"Oye!" my mother shouts up the stairs into my room. "Hija! Brittany's here!"

I shoot up from my bed and open the door to my room.

"Coming!" I shout. As I rush down the hallway I almost trip over a dirty soccer sock. My older brother Andres graduated from college last year, and he's been living with us since then. He has no job, no girlfriend, basically no life. He and my father fight over it all the time. It's been hard getting used to another person in the house since he's been gone so long.

I turn the corner and see Brittany standing close to the wall, peering up at a family photo from a while ago. Her mouth is pursed in a cute little smile.

"Hey Britt," I say, kissing her on the top of her head. I look closer at the picture she's looking at. Me, my parents, and my brother are standing in a field wearing white, smiling at the camera happily. Brittany wraps her arms around me and leans against my shoulder.

"I love this picture of you San," she says softly, she says that every time she passes the picture. "You look so happy."

I rub her back in response. Standing here with Brittany brings me a feeling of perfect peace, like nothing is wrong in the world. Moving seems like the worst idea in the world.

"Hey girls," Andres says, as he turns the corner. He's carrying a brand new bag of Cheetos. I tense up, and Brittany catches my hint and separates from me. I am filled with an empty longing.

"Hola Andres," Brittany says in an adorable accent. Ever since I introduced her to Duolingo she's been trying to use only Spanish when she speaks to my family.

Andres smiles, "Hola Brittany, looking as bonita as ever." Brittany smiles and nods. Andres winks at us and pops a Cheeto in his mouth. As he walks away from us Brittany leans into me.

"What does bonita mean?" she asks quietly. I laugh.

"It means cute... pretty," I bop her nose with my pinkie, "Which you are."

It's true, I rarely see Brittany without her red and white Cheerios uniform. Sometimes I forget how much her personal style reflects her bubbly but sweet and quiet personality. Right now she's wearing her hair in a slightly sloppier ponytail and a floral shirt that shows her black tank top underneath. She looks nice. Then again she always looks nice.

"Come on Britt, let's go upstairs," I say, offering her my pinkie, she takes it and we march together to my room. My room is painted all black, mirroring my dark personality. Brittany says it reminds her of peaceful nights laying on the grass looking at the sky. The walls are covered with posters, mostly of musicians and television shows. A picture of Brittany, Quinn, and me is framed by my bed, and pictures of Brittany and me are tucked into the corners of my mirror. As soon as Brittany enters my room she flops down on my bed and picks up the magazine that's laying on my pillow. I slide down next to her. She flips through the pages and lands on a page with some celebrity standing with an old lady. Charity work in Hollywood is what the title says.

"He's cute," Brittany says absentmindedly as she flips to the next page. My mouth turns sour. I don't know why but I hate when Brittany talks about boys. She knows I don't like it, but sometimes she'll let a comment about a "cute" boy slip and I'll feel terrible for the rest of the day.

"Um, yeah," I say quietly. I sit back up on my bed. We sit in silence for a moment, then all of a sudden I feel Brittany's hand tug on my shoulders and then she is on top of me. She kisses me softly at first, then I feel her tongue tracing my bottom lip, asking for entrance. I grant it hastily, the kiss deepening. I tangle my hands in her soft blonde hair, pressing myself against her.

I gasp for breath, and Brittany unlocks herself from my mouth and moves to my neck, letting me breathe. She kisses up and down my neck, pausing to nip right beneath my ear. My hands move down her back and up her shirt. As I fumble with the back of her bra, Brittany tenses up.

"What is it?" I ask. She lifts her head.

"Artie," she whispers, her lips almost touching mine.

"What the hell Britt?" I exclaim, moving out from under her. "We've been doing this since middle school, whatever boy we're with at the moment never changed anything!"

"Artie's different," she says in an almost pleading tone. I groan and slide off my bed, crossing my arms and facing the wall. "I really care about him Santana, and I love your sweet lady kisses but I hate the idea of cheating on him."

I'm practically fuming from the ears. Brittany is choosing Artie freaking Abrams over me. I take a deep breath, and turn to face Brittany, putting on the most pleasant face I can muster.

"Britt-Britt," I say softly, "It's not cheating, we're two girls. Different plumbing."

Her face relaxes, "Oh," she says, smiling a little, "Ok then."

I feel guilty, tricking her like that, but with desperate times come desperate measures. Still, looking at her face, smiling with relief, my stomach turns. Why does she have to be so damn trusting?

But then she looks at me with a sly expression on her face, she reaches out and grabs my arm, kissing each finger individually without taking her eyes off me. Then I don't feel bad at all.

"Santana, can I use your shower? I have to cool down."

"Yeah of course Britt," I say, too exhausted to move.

"Thank god for different plumbing," she mutters as she walks into my bathroom. I snort-laugh.

"Amen," I whisper. Brittany hears me and says something that sounds like "Hallelujah" or maybe "Jalapeño" as she turns on the water.

I get up and stand at my mirror, rearranging the pictures and me and Britt, then rearranging them again. It's become a habit.

"Boo," Brittany whispers, sneaking up behind me and wrapping her arms around my waist. I giggle and squeeze her hands. "Will you fix my hair?" she asks.

I lead her to my desk chair and have her take a seat. As I blow dry her hair I run my fingers through her hair. Soon her hair is dry and smooth, but she doesn't have to know that. I continue to run my fingers through her blonde locks, just breathing in her scent and memorizing the feeling of her head in my hands. I sigh, I would never tell a single soul this, but sometimes the small intimate gestures between Britt and I make me feel more loved then when we make out and have sex and things. She leans her head back and closes her eyes, letting me massage her scalp and run my fingers through her hair.

I open my mouth. Then close it. Then open it again. Just say it Santana, just say it. I take a deep breath, "Hey Britt," I say, my voice cracking with nerves. "I… need a hair elastic."

Coward. It's only three words. Eight letters. How hard can it be?

Brittany hands me an elastic and I pull her hair up into a ponytail, letting her cute little bangs hang in her face a little. I love you. I try the words out on my tongue, they sound natural, now I just have to build up the courage to say them.

"I wanna talk to you about something," Brittany says abruptly, interrupting my thoughts. "I really like when we make out and stuff," she says.

"Which isn't cheating because…?"

"The plumbing's different," she says, almost like she's the one reminding me. I nod and smile to myself as I move to face the mirror. "But when Artie and I are together we talk about stuff like feelings."

I squint in the mirror, something about Artie and Brittany talking about feelings makes me want to vomit. "Why?" I ask, my tone starting to get a little more aggravated.

"Because with feelings it's better," Brittany says simply.

"Are you kidding? It's better when it doesn't involve feelings." I apply a new layer of lip gloss. "I think it's better when it doesn't involve eye contact." I turn to look at her. She looks almost disappointed.

"I don't know, I guess I just don't know how I feel about us."

I swallow, Brittany and I have never really talked about this before. It's mostly just been "Let's be besties with benefits". I start to panic.

"Look, let's be clear here, I'm not interested in any labels, unless it's on something I shoplift." I pick up a black pillow from the ground, trying not to look at Brittany. It doesn't work.

"I don't know Santana, I think we should talk to somebody, like an adult. This relationship is really confusing for me."

"Breakfast is confusing for you." The words jump out of my mouth, but Brittany knows I mean no harm. She knows I love her. I think.

"Well sometimes it's sweet and sometimes it's salty," she says, without missing a beat, "Like what if I have eggs for dinner, then what is it?"

I squint at her, trying to see what's going on in that genius little brain of hers. But I can't look past those beautiful blue eyes. She looks hurt, and that pains me more than when Mr. Shue raps.

I kneel down to her side, grabbing both her hands in mine. "Look Britt," I say, "I can't say I'm on board with the whole talking to an adult thing, but, if it helps, we can keep it PG for the rest of the night."

She smiles a sad smile, "Ok," she says, kissing my nose. I smile.

I rub little circles in her palm, "How bout we change into some pajamas, I'll go get the Peanut Butter, and you can find us a good movie to watch. We can just chill and hang out, like the old days."

Brittany grins, "Deal."

She squirms out of the chair with a giddy look on her face. She opens my closet and pulls out sweatpants and an old shirt from a cheerleading camp we did together a few years ago. See, this is what I love about us, she has no problem going through my closet to find pajamas, she doesn't even have to ask. As Brittany changes I try to avert my eyes, I really do, but it doesn't seem to work.

I change into my own shorts and tank top. Brittany flops down on my bed and starts flipping through the channels on my TV.

"I can grab a DVD if you can't find anything," I say. She nods.

"Can you grab-"

"Marley and Me," I finish. She grins.

"You know me too well."

"I don't know if that's possible."

Brittany giggles and I walk out of my room with a smile on my face.

"What are you smiling about Mrs. SmileySmiles?" Andres says, standing right outside my door. My smile turns to a scowl, and not just because of his terrible nicknaming ability.

"Number one, mind your own business. Number two, you've got cheese sauce on your shirt." I flick his ear and start down the staircase.

"Keeping it appropriate in there right?" he calls after me. I stop dead in my tracks. "Keeping the boy talk to just talk?"

I relax a little, thankful only for a moment that my brother is the small minded jerk he is. I ignore him and rush down the stairs, grabbing a brand new jar of peanut butter and one spoon. I stop by the closet by the staircase and open it, revealing dozens and dozens of DVDs, organized by category and then alphabetized in those categories. My family is only slightly crazy. I don't even have to look for Marley and Me, Brittany and I watch it every single time she comes over.

Back upstairs, I bump Andres into his room with my hip, and open the door to my room with my foot.

"Got the stuff," I say, popping the DVD into the player.

"Mmm," Brittany says, reaching her hands out to the peanut butter. I give it to her. Once the movie starts, I lay next to Brittany, on our stomachs with our chin propped up in our hands. Brittany takes a bite of the peanut butter and makes an adorable noise.

"So good," she mutters. She scoops a bite and offers it to me. I bite it.

"You're a freak," she says giggling.

"What do you mean?"

"You're biting the peanut butter from the spoon," she exclaims, looking at me like I'm the craziest person in the world.

"Well what do you do?" I ask, trying to keep a straight face.

" You lick it silly," she says, boping my nose with the peanut butter covered spoon.

"Britt!" I exclaim, reaching up to wipe it off. She beats me there, scooping the peanut butter off the tip of my nose with her pinkie and shoving it in her mouth. I laugh.

"Mmm, tastes like peanuts and Santana, my two favorite things."

I blush and go silent. "I have a taste?" I ask. Oh my god did I actually just say that?

"Yeah," Brittany says, not taking her eyes off the screen. "Of course."

I blush again.

"Aww look Santana! It's Marley!" Brittany coos, squealing at the baby puppy on the screen. I swallow the lump in my throat.

"So cute!"

After about half an hour I get bored, and look at Brittany. Her eyes are trained on the screen. I take my toe and I trace a line up her calf. Her skin is smooth and soft. I run my foot up and down her leg, finally settling on resting my foot in between her two legs, hooked slightly underneath the one nearest me.

"Santana," Brittany mumbles quietly.

"This is all Britt! I promise, keeping it PG!" I exclaim.

"Ok," she says, resting her head on my shoulder. I smile.

Around half way through the movie the peanut butter runs out, and both of our mouths are sticky and gross.

We go downstairs and grab some milk, giggling at each other's mustaches. When we return to my room we switch our positions so we're sitting up, Brittany leaning against my chest, her head in my lap.

At the end of the movie, when the dog dies, Brittany sobs into my shoulder. I rub her back and comfort her.

"It's okay Britt," I coo, "It's just a movie, it's okay." I kiss the top of her head over and over again tracing lines down her back. "It's okay," I whisper.

Brittany sits up and sniffles. I wipe away some of her tears. "Artie says that he's never cried watching this movie. Every single time we watch it together he doesn't even leak a tear. Even you cry sometimes!"

I feel like I've been punched in the gut. "You watch this with Artie?" I whisper, not wanting to hear the answer.

Brittany giggles, like I'm joking. "Of course," she says, "It's my favorite movie. I'm going to watch it with my boyfriend!" Brittany giggles again and touches my cheek. "You're so silly. What time is it? Do you want to listen to music? Oooh Santana we should do karaoke! Do you still have the mic I gave you?"

I swallow, trying to ignore the gnawing, empty feeling in my stomach. "Yeah, I'll go get the microphone. And it's almost eleven o'clock."

"Oooooh, I wanna dance with somebody! I wanna feel the heat with somebody!" I sing into the pink karaoke microphone Brittany got me for my birthday years ago. Britt dances around my room, waving her arms and shaking her hips. She wears a fluffy scarf around her head.

"Yeeaah, I wanna dance with somebody! With somebody who looves me!" Brittany looks at me and wiggles her hips around, her mouth pursed in a tango like look. I double over laughing.

My door slams open. Andres stands there dressed in only his boxers and a tank top. His hair is disheveled and his face is slightly mushed to one side like it always gets after he wakes up.

"What the HELL Santana? It's the middle of the night and you're FREAKING blasting Whitney Houston? Go to bed!" Andres scowls at us and slams the door behind him. Brittany and I look at each other, our faces stoic. Then we burst into laughter.

"We should probably get to bed," Brittany says between giggles, wiping her eyes.

I walk over and take the scarf off of her neck, giving her a quick peck on the lips. We turn off the lights and nuzzle under my sheets. Brittany folds up and curls with her back to my stomach. I can't get over how we fit together like puzzle pieces. I brush some hair off her neck and rest my lips on her skin. As I kiss her neck I am hit with a huge realization. I want to be with Brittany. I want to hold her hand down the hallway. I want to not be ashamed when I kiss her goodbye.

"Brittany," I whisper.

"Mhm?" She mumbles, almost asleep.

"We can talk to someone tomorrow. Maybe Mrs. Holiday or Mrs. Pillsbury or someone who can help us… figure things out." I say quickly.

"Thank you Santana," Brittany says softly, as she relaxes into me.

I smile.

So I wrote the first three chapters together and published them all at the same time, so the next couple chapters are still being written/worked on. I like the idea of releasing chapters in groups, so that might be what I'll do. But anyway, I hope you like it so far! I can't wait to write more/read more! Leave a nice review please!