Welcome to the Jungle

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Part Two: Sixteen

Chapter Twenty: For You I Will

Despite Santana's efforts to stir the pot, the Homecoming Dance is mostly painless. Harry and Quinn are crowned as the Prince and Princess, Cedric and the Captain of the Varsity Cheerios as King and Queen. They have their respective dances, but Harry spends most of his night in company with Santana, with Mike and Matt, Brittany, Hermione, and Matt's date, Tiana Johnson, and it's not terrible.

Harry would even call the night an overall success, but that doesn't mean he's particularly interested in attending Brittany's after party.

"Why don't you want to come?" Brittany asks, dejected. She looks amazing, all done up, and in a pale blue dress that accentuates her curves. She pouts though, forlorn, and Harry avoids her gaze, guilty.

"Sorry Brit, I'm just tired," he answers, "And I've got work tomorrow morning."

"Please come? Just for a little while? We've hardly seen you."

When he properly looks at her once more, Brittany's eyes are wide and guileless, and Harry folds like a house of cards.

"Okay," He relents, and wryly reflects that Brittany's puppy dog eyes ought to be weaponised, "Only for a little while though. I really am tired."

It's more than just physical exhaustion, though that, too, is undeniable. It's a persisting, enduring mental and emotional sort of fatigue Harry feels down to the marrow of his bones, and no matter how much he sleeps, how much coffee and tea he drinks, Harry can't shake it for the life of him.

"Are you okay?"

"Just busy," he replies, "I've just got a lot on my plate, I guess."

"Can I help?"

"I don't think so," he replies, "Thanks for offering, though. I appreciate it."

They hug there, on the dance floor, and sway slowly to the music filtering from the gymnasium speakers. They follow no particular dance steps - such things aren't required at a high school event, Homecoming or no - and it's nice. Brittany is warm against him, her embrace a comfort, and in spite of everything, Harry is content.

He knows better than to expect it, but he hopes the feeling lasts.

"You and Brit were looking pretty cozy earlier," Santana says later. They're in his car, on their way to Brittany's place, and Santana's switched out his iPod for her own. She plays a playlist made up of Urban R&B artists, and Ne-Yo's 'How Do I Breathe' is disrupted only by the sounds of the engine and of them crunching away at a bag of potato chips.

Until Santana starts talking, that is.

Harry pulls to a stop at a traffic light, glances briefly at Santana, and shrugs. He turns his gaze back to the road, drums his fingers on the steering wheel, and pretends his heart doesn't drum rapidly against his ribcage. Although he has recognised that she's attractive, that she's probably supremely entertaining in bed for a variety of reasons, that she's funny and charming and sweet, Harry's never considered Brittany as anything more than just a very good friend. They're both too tied up in their history with Quinn and Mike, and it's just never been an option.

But things are different now. Quinn is involved with Finn, and Mike and Hermione have been exclusive for months. In any case, Brittany and Mike were never anything more than casual, and given that they're both single…

"What's going on?" Santana asks, "You going to hit up my girl?"

"I don't know, maybe?"

"You don't sound so sure."

"That's because I'm not," Harry replies. The lights turn green, and he continues on the way to Brittany's, "I have no idea what's going on. I'm just going with it."

Santana crunches away at some chips, and 'How Do I Breathe' progresses to 'Irreplaceable'. She doesn't pursue the subject of Harry and Brittany further, and instead opts to bitch out Quinn to the musical accompaniment of Usher, Ne-Yo, and KCi and Jojo.

Despite himself, Harry tunes her out. NO doubt, he's heard - if not thought - it all before, and frankly, he doesn't have the energy for that sort of vitriol anymore. He's too busy, too tired, too focused on other things to concern himself with Quinn Fabray, but Santana can't say the same. He still has no idea about what caused their falling out - Santana's remained pretty tight-lipped about it, weirdly enough - but it's fine. Some relationships - romantic or otherwise - just have an expiry date, and that's just life.

He pulls up at the curb in front of Brittany's place, and they pile out of the car with phones and keys and chips in hand. Santana's contributed a bag of clinking, alcohol-filled bottles that Harry produces from the boot, and they walk side by side to the front door, the silence between them familiar and comfortable.

"Is she here yet?"

Santana tries the door handle - it's locked - and shrugs. "Guess not."

Without anything else to do, they make themselves comfortable on the front stoop, and chat idly about the dance, about school and life and the future. It's nice, just hanging out and talking nonsense, and Harry can't remember the last time he's just chilled out and talked and laughed like this - with Santana, no less - and he's surprised to find he's missed it.

"Who's coming to this thing, anyway?"

"It's an invitation only thing," Santana replies, "Rutherford and Chang, Puckerman, Hudson and Q, everyone's dates. Some Cheerios. That's about it, I think."

"It's been a while since we did anything as a group."

Santana sneers. "That's because Sasquatch and the Whore of Babylon fucked everything up."

Harry splutters out a startled laugh, not expecting Santana's names of choice for Finn and Quinn - he should no better, really - and he's still chuckling about it when Hermione pulls up behind his car with Mike and a bucket of KFC chicken. Santana descends upon the latter with enthusiasm, Harry follows suit when Hermione offers him the opportunity to do so, and they're still eating when Brittany arrives.

She's with Puck - they'd gone to the dance together - and she bounds over to them with enthusiasm, her feet bare, her hair loose from it's up-do. Puck follows behind her slowly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers, a bag full of alcohol on his back, his jacket left behind in his truck.

"You made it!" Brittany wraps herself around him, "I'm so happy."

Harry swallows his mouthful of chicken, leans into her embrace, and tries not to question what the hell he's doing. Santana and Hermione are both scrutinising them though, and it's easier said than done.

"I made it," he acknowledges her with an awkward smile.

"Come on, we should get inside. Mrs Patterson might wonder why we're all hanging out on the lawn, otherwise." Brittany unlocks the door, they pile inside the house behind her, and Brittany makes a beeline for the living room, and for the stereo therein. "Besides, it's about time we get this party started, right?"

Santana pulls out a bottle of tequila from the backpack Harry's still carrying, holds it up like a trophy, and agrees, "Damn right we should."

And of course, no one argues.