She asked you to move in with her. She asked you to move in, all wrapped up in her blankets, all wrapped up in her. Your favorite place in the world, really. She asked you to move in, and, you really, really don't think four words have ever made you as happy as those. Brittany, your Brittany. She's made so much space for you. Brittany, who'd been so hesitant when you'd first begun dating, she's become so sure. Sure of you. She asked you to move in with her, and, though you thought the butterflies would probably break free of your stomach at the thought, they're surprisingly calm. They're calm and sure, just like you are.

It takes nearly a month to get everything situated. You sort of hate it, because, while you're in the process of doing it, you end up spending more nights apart from Brittany. But, it's almost over. You find someone to take over the remainder of your lease, and, you begin packing. You begin packing all the things you've ever owned into cardboard boxes. You're getting closer, closer to the day you'll finally get to move in with Brittany.

It's strange for you, packing. You do it yourself. You feel like you need to, though Brittany has a standing offer to help you with anything you need. But, it's really important to you that you do this unaided. She understands it, she always does. It's part of what makes the two of you work so well together. You understand each other's quirks, each other's needs, and even when you're apart, there's this support. Silent, unwavering, and it's everything. It's a little hard for you, and it surprises you that it is. Material possessions, you've never had many, but you guess, the ones you've had, you've always kept so closely guarded, that this is strange. You've lived in this tiny furnished apartment since the day after you graduated college. You'd gotten the lease on it, clutching your contract in hand. The contract that you'd signed, getting your a job as an assistant on the morning show. The contract that you knew secured your future. You'd signed another contract, your lease, and, for the first time in your life, you were standing in a place that was truly yours. A place you'd pay for with your own money. A place that you'd slowly, slowly filled with little things, not too many, because, you're still careful not to waste money, but, enough that you'd made it feel like a home. So it's symbolic for you, this little apartment. It's symbolic of you, making it, like your mom had worked so hard for, and you think, you think, your small struggle with packing it up, it makes sense.

But, a place is just a place. You know that. Places, they've never mattered much to you either, even though you'd been so scared, as a little girl, you'd been afraid that you wouldn't have any place at all. It's who's in them. It was you and your mom, in Meadowbrook, in the places you lived before. And then, then you were alone in this place. This place you could afford the rent and fill with trinkets. This place, you could feel like you made a success of yourself with ink on paper, with checks on time, with things, things that mean nothing, really, in the grand scheme of life. But Brittany, Brittany is more than a house. Brittany is your home. Brittany is your future. Brittany is your everything. Four walls, and material reminders. They're not what you measure your childhood by, and they're not what you'll measure your life by now. They mean nothing. Not when the girl with the universe eyes is across town, making space in her closets. Not when the girl with the universe eyes has been so brave, and made a you-sized space inside her shell. Not when the girl with the universe eyes wants to wake up with you in her arms, every morning, hopefully for the rest of forever.

So, you sort your things into two piles. The keeps and the donates. You take your diplomas down from the wall and wrap them in brown paper. Just because they mean a lot to you, and, even on the front seat of your car, you want to make sure they're safe. You take down the picture of you and your mom, the day she got her GED. You were twenty-one, and you're sure, you've never been more proud of a person in your life. You smile, as you take down the picture of you and Brittany, arms around each other, cheeks red from the cold, at the skating rink on New Year's Eve. You feel a flutter, as you take down the painting Brittany made you, and swaddle it in the little blanket your mom kept from the hospital, the blanket you've hung onto, all these years, because it was a strange sort of constant in your life. You tape up boxes, you sweep your floors, and, when all is said and done, you manage to fit the entirety of your material belongings into your little Passat.

It's funny, you think, as you close the door one last time. It's funny, that you hadn't ever really considered leaving this place any time soon before Brittany. You'd saved your pennies so you could have something of your own, but you guess, if you're being truly honest, you hadn't ever really thought you'd find a person who you wanted to build the rest of your life with. And then, then there was Brittany. Then there was this girl, who ran into you and changed your whole world, for the better. This girl who makes you want all the things you were never certain about. The girl who you've known less than a year, but who you know, you know is the one.

Even after Brittany gave you the keys to her apartment, you'd still been ringing the bell before coming in. She teased you about it. She teased you about it a lot. But, you felt strangely superstitious about it. You felt like until you officially lived there, you shouldn't let yourself in. And Brittany, she entertained your superstitions. She greeted you at the door, she kissed you, though she still called you a goof each and every time. Her eyes though, they sparkled, her universe eyes, they just filled with amusement at you. And love, always so much love. You love how expressive they are, you love how those eyes, they always show that, no matter what.

Today though, today, you're officially moving in. Today, you'll let yourself in, with those three keys. Today, it's your apartment, too. Yours and Brittany's. And Otis' too. You find parking right across the street. You're glad, so glad, that you don't have to park down the block, glad that you don't have to make long trips carrying boxes— even if they are mostly on the light side. You're just, elated, really, that moving day is here. That tonight, you'll crawl into bed with Brittany, and it will be your bed too, from now on.

Mr. Shapiro watches through the window as you strain, carrying a box of novels, your heaviest package. He watches, and you tap your fingers on cardboard, a small wave to him. You're sure he's written some kind of letter to the landlord recently, but, like you've told Brittany, he isn't worth wasting aggravation on. He doesn't have anything else to do but be nosy and complain. It's nothing against Brittany, it's nothing against you, and you'd rather revel in your joy. You'd rather revel, and revel, you do.

"Santana!" Brittany beams when you unlock the door yourself and enter. The house smells like bleach and clean. Brittany, she'd cleaned. Brittany, she was doing everything to get the place ready for your arrival, and you think, really, it's the sweetest thing. Otis greets you, and you rub behind his ears. The two of them, you're coming home to them. "Welcome home!"

"Britt." Your lips curl up as you set the box down on the floor by the door. You think you couldn't stop them if you tried. Home. Home, you're really home. This place, this girl. It's just, the greatest feeling in the world, you think. You close your hand, thumb to fingers, and you touch it from your lips to just outside your ear. She points to you, and then mirrors your action. Home.

"I love that. Our home. Did you see the bell downstairs?"

"I didn't." You shake your head. You're not sure if she notices when she does it, but sometimes Brittany hops in excitement. This time, it's no different. She hops, and claps her hands together.

"Good, I have so much to show you!"

"I've only been gone for eighteen hours."

She doesn't say anything. She just, taps your nose with her pointer finger, and she kisses you. You feel her smile, her big smile against your mouth. You think, you think, you'll never feel sad or angry again, not when this is who you'll come home to every day.

"C'mon, let's go get the rest of your boxes, and then I'll show you everything."

It doesn't take much time to get everything upstairs. Only six trips between the two of you. Once your boxes are stacked neatly on the living room floor, and the garment bags with your dress clothes are draped over the back of the arm chair, Brittany is bubbling. She's bubbling so much, that you feel the butterflies awaken. You've remained calm and put-together throughout this whole thing. But now, now that you're really truly here, now that across town, someone else is moving into your old apartment, now that Brittany is before you, positively giddy, you suddenly feel like you might burst into flames, the intensity of your emotions, hitting you all at once.

You kiss her then, because you don't think you're really capable of words. She pulls you close to her when you do. And you stay like that for a really long time, surrounded by the things you need to unpack. But, you don't feel a rush. Even Brittany, who loves her order, you can feel she's not rushing either. Something about this, the two of you, wrapped in each other, it seems just as important to the moving in process as the rest of it. So you take these moments, and you savor them. You savor them, until you feel Brittany's bouncing toes again, and she grabs you by the hand, leading you back down the stairs. She leads you down the stairs, until you're standing in front of the doorbell, and Brittany steps back, holding out her hand for you to look.

"You put, you put my name already." You swallow. You swallow, because you think you might cry. You don't even know why, it's just your name, printed on her label maker. S. Lopez, beneath herB. Pierce. It's just your name, except that it's not. You hadn't even finished packing your boxes when she did this, when she made sure you knew, without a doubt, that this was your home too. That you're more than just moving into her place, that you belong. And you really, really don't know how she constantly manages to make you feel so in love that you forget how to breathe.

"I did. I. I had some time this morning after— after I did the other stuff I want to show you."

She's too much, sometimes. Too much, in the best possible way. She's too much, when she brings you back back upstairs, and she shows you the new return address labels she'd ordered you. She's too much, when she takes you into the bedroom, and she shows you, she shows you the bedding you'd been sort of eyeing the other day, when you perused the housewares department when you were in Macy's shopping for new shoes. Brand new bedding, brand new sheets, all spread out on the bed, with extra pillows on your side, since you always steal hers in your sleep. They're just, they're only things, except, they're not. You could have gone and bought bedding together, ordered labels on your own, but, Brittany, Brittany, with her order and routine, she's showing you, she's showing you so well, that this is your home, that you're not just moving into her place, that this is yours, together. And that. It feels so huge to you.

Together, you unpack your things. It really doesn't take long. Otis lies on his belly, and he watches as you do. You hang your clothes in the now-empty second closet. You put pajamas and t-shirts and underwear in drawers. She slides books over on shelves to make room for yours. You line your toiletries up on empty shelves in the bathroom. She shows you that she'd also bought new towels for you both, because, this is your new start. And then, then she asks you, softly, where you want to hang up your pictures, your painting from her, your diplomas, you truly most prized possessions, because they too, are more than things. She smiles at you, when you stand on a ladder, hammering nails into the wall. And you smile too, because, because. It's pretty amazing, when you're done, how it feels different, even in the exact same place you've been coming for nine months, how a few little things have just, changed everything. You can't entirely explain it, but you feel it, you know it's there.

"You okay?" Brittany asks you. She's always checking on you. Her eyes, inquisitive, always, and you nod, you nod slowly, before a smile spreads across your face.

"Perfect, actually, and I noticed that bottle of champagne in the fridge before."

"Oh you did, did you? I can't even accuse you of snooping anymore, since now it's your fridge too."

"That it is, Sweetheart." You raise your eyebrows, and you watch her laugh. She laughs, and you know, it's because it feels really good to say things like this, for things like this to be true at all. Things you both never thought, but have become so real, so quickly. "So, since it's my fridge and I've discovered it, does that mean we get to open it?"

"Well, I did buy it this morning for a special occasion. And I guess our first night officially living together kind of counts as a special occasion."

"Kind of?"

"Okay, fine, maybe the most special occasion of my life so far." That so far, you know what it means, and the butterflies, they certainly do too. They come back to life, having settled a little bit in the past few hours. So far. The most special occasion so far. Never in your life have you found yourself thinking about things like this. You didn't grow up with any sort of traditional model of love and marriage— which maybe contributed to the ease with with your mother accepted your sexuality— but, you feel it, you feel it in the future, and, you just, suck in a breath.

"Mine too, Britt." You feel yourself blush a little. You don't know why, but, maybe it has to do with those thoughts you were having. The rest of your life. This, knowledge that today, it's just the first step. "So champagne?"

"Yeah, definitely champagne."

You make her sit, while you get up to get the bottle. Because as much as she loves to pour you wine and cook you dinner, there's something about her eyes on you as you pop a cork and hand her a bubbling flute that you just, you love. You clink the glasses together, and, you kiss her bubbly lips. You kiss them over and over again. For good luck, you sign to her, swiping your fingertip over your forehead and sticking your thumb up. And she giggles, filling the room. She giggles, until you're giggling too, giggling until tears run down your face, giggling, kissing her again, and squealing, when you find yourself in her arms, and she's carrying you to the bedroom, to your bedroom.

Never letting you go, Brittany, she closes the door, and she pushes aside the covers. She lays you down, so gently, so carefully, and, you're just, you're drunk on her kisses, on the day, on everything, really. You're in love, and, this girl, this beautiful girl who slides your t-shirt up your body, and who presses the most tender kisses where your breasts spill out of you bra, she loves you too. She doesn't take her eyes off of yours. She never does. It's your favorite thing, you think, about your love making. The eye contact. It's intense. It's overwhelming, in the best possible way. Her universe eyes. They make everything just feel more. She kisses your throat. She swallows your pulse. She swallows your unheard moans. And she never stops. Not as she makes her way down your body, swallowing your every twitch and tremor. Not as she slides your pants down your legs and drags her fingertips over your burning skin. Not as she works her mouth against you, as she slips her fingers inside, as she hits your every spot and makes you whimper. Never. She never stops drinking in your reactions to her, she never stops looking in your eyes.

You savor each other, you worship each other, for a long time. This night, it's big. This night, nothing else matters but the two of you. Nothing else matters but this, this bed. You're limp and sweaty and you cling to her, when you finish. Because, when your limbs are tangled like they are, when you're sated and surrounded by her, her smell, her taste, the sound of her breath against your ear, you just, don't think you can get close enough. She tangles her hands in your hair. She likes to do that after, to hold you that way, and you trade lazy, soft kisses. You don't move, you never want to move you think, and you watch her, watching you. Universe eyes and heavy lids. You watch her, and you write love letters on the skin of her lower back.

"Santana." Her voice is scratchy, the lingering effects of her arousal still giving it an edge. She rubs her nose against yours, and she moves, just a little, from where her forehead rests against yours, so she can see your lips better. "You live here."

"I live here." You repeat. "We live together now."

"I, do you, is, is it—" She stammers over her words. She does that, when she's concerned about something, and you feel your brow furrow. You're not sure why, why she would be concerned at all. "Did you, have enough space, for your stuff, is there, anything else you need, to make this feel more yours?"

"No, no, Britt." You smile. You smile, because this girl. You smile, because she worries about nothing sometimes, and, you just don't want her to ever have to. "I've never really needed much, to make me feel at home."

"I know. I remember, your story about how you used to have nightmares about you and your mom getting kicked out of your apartment. And how, when you signed your lease, it made you feel, for the first time, like you had control over that."

"I know it's dumb." You look down. "Because I could lose my job at any time, and—"

"It's not, it's not dumb at all. You saw people come and go, you saw a lot of instability, no matter how much your mom tried to keep you from that. So, I just, I know I'm rigid about things, a lot, and change is hard for me, but. I want you to feel like this is yours just as much as mine. If you want to, I don't know, paint, or, get new furniture, or—"

"Hey." You kiss her. Just, a lingering peck, but, enough to stop her rambling. "I don't. Right now, I don't want any of that. The things I want, there are just a few. I'd rather just have you. You make me feel secure. Britt. I'm not going to worry about having to leave here, because I know, that me and you, we're made to last. And in the future, if we want to change things together, we can talk about it. It's not something I need, though. If, for some reason, we had to go, as long as I have you, I know I'd be okay."

"Santana. Santana. You and your love words."

"They're not. They're just, true words. This feels like home for me already, and I've lived here a few hours. You, thinking to put my name on the doorbell, you, just being you. It's all I need."

"You're all I need, too, Santana."

"I know." You smile, you smile because you're not shy to tell her that. "I know, because I watched you let me in, I watched you do things way outside your comfort zone, and I watched you do them, just because you love me."

"I do, a lot. And, I'm so glad I never have to wake up without you again."

"Me too, Britt. Me too."