sidewalk, eyes flitting down to it. "Definitely," she answers and lifts her head. "and I would say call me," she says softly and throws a look over her shoulder toward the crowd in front of the building across the street, a crowd including Brittany. She sighs, turns back, and Santana frowns for a second, but at the same time a shot of cold panic spirals through her core because it feels like she's just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "But I get the feeling you're already involved in... something else."

Admittedly, it's probably the best way for Dani to phrase that considering she doesn't know what's going on, but when Santana really thinks about it, she realizes that's probably the way she would've described it because she doesn't have a clue either. Still, it's not great to hear because she knows Dani's quite a nice girl and they could get along in another world, maybe they could even go out on a date or whatever, but right now just isn't the right timing. It almost brings a bitter chuckle up from her throat at the thought because shit, if that's not the story of her life she doesn't know what is.

Her timing's always sucked. Brittany's a perfect example of that.

So she does the only thing she can do, and as she looks to Dani, she offers an apologetic smile and lifts her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she whispers and sucks her lips into her mouth, glancing away. "It's..."

"Fucked up?" Dani finishes, catching Santana off guard, but she has to admit that's pretty much spot on. Everything's just so fucked up.

"Yeah," she agrees, rubbing the back of her neck and letting her eyes dart across the road to where Brittany's hands are pulling together each side of the coat wrapped around her shoulders. Those blue eyes almost immediately flicker her way, but just as quickly as it happens they're gone and Santana almost kicks herself because she's pretty sure she's screwed up Brittany's hen party. Maybe she just shouldn't be allowed to interact with people at all. It would save a lot of hurt and unnecessary drama. "It's a little fucked up, I'm sorry."

The waitress nods almost solemnly, like she's missed out on something good, and Santana hates the way the guilt pangs at her chest. This girl didn't do anything wrong, was just cute and flirty and Santana does find her attractive. She's just not the one, and it's seriously cheesy for her to say that but it's easy for her to say it when she's pretty sure the one is standing across the street looking at her.

Oh, how sometimes she wishes that wasn't the way.

"It's alright." A half-smile grows across Dani's face and she reaches to grab Santana's forearm before pressing closer and kissing Santana on the lips, one last time. It comes as a bit of a shock, and dark brown eyes widen a little bit because of it, but then the waitress pulls back, raises an eyebrow and puts her hand up to hail a cab as she steps back.

"Wha—what was that?" Santana questions a little confused.

The girl just smirks and a cab pulls up behind her. She doesn't get in yet though, just pulls open the door and steps down the curb, resting on the the edge as she looks at Santana. "Because it may be fucked up, but it's fucked up for a reason," her head turns as she looks back over her shoulder toward Brittany, almost gesturing toward her. "You just both gotta figure it out."

Without another word, Dani offers a light-tipped smile, slips into the cab and it drives off. Perfectly shaped eyebrows pull together as Santana steps into the road, tugging her coat tighter around her, but then she senses a pair of blue eyes moving her way and she glances over to see Brittany attempting to include herself into a conversation she's just not listening to.

And well, there may be a reason, but Santana just doesn't know what the hell it is.

/

Seeing as they live together, Santana winds up going home with Brittany. It's only sensible that they share a cab and save money, but Santana almost thinks spending more money and experiencing less awkwardness would be worth it. Especially because now the alcohol's calming down, she thinks about the kiss with the waitress and how Brittany looked and it's all making her feel shittier by the second. Plus it's making her question why Brittany seemed to damn jealous in the first place.

Like, she's not blind, there's an obvious reason for Brittany being jealous, but if that reason is actually true, then why the hell is Brittany still getting married to that douche bag?

Fuck. Santana just doesn't know.

One side of her mind is telling her she knows what's going on, and the other is almost at the point of giving up because it's so damn confused.

"That's fourteen dollars, thank you," the cabby says as they pull up outside their apartment. Brittany doesn't even hesitate before she's slipping out the cab and Santana rolls her eyes. Guess she's paying then.

"Here's twenty," she lifts her butt, pulling out a note from her jeans pocket. "Keep the change," she pats him on the shoulder as she slides out the taxi and closes the door, feeling the chill of the wind.

Brittany's already disappeared into the apartment, she assumes, so she heads through the main building and waits for the elevator, needing a minute to herself. Tonight's been a bit intense for her liking, and she's still a little drunk so her mind isn't running straight. That whole body shot thing that lead to her kissing Dani and then almost kissing Brittany was just way too much for her to handle, and it's ridiculous because she shouldn't have to handle anything. Brittany's getting fucking married, Santana's single and can kiss whoever the hell she wants, and Dani is attractive and Santana should be able to visit that path should she want to.

Yet it still feels like she's supposed to be loyal and faithful to a person who isn't even hers. That's just too fucking pathetic.

The door slams a little harder than intended when she gets into the apartment. It's one of those sounds that echoes through the apartment and she stands still, wincing because if Brittany heard that she's probably going to think that was Santana being pissy, and it wasn't. And if she thinks that, there's a possibility she might storm out and demand why Santana's angry, and they'll get into a fight and just no. She doesn't want to fight.

So she treads carefully, almost creeping into the apartment, and slipping off her shoes. She cracks her neck from side to side and rubs the back of it after, feeling the ache grow down her spine as she throws herself down on to the sofa, face first. Tonight hasn't gone the way she hoped and she knows after the alcohol's gone away, there's gonna be weirdness and awkwardness and fucking hell, she just doesn't want to have to handle any of that whilst trying to be professional.

Maybe Shelby was right. Maybe it is difficult being emotionally attached to the bride of a wedding she's planning.

Fuck.

Footsteps pad down the hallway and she rolls, briefly picking up her head to find Brittany walking into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. She's suddenly a lot more alert, a lot less tired and she sits up on her knees, just watching her friend because she knows something's coming and she'd prefer it now because she's still a little drunk and so is Brittany and it'll be easier to talk like that.

Yet even after the blonde's grabbed her drink, she just heads back down the hallway and it takes Santana a few seconds of watching it to realize apparently there's not going to be a conversation before she's half-falling off the couch to sprint after Brittany, catching her just before she enters her room.

"Britt," she pants.

Brittany twists around swiftly, her eyes narrowing into slits. "What?" She hisses and Santana jerks her head back, raises her eyebrows at the tone.

"Why are you even pissed at me?" She asks, even though she's pretty sure they both know why.

But the blonde just rips her hand away from the grip and takes a step away, shaking her head. "I'm not," she tries to defend and Santana actually lets out a scoff because yeah right.

"Are you serious?" She half-screeches in response. Disbelief trickles through her being and she glances around the room like she's trying to find a camera or something. "You've been off with me since—"

The words catch in her throat, and at the same time Brittany spins around, her eyes hard and dark. Her nostrils are flared, back straight and there's a menacing look in her eyes. But there's also something else, something Santana can tell the blonde's desperately trying to hide but they've known each other for years, and Santana's spent that time learning all of Brittany. Learning what she means when she doesn't understand something, what Brittany's sighs mean, how she reacts and what expression means what. She could write a whole damn book on the girl and so when she sees this little thing, she knows exactly why Brittany's pissed at her.

Yet there's still a part of her that can't quite believe it.

"Since when, Santana?" Brittany spits, storming back down to her with steam blowing from her ears. She stops barely an inch away from Santana, her chest pressed against hers and their noses almost touching. She radiates heat, the anger literally beaming off her body and Santana just stares up at her, fists clenching down by her side and mind desperately trying not to find this the hottest thing ever. "Since when have I been off with you?"

Blood boiling, Santana barely thinks about her response before it just comes out, and it happens so quick that she doesn't even register she's said it until Brittany's face is dropping, all the fury is seeping out her expression and she's stumbling back.

"Since you saw me with Dani because you were jealous."

And everything just goes silent.

The only sound is of New York City living outside these walls and Santana almost wishes she were back out there just to get her out this situation. A lump forms in her throat, her face tingles with heat and her body quakes with nerves because she really didn't mean to say that. She didn't mean to because it was one of those things that she was just thinking, that was just floating around her mind and now she has and now—fuck, what has she just done?

"I was jealous," Brittany repeats through a whisper, her head dropping and eyes going straight to the floor. "I'm jealous," she says to herself again, laughing bitterly a little and it strikes Santana that maybe Brittany didn't know. Maybe she was acting on an emotion she didn't fully understand and fuck, she doesn't actually know what to say. "God, I'm so stupid."

She itches with the urge to defend Brittany, to tell her she's not stupid, but she's sort of stunned, frozen and doesn't know what to do or say. Her tongue's clamped between her teeth, her body not letting her mind speak again because she's already said it and can't take it back and fuck, why can't she just take back those words?

Brittany lifts her head again, her eyebrows pushing together in the middle of her forehead and her eyes are full of emotion. Shock... sadness... regret. All of them flashing behind those bright blue orbs and Santana's breath hitches in her throat for what feels like the twentieth time in a few minutes because she doesn't know what it means. She's usually so good at reading Brittany. So good at knowing what her expressions mean and yet she's here and she doesn't know what the fuck is happening. It's like there's a block between her the blonde, and she wishes she could just break it down because this is killing her.

But she doesn't even get a chance to try, because the second her lips pop open to say something, Brittany's looking away, turning, and walking back down the hallway toward her bedroom, closing the door without another word.

And Santana?

She just stands there, hoping Brittany will come back.

She doesn't.

/

Santana spends the majority of the next day in the apartment, locked away in her bedroom doing some wedding prep. She can't bring herself to talk to Brittany after blurting out what she thought Brittany already knew. It feels like she just ruined something, but she was so sure the blonde knew. She was so damn sure that Brittany knew because they'd had moments, they had that thing between them and—

Shit. She was the only one who knew.

But that poses so many more question than it answers. If Brittany didn't know she was jealous, then she didn't know she felt something for Santana, then Brittany accepted Jason's proposal without knowing and now that means—

No, it can't. Brittany must have known something was up.

"Fuck," she breathes to herself, throwing her pen across the room. She's surrounded by books, sitting on her bed but she just kicks them out the way and falls back, throwing her hands over her face.

What has she done?

/

When she comes out the bedroom to get something to eat, she doesn't find Brittany anywhere.

The kitchen's empty, the living room, too, and she lets out a long sigh because she wanted to see her. Not that she knows what she would've said but that's not the point. Still, she scratches her head, pads into the kitchen and makes herself a sandwich. Each movement is drawn out because she's hoping if she waits long enough, Brittany will come home, and will be forced to talk to her and actually goes as far to eat in the living room, just in case.

But Brittany doesn't come home, and Santana checks her phone for the millionth time to see if there's anything there.

There's not.

She dunks her plate in the sink and heads back to her bedroom, shaking her head.

/

Her phone sits by her side for the rest of the evening.

She waits for it to go off, for a call to come through, or even a text, or something, but there's nothing and she starts to feel so irritated that she actually picks it up and dials Brittany's number, chickening out before the call can connect. It's ridiculous that Brittany's not speaking to her, even if she's probably having a little moment.

Still, she just waits for a phone call that doesn't come.

/

She doesn't see Brittany for days.

She doesn't know how—they freaking live together—but somehow it happens and they have really bad (or good for Brittany) timing and somehow keep missing each other. By the time Santana gets home, Brittany's just left, or maybe Brittany's just jumping out the window and heading down the fire escape instead of facing her. They don't even see each other in the lobby or in the elevator, and Santana ends up just slumping down on the sofa and wondering why things got so weird, but noticing certain things around the apartment that have shown Brittany's presence at some point.

After the first day, she reckons Brittany's probably over at Jason's, and that aggravates her more than it should, but she always ends up chuckling mirthlessly at the thought because Brittany's pissed at Santana because Santana called her jealous, and yet Santana still ends up jealous because Brittany goes to Jason's which makes her jealous. It's like a never-ending cycle and she just doesn't know why this is happening.

There's no real reason for Brittany to be avoiding Santana because she's still marrying Jason. Even if Brittany was jealous, it doesn't mean she's like in love with Santana or anything, and okay, Santana shouldn't have called her jealous but she hardly thinks that's enough for her to be angry at her for.

Although she supposes it must be, because Brittany's not here, they haven't talked in two days and Santana's wallowing in self-pity because she's pining over someone who isn't hers.

Oh well.

/

It's not until the third day that Santana sees her.

Well, actually, it's not so much see her as hear her. She's in her bedroom, still working on a wedding that's still going ahead, and her heart jumps at the sound of the front door closing. Her ears prick up, trying to hear whether there's two sets of footsteps instead of one because that would mean Jason's with Brittany, and it's only when she hears one set pad up the hallway that she realizes Brittany's alone and that now's the time to jump.

Due to her being surrounded by important paperwork, she tries to clear some of them, attempt to organize some up instead of throwing them about, but the footsteps get closer and she knows she'll miss Brittany again if she doesn't get out there, so she ends up kicking them off the end of the bed anyway. Her feet catch on the covers as she slips off, and after almost knocking herself out on the corner of her desk, she rips open the door to find—

The hallway empty.

Shit.

"Britt?" She calls softly, and a creaking of wood makes her head snap around.

Though it's at that moment that she sees Brittany's door shut, a little harder than necessary and Santana drops her head, rejection flowing through her brains. She just can't bring herself to go and knock on the door either because she knows Brittany would've heard her call her name, so she just swallows the lump in her throat and slinks back into her room with her shoulders drooped.

Great.

/

When she comes out her bedroom in the morning, she hears someone in the kitchen and half-sprints there to find Brittany,

It makes her heart squeeze, her stomach tighten and mouth dry because she hasn't seen this girl in days, and it's just so refreshing, especially because Brittany's got sweatpants on, hanging low around her hips and a sleeveless t shirt and she just looks so damn gorgeous. But Santana plays it cool, stepping further into the kitchen and heading toward the coffee maker like this is completely normal.

To her credit, Brittany barely even acknowledges her presence, just continues buttering her bagel and hums quietly to the radio playing from the corner of the counter. Santana can remember all the times they'd do this and she'd join in, and they'd end up singing loudly and badly into spatulas on the kitchen island whilst flinging their hair about, but it almost hurts to think about and so after making her coffee she takes a seat at that very island and sips carefully, waiting for anything from Brittany.

Nothing comes though, and so as Brittany goes to leave, Santana frowns and feels like she has to say something.

"Will you be home for dinner?" Is the first thing she can think of.

The blonde stops, looks at her and shrugs. "Maybe," she replies, her face silently questioning why Santana's asking her. "Jason mentioned something about going to a Knicks game though, so I'm not sure."

Santana ignores the way his name slices through her chest. That tiny slither of hope within her that Brittany was avoiding her because she'd broken up with Jason and didn't know how to tell Santana has just shot straight out the window.

"Oh," she says and looks down at her cup of coffee, gripping it with both hands. "Okay, that's fine."

Out the corner of her eye she watches Brittany nod once before disappearing back down the hallway.

Santana just sighs and shakes her head.

/

A few days later—a few days of not talking to Brittany or really seeing her, later, she should say—she's sitting on the sofa, flicking through the TV channels whilst pointedly ignoring the wedding planning (it's got to the details of the honeymoon and she just can't handle that) when she hears giggling muffled through the door. She rolls her eyes immediately, knowing that giggle from a mile away and just waits for the door to open.

As expected, it does, and Brittany stumbles through the door. Jason's behind her, his meaty hands wrapped around her waist and his mouth close to her neck and Santana knows he was probably pushing her up against the door the thought causes bile to rise in her throat. The want to gag surges through her but then she becomes wholly worried about the state Brittany's in, how she's kind of half-dressed and incredibly drunk, and she rises from the sofa, concern shading her expression.

"Brittany?" She calls gently and watches Jason manhandle Brittany into the kitchen, allowing her to slump against the counter, face pressing against the marble of the counter top. "Are you... okay?"

"She's fine," he grunts as he heads toward the fridge, opening it and scanning the content. "Just had too much to drink."

Santana shoots him a sharp look. He couldn't look like he cared less about the state of his fucking fiancee if he tried. "Sorry, was I fucking talking to you?" She spits, rhetorically, unable to hide her dislike for the guy.

He whips his head around, eyes hard and narrowed and she knows he's about to say something he wouldn't in front of a sober Brittany, but it's at that moment Brittany decides rolling around a little on the table, her forehead going from side to side and all Santana's attention zones into her, everything else pretty much disappearing.

"S'ntana," the incredibly drunk blonde slurs, barely able to lift her head from the counter. Santana's body jerks at the sound of her voice and she almost leaps across the kitchen island to get to her, cupping her cheek gently and brushing back her hair. A little thrill pulses through her body at the thought that even when Brittany's head isn't clear, when she thinks straight, the name of the person that comes out her lips is her.

Not Jason.

"I'm here, Britt-Britt," she whispers and ignores the way Jason moves back around, taking a seat on the fucking sofa, all the mean while staring at Santana and watching her every move. What an idiot. "Do you want to some water?"

Blue eyes roll all over the place, barely even able to focus on one thing, and Santana can't help but feel her blood boil because Jason let her get this drunk, and he's just sitting there like everything is fine and fucking dandy. She's drunk so much more than she can handle, and Jason should fucking know that. Or he should at least be fucking looking after her, for fucks sake. Yet he's standing there like a fucking idiot, shoveling nacho chips—that aren't even his—into his face whilst staring at Brittany with a seductive smirk.

Fuck. He's such an asshole. How could he be thinking with his dick when Brittany's this fucking drunk?

"Britt!" She yelps when the blonde begins sliding off the counter, and Santana doesn't even manage to get there in time before her body's colliding with the floor and she's rolling on to her back, groaning in pain. In a matter of seconds she's kneeling on the floor, reminding herself not to punch Jason as he's just sitting there on the sofa, not even having moved since his fiancee fell over. "Jesus Christ, Britt," she breathes and slides her hands underneath the girl's arms, pulling her up.

It's not easy, especially because Brittany's pretty much a dead weight, but Santana just clicks her tongue and drags her anyway, ignoring the strain in her arms as she manages to lift the blonde over her shoulder. And it's funny because she half expects Jason to come over after seeing the difficulty she has lifting his fiancee, but when she looks to her right to the living room, she finds him with his head back, mouth open, snoring like a baboon. Anger flares inside her, but she tells her herself to calm, knowing shoving her fist down his throat wouldn't help in the Brittany situation and instead begins loading Brittany around.

They manage to get to the bedroom, and Santana's suddenly thankful for all the extra testosterone in her system because otherwise that would've been more of a struggle. She lowers her body and allows Brittany to slowly and carefully fall from her shoulders, landing on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She curls into herself the second she hits the comforter, and Santana, for a second, allows herself to enjoy this sight because Brittany may be drunk out her mind, but when she's sleepy, doing that little mouth thing and licking her lips, she's just too fucking cute. She looks like a baby and Santana's heart flutters.

But reality is quick to come back, and Santana shakes herself out of it as she begins scurrying about. She heads back into the kitchen, resisting the temptation to choke Jason, and grabs a glass of water, moving back into the bedroom to set it down on the side table. Brittany rolls about a little, making cute little snoring noises that Santana just wants to wake up to every morning or store in a bottle so she can listen to them any time she wants, and it's hard to concentrate, especially when Santana goes to pull the bed covers down, Brittany begins talking in her sleep.

"San," the blonde breathes and Santana stops turning down the sheets, her entire body going still. "San, please."

She slowly releases the comforter, turning her head to look down at the blonde hair littered across the sheets. Did she just hear that right? Did Brittany just mumble her name and say please after? What the hell is she dreaming about?

Shit. Maybe Brittany's having a sex dream.

Or maybe she's just dreaming about her in general, or just mumbling her name because they're in the same room and Santana needs to stop thinking too much about things. Brittany's fucking engaged and even though her fiancee is a total fucking waste of space and clearly doesn't give a shit about much else but himself, Brittany's choosing to marry him and that means she's not choosing Santana.

So what if she's mumbling her name? It doesn't mean shit.

"San," Brittany starts again and Santana's forehead smooths out as she moves down the bed until she's right beside Brittany, grabbing her arms and helping her further up the bed. It's another struggle, but she manages to get her best friend to lie comfortably under the sheets and pulls the duvet over her to tuck her in, meanwhile ignoring that tiny voice in the back of her head. It's just getting ridiculous, and they're still not really speaking and Santana doesn't want to hurt anymore. It's just getting tiring.

"You need to go to sleep," she whispers, hoping that if Brittany is awake, she can hear the tone of her voice and sense she should just go to sleep. She leans down to press her lips to the blondes forehead, a thing she's been doing after years of looking after a drunk Brittany, but the second her face gets an inch away from Brittany's, blue eyes pop open and bore into her dark ones and she swears the breath gets ripped straight from her lungs.

Getting this close to Brittany is never good. It always makes her want to do things that she can't. That she won't.

Fucking hell.

"I—" The blonde's words go off trail a little, her head falling back against the pillow and Santana, for a second, debates whether or not she should just get up and walk out the bedroom without hearing what Brittany has to say. For a second, she debates whether to do the right thing or not, but that's only for a second, because then Brittany's reaching up and wrapping her hands around Santana's neck, pulling her down until the tips of their noses are touching and their foreheads are resting against each other and that right idea? It just shoots straight from her brain.

Still, it's too much to take.

It's too much to handle because Brittany's staring into her eyes, exhaling steadily against the lower half of her face and it's so warm and tastes so good that she almost just gives in right then. Just gives in, forgets about the fiancee in the other room, forgets about the job offer of a lifetime and forgets about all the crap standing between her and Brittany and just kisses her. Because really, it's what she wants to do, because she thinks a kiss might form some clarity between them, might give them a glimpse of what's right, of what they should do.

But she can't. She knows she can't. She couldn't possibly do something so selfish because it would mean hurting Brittany.

And don't get her wrong, she's not the kindest of people. If she were described by one of her long term friends, hell, like Puckerman or Quinn, one of the very first words they'd describe her as would be selfish. But with Brittany it's just not like that. She just can't be like that with Brittany because Brittany makes her a better version of herself. She makes her a whole other person, a person she actually prefers which is terrible because she just doesn't have Brittany, she won't ever have Brittany and that means she'll never be the person she knows she could be.

It's stupid, and ridiculous, and in another world she knows she and Brittany could've been together, should've been together... But that world isn't that one.

So with much regret, with much pain, and with much envy for the guy in the next room, she shakes her head, gently grabs Brittany's wrists and peels them away from her face, completely removing the temptation to kiss her. Because it's not the right thing, and she knows it's laughable because Brittany isn't sacrificing the same for her, isn't going through the same pain as she is, nor the same struggle she is, but she's just physically incapable of destroying the person she loves. Because that's what love's about. That's what love is.

She tries to walk away. She tries to fight the tears, the heat stinging her eyelids and she tries to walk away but then she hears her name slurred out through drunken lips, and it just kills her because she knows she just can't. She's never been able to, and she knows deep down that's the reason she's in this whole mess. This is the reason she's broken-hearted, wanting someone she can't have and waiting for a sign that'll never come, because she just couldn't walk away.

If she'd just left that night at the ice rink, left Brittany behind after finding out she wasn't single, she could've avoided all this. She could've dodged the pain and could be with someone else, could be happy and could be in love. She could have a whole other life. A happier one.

But she didn't, and now she's stuck in this never-ending loop because she can't walk away from someone who doesn't love her back.

It's pathetic really, being loyal to someone who isn't even hers, but that's another thing she just can't change. She's just got to live with what she's got.

"San—"

Frustration burns through her because that's the second time her name's been called and she still hasn't turned around because she doesn't want to. All this emotional turmoil is bouncing around inside her skull and she hates that the person causing it is saying her name in this sweet, loving tone that makes her heart swoon and knees go weak, because it makes her want to turn around and listen. It makes her want to do anything the blonde ask of her, and it's stupid because she just can't do that anymore. She can't be someone's star when that someone is her galaxy.

So she twists around slowly, rotating on her heels on the carpet and squeezing the bridge of her nose because she's just tired of this. She's tired of wanting what she can't have, of wanting something that will never be hers.

"What, Britt?" She says through a whisper, but shock splits through her system when she opens her eyes to find Brittany sitting up, her hair all over the place and head tilted to the side because she didn't actually think Brittany was awake. Blue eyes are glossing with unshed tears, pink lips trembling and the urge to comfort her burns through Santana's being because that's just her natural instinct, yet she just stands there with wide eyes and resistance to give in grounding her.

"I never meant" The blonde pauses for a second, her eyes moving all over the place, but somehow still between Santana's eyes. "I just—I just—" She stutters and Santana's breath stops completely for the longest three seconds of her life because she doesn't know what the hell's coming. Her heart's beating rapidly against her chest, her breaths labored and she just wants to shake the rest of the sentence out of Brittany, wants to hear what the blonde wants to say but she just can't. So she just waits until

"I'm schorry," Brittany finishes before she falls back against the bed, completely passed out.

Santana just stares at the girl in front of her, trying to figure out what that apology was for. There's just too many things to choose from.

/

It's two weeks until they meet again.

Well, meet as in they're both in the apartment, Santana in the bedroom and Brittany in the living room, and one of them comes out, sucking it up and pushing it all to the back of their mind.

But none-the-less, it's two weeks before they have another conversation, and Santana's chest aches in a way she didn't know it could in that time. They've just been avoiding it each other, barely even exchanging looks let alone words, and she has to admit... it's kind of killing her. Brittany's been in her life for years now, and for all those years they've talked every single day. There's never been a day where they haven't at least spoken to each other, and Santana only figured that out when four days ago she was lying in bed, listening to Brittany cooking in the kitchen and thinking about how much she'd like to go out there and start cooking with her, but for the first time, felt like she couldn't.

It's been horrible―which is a total understatement, actually―but two weeks after the drunken encounter, Santana's in her room, sitting at her desk drawing out some more wedding plans―she's so close to finishing the official plan―when she hears it. Her ears perk up at the sound, and she furrows her brow as she looks around the room, almost as if the radio playing a cover of the Elvis Presley's classic Can't Help Falling In Love is playing in the corner.

She knows it's not, though.

It's coming from the living room and her heart squeezes and beats a little faster at the thought of Brittany listening to their song. The one that was playing at the ice rink all those years ago, the night they met.

God. She's so into Brittany it's physically and emotionally crippling.

With a deep breath, and a will not to give in and do the inevitable―because let's be real, it's actually Brittany's fault their not talking and she's not the angel everyone makes her out to be―she stands from the chair, pushes it out from behind her and steps away from the desk, shaking her head at herself as she exits her bedroom. And it's annoying because Brittany's always had this control over her, always been her weakness and she wishes in some ways that it wasn't like that because it makes her feel like a fool. A fool for being completely one hundred percent pathetic for someone who doesn't feel the same way about her.

It's stupid really, but it's not like she can do anything about it.

Breathing out the longest of sighs, she pinches the glasses off her face, closes them and tucks them inside her sweater and heads down the hallway, not even the slightest bit prepared.

/

The second Brittany comes into view, Santana stops.

Her heart smiles, her face, too, and there's a part of her mind that tells her to turn away and go back to her bedroom because watching the girl will only make it hurt more, will only make her want her more because this image before her is the one that made her fall in love. But it sucks because that part is only tiny, barely even there really, and the other part, the large one, is screaming for her to lean against the doorway and to just watch Brittany. To watch and admire and treasure this moment of silence and lack of anger between them because it's just so special.

But really, there should be a devil and an angel on her shoulders because that's what it feels like the majority of the time. She's just her own worst enemy.

Because Brittany's standing in the center of the living room, all alone, with her eyes closed, arms wrapped around herself and body swaying to the music. It's slow, and soft, and Santana glances at the iPod dock sitting on the kitchen island to take note of the song, wishing she hadn't barely moments later because it causes this rush of emotions that makes her head spin and heart ache.

So much so, that she goes to walk away; she actually makes the good and conscious decision to just go back to her room and pretend she didn't just watch Brittany dance and feel that rush she always gets when she remembers that night. But as she turns, long, cool fingers wrap around her wrist and stop her, route her to her spot and she doesn't even have to turn around to face her anchor, instead just closes her eyes and ignores the goosebumps that cover her skin at the touch.

"Santana," Brittany whispers, so, so soft, her voice almost covered by the gentle tune.

Wise men say
Only fools rush in

But I can't help
Falling in love with you

Santana takes in a deep, shuddered breath, spinning around slowly to face her best friend. She says nothing, just stares with pinched eyebrows, desperately ignoring the heat stinging at her eyelids because those blue eyes are saying so many things. They're telling her the unthinkable, the unimaginable, and Santana almost just gives up and collapses right there, or maybe it's sprint away and never return, but the stubborn half of her mind is telling her to stay strong. She's fought worse things in her life.

"Santana," the blonde repeats again, just as hushed, and Santana blinks, swallowing against a thickening throat as Brittany lets her hand slide down to tanned fingers, carefully twisting her own until the gaps between their fingers are no longer there. It's such a delicate touch, so delicate Santana feels like Brittany's handling shattered glass―in some ways, she guesses she is―but she doesn't pull away. She can't. And instead she moves her entire body until Brittany can reach out to grab at her other hand, threading their fingers together there, too.

Such a stupid move, but like she said, she just can't pull away. She doesn't know how to.

"Dance with me."

Shall I stay
Would it be a sin
If I can't help falling in love with you

Indecision pulses through her veins, but her body moves before she can make the conscious choice. She's allowing Brittany to pull her into the middle of the room, where the coffee table should usually be, and her eyes are locked to blue ones, unable to stray anywhere else. Not to the candles lining the mantlepiece. Not to the bottle of red wine on the table with two glasses beside it.

Not to anything else but the sparkle in deep sapphire.

Her hands go cold when Brittany's drop from them, and she panics for a moment, thinking she's done something wrong but then Brittany's pulling tanned arms around her waist, wrapping her own arms around Santana's neck and stepping just that little bit too close. But her skin smells like vanilla, her hair smells like strawberries and she's just so intoxicating it's hard to tell her there's so many reasons why she shouldn't be within this distance.

So Santana doesn't.

"I've missed you," comes out her mouth before she can stop it.

The corners of Brittany's mouth twitches up at the side, her eyes flickering down and there's a glimpse of relief, of happiness, but when she looks up, it's gone. "I know," she says and Santana's not surprised. They've always seemed to share feelings and for the past two weeks, Santana's felt like she's missing the other half of her. Like there's a hole in her heart. "I've missed you, too."

Like a river flows surely into the sea
Darling so it goes
Some things are meant to be

The music flows throughout the apartment, filling the silence between them and Santana knows she should be saying something. She knows she should be asking something because a million and one questions are moving through her mind in a cycle, but it's like she's mute. Her mouth just won't form the words, nor her tongue, and suddenly she just doesn't know what to say. It's a first, really, and she knows what she wants to ask and what it will mean, but now the moment's here, she just can't say it.

So she just lets herself into this moment, just lets herself sink into the feel of Brittany pressed up against her, Brittany's head coming down to rest against her neck, her lips grazing her jaw and temple resting against her pulse, and she tries to enjoy it because this moment is fleeting. This moment won't come again, and she's going to enjoy it as much as she can before it's taken away down the aisle without her, and with some guy who doesn't know how damn lucky he is.

"I didn't know I was jealous."

It's said so quietly that Santana almost doesn't hear. Almost. "What?"

So take my hand
And take my whole life too
'Cause I can't help falling in love with you

Brittany picks her head up, the movement so careful it could be in slow motion and Santana feels her lungs falter at the lack of distance between their faces. "I knew I felt... Something," her eyes eyes narrow as she tries to find her words. Santana just gazes at her. "I knew it felt like a burning," she swallows and they continue moving together in a small circle, but it's barely there. "Like a burning in my chest that got more intense every time I looked at you and that waitress," she gulps and looks away quickly.

And Santana knows what she's trying to say. She knows Brittany's trying to explain herself but she also knows she has to be careful because of their... situation. Brittany's mind has never worked in the way other peoples has, and she's found that from years of friendship but she knows Brittany means no harm, nor is she stupid. She just processes things differently and she's got to concentrate on that as well as trying to figure out how to explain what the hell is going on between them. Without damaging any outstanding factors.

"I didn't like it," her head shakes and Santana can see the war going on behind her eyes. She can see the indecision and the hesitation and it's killing her because she just wants something. She wants to know why Brittany was jealous and why she couldn't stand seeing her and Dani. She wants to know why there's a spark when they touch and why it feels like a piece of her is missing when they don't speak. She wants to know all these damn answers and yet she can see that Brittany doesn't even really know.

"Seeing you so close to her... Seeing you get so close to someone like that so quickly when you've only ever done that with me," a tongue pokes out to wet pink lips that Santana just can't keep her eyes off. "It just..." Brittany sighs heavily, the air between them getting thick as she brings her eyes to Santana's again. "I just didn't like it... You know?"

No. Santana doesn't.

But she does know she shouldn't be this close, this intimate with a soon-to-be married woman, but it's Brittany, and pulling herself away from Brittany is something she's never been able to do.

Like a river flows so surely to the sea
Oh my darling so it goes
Some things are meant to be

"Especially while it was at my hen do," the blonde lets out a dry chuckle and stares like Santana's going to have the answer to everything.

That's another thing she's never been able to do when it comes to Brittany – have all the answers.

"I don't know," Brittany continues, probably going off the silence Santana's bringing to the conversation and she knows she should be saying something. She knows she should be at least freaking contributing to this but she doesn't know what to say that won't cause her to verbally vomit everywhere. It's like Pandora's Box. Once she opens it up, everything will just come spilling out and there's too much at stake.

She just can't take the risk. Not when the odds aren't in her favor, or Brittany's.

"Please say something," the blonde begs, her eyes darting between dark ones and Santana opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. "Santana, please," Brittany pleads and all of a sudden they just stop dancing to the music. Their bodies stay close but they stop swaying and Santana knows this moment coming is significant. She feels it as cold, pale hands move away from her neck and slide forward, dragging through her hair, past her ears and jaw until they reach her cheeks, settling their and cupping gently. "Please," her voice cracks.

In one single word, it breaks Santana's resolve. In one single fucking word it breaks the resolve she's been trying to keep up since she walked into the damn room. It just breaks it, and he's been trying so damn hard to hold back, so fucking hard not to give it but that fucking break in Brittany's voice just killed her and well, that's how she finds herself tipping their foreheads together and bringing her hand up to cover wrap around the back of Brittany's neck, securing them firmly together as they breathe heavily together, knowing they shouldn't be doing what they're about to.

But being within this close proximity, really, Santana should've seen it coming. She should've seen it coming and she should've just walked away when she first thought of it because now she's here, it's something she can't resist. There's no world where she would've been able to, and now she's here, breathing Brittany in, wetting her lips, and preparing to refresh the memory of what it feels like to have the most perfect lips pressed against hers, she knows she's going to give in.

Crap.

Cause I can't help falling love, falling in love
I keep falling in love with you

/

If there are mistakes... My bad.

Review if you think it was worth it!