Title: After All This Time
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 13.2k
Summary: See, you've never really been one for bright ideas. Sure, you're phenomenal at revenge plans and being a total bitch, but when it comes to genuinely decent ideas, you're lacking to say the least. But this one? This one could actually work.
Notes: Thank you for all the feedback! Gotta go a little off course from the movie... I like to pluck inspiration but add a little twist :)
/
You wake up to the sound of banging coming from deep within your apartment.
It's unwelcome, as is the sunlight streaming in from the window, and you squint against the intrusion, holding your hand up towards it to block it out as you struggle to lean up on weakened arms. They're fucking aching, like the rest of your body and your mouth is dry as hell, and you really wish you'd taken a drink to bed last night but–
Fuck.
Last night comes flooding back to you and all care of muscle ache and the unwanted sunlight waking you up, flies out your mind as you glance to your left to see Brittany laying there, looking impossibly peaceful and beautiful. Blonde hair is littering the pillow, scattered like a halo around her head and she's on her back, one above her, the other placed on top of the sheet and you take a moment to admire the sight, just because you can.
You can't believe last night happened, that you slept together and yeah, it was for the second time, but it was so fucking intense and passionate and out of nowhere. She was fucking smiling during, and you know that your last worry is the little crush you thought you had for her now. You don't think you're alone with that one, and fear grips your chest when you think about her waking up and seeing you and not feeling the way you do now as that's still a strong possibility.
Sex doesn't always mean feelings. It didn't to you for a long time and this is a first for you, too, but you're not even going to try and deny the affection gripping your chest. Last night was amazing.
However, there's still relentless knocking coming from the apartment though, and you carefully slide out of bed, desperately wishing they'd just give up and go away so you could wake Brittany up in a way that would totally distract her from the adult bullshit that's inevitably coming, and that's currently clawing at the back of your mind. But you can't, and so you tiptoe across your bedroom, gulping as you sweep your shorts and t-shirt off the floor and put them on, pretending that the thought of her taking them off you isn't at the forefront of your mind.
You've just woken up, and nowhere near ready to process the events of last night. Or deal with the consequences.
And you need to answer that damn door. Whoever is on the other side is about to receive your morning wrath.
You slide out your bedroom, pulling the door closed as quietly as possible and wince when your feet hit a creaking floorboard. This place is so old, and you really wish you had carpet now, because the wooden floorboards aren't helping you out whilst you're trying to be silent, but you still manage to make it across the apartment and to the door, opening it carefully as you peek round the corner…
To find Kurt and Artie.
Shock shoots through your core, making your blood freeze and you try to regulate your breathing, but it doesn't work. You force yourself to not show the emotion on your face though, but you don't think it happens because Kurt eyes you up and down, and Artie just wrinkles his nose up, but you don't really notice. What are they here for? You're pretty sure it's the morning and there was no meeting scheduled, and Holly hasn't text you to say she's closing the diner super early, so you have no idea why they're here.
Which probably wouldn't make you panic in a normal situation, but this morning isn't normal.
Brittany's back in your bedroom, after you had sex for no apparent reason other than you both wanted to, and you resist the twitch in your neck, urging you to glance over your shoulder at the damn room you just left in hopes she doesn't choose this exact moment to appear. That would make it obvious, and you know Kurt's like a bloodhound, and he's already found a trail if the way he's looking at you is anything to go by. His eyes are scanning you up and down, probably noting the dishevelled hair that looks like you had sex last night.
Which, you did, but you can't admit that. You haven't even had time to think about it because they're here. Had they not rudely interrupted your morning, you could've perhaps done it again and forgotten about the consequences, or at least gauged some sort of reaction from Brittany about how she feels about it and then you wouldn't be all panicky.
"We've got some stuff to go through," Artie says, the first thing vocalised since you opened the door, and you take a step back when he wheels inside without invitation.
Kurt follows shortly after, arms folded across his chest, but he doesn't remove his eyes from you as you stand aside and they head to the sofas, making themselves right at home. Usually, it wouldn't bother you, and you would say something along the lines of 'get the hell out of my apartment,' so you could return to the crime of the scene to start figuring out your shit, but you're still downright terrified and been caught in a slight compromising position and Kurt's still fucking staring at you.
Now you're hoping Brittany doesn't come out, like, naked or something. That would be even harder to explain than her just appearing out from your room where you had sex last night.
Still, you kick yourself into normality and sit down on the sofa, watching Kurt drum his fingertips against the arms of the chair he's sitting on, studying you. Artie, for the most part, seems to be completely oblivious that you're startled like a deer caught in the headlights, so it's a good idea to put all your focus on him. If you look at the other guy for too long, you're going to crack – you're barely holding it together now – and take in a deep breath as the guy in the wheelchair pulls out some folders from his chair pocket. He's got like, saddle bags. Like a modern-day horse and it's kind of cool.
"We need a rewrite," Artie states, holding the folders over to you and you take them cautiously, flipping through them. You've seen these already, you know whose scenes are due today – including another one of yours – and for a second, you get a happy feeling because maybe you could take it out if you need a rewrite and come up with a lie as to why Brittany's was cut too, but then he's talking again, and the idea is immediately dismissed. "I did some numbers last night and there's not enough film time."
It's the second occasion there's been an unexpected hurdle, but you didn't trip over it before with the location situation too much – Holly saved your ass – and you don't want to now. Maybe there's a few more scenes you could formulate with the people you have and still avoid using yourself or Brittany, even though it seems a little out of reach.
"How much film time do we need?" You ask, gathering the folders together again from where they were spread out and staring at the other two in Artie's hands. "I thought we had everything sorted?"
"We did," Kurt replies, fishing his phone out his pocket and flicking through it for a minute. If you didn't think it was to do with this conversation, you'd knock it out of his hand for being so damn rude, but he's leaning over to you and urging you to take it, which you do, and see a picture of a guy with a terrible mohawk that looks more like a landing strip than a rebellious hairstyle on the screen. You don't know who he is, but you're getting this tugging feeling in the bottom of your stomach that you don't really like.
He's just another guy you've got to convince Artie not to put in a scene with Brittany. Had it been a girl, it would've been up to you, and you could've easily talked your way out of it. Or at least tried. You're still thinking of ways to get rid of the you and Dani scene.
"His name is Noah Puckerman," Kurt continues and folds his hands over his lap. "He heard about the gig from Sugar and wants in on it."
You grit your teeth. Don't trust Sugar. Noted.
"Isn't that just someone else to share the profits?" You ask, deciding that you need to be professional about it, even though your only inclination to decline is the fact he's a guy and will react to seeing Brittany with his tongue hanging out like a dog. Although it is a good point, and something someone would say if they felt platonic about the situation, but after last night, you just don't and you're already struggling to conjure up reasons to cut existing scenes. Let alone ones that haven't been suggested yet.
"True, but we need a couple more scenes to get a solid length out of it, and I think he could come in useful," Artie answers you and your eyes flash to him.
And you don't need to think about ask anything else, because it's at that specific moment that you hear a noise from behind you and the two guys peer over your shoulder, but you stay deadly still, like you've just come across a bear in the woods.
You could do with curling up into the foetal position seeing as you've forgotten how to breathe, now that Brittany's coming out from the hallway and making your mind run blank. You have no idea what to think or say to her, or how she's going to react and now is not the time to show the indecision because Kurt's now staring between you and Brittany, his eyebrows pushing further and further together in the middle of his forehead the longer he looks like he's piecing something together.
Why does he have to be so damn observant?
"Hey, Britt," he slowly greets and Artie grins when the blonde wanders into the living room, looking far too put together considering she was heavily asleep about three minutes ago.
You cock your head to the side when she doesn't instantly look at you, the fear from earlier returning to clutch at your breathing pipes and restricting them. But your mind does the wandering when you take in the robe she's wearing. It's yours, and it was hooked on the back of your door when you left earlier, but now it's on her and the question of why is about to leave your mouth but then her eyes finally (but briefly) meeting yours, answering silently, before returning to Kurt and you figure it out by yourself.
She's obviously in it because she ruined the underwear she was wearing last night, so she only had her tank top which you can see peeking out slightly, and she just left your room so she had no other choice. There was zero chance of making it to her bedroom to slip into something of her own, and it's not like she could put on your boxers. Occasionally you lend her a shirt, or wear one of hers, but sharing underwear is a whole other ball game and it would be a gigantic neon sign reading WE JUST HAD SEX AND NOT ON CAMERA which is not something you want to bring up right now.
You think she knows that though, because she turns to Artie and puts a too-sweet smile that you can see straight through on her face.
"Morning guys," she replies and takes a seat next to you on the sofa, a little too far away for your liking, but if she was sat closer, you'd have to control your urge to touch her. You don't think you're ready for that and you're still remembering how to freaking breathe. She took that ability away when she came out the bedroom. "What's going on?"
She asks casually, tying the belt around her waist as she pulls her legs up onto the couch, getting comfier but you have to look at the ceiling. It was a matter of hours ago that they were wrapped around you and–
Nope. No. You really need to not go there.
"Morning, Britt," Artie finally says but puts his attention back on the folders on your lap, gesturing to them. "We've got to do a rewrite of the script."
Brittany looks to you for longer than a split second (finally), concern in her features but God, she's so pretty that you're momentarily distracted. "A rewrite?"
"Sugar knows a guy who wants in, and we've had a look at the script and think we need a few more scenes," Kurt explains and waves his hands around, words hurried as you've just gone over this, but everyone loves Brittany so he's willing to repeat. You were probably the one that should've answered, seeing as she asked you, but you're stumped and haven't said anything since she came out your bedroom. You haven't even greeted her, technically.
"So," Artie cuts in and Kurt grimaces at him, obviously having enjoyed the power of leading the conversation but Artie is the producer or whatever his title is. "I'm thinking we could do a scene with Puck and Dani or Sugar, and then we could spice it up," he shrugs and pulls one more folder out from the side and your heart stops. If you see Brittany's name on it, you honestly don't know what you're going to do or how you're going to react. "Perhaps a menage a trois with the girls and Puck, and a lesbian thang with Dani and Sugar."
You exhale – a little too loudly – but you don't have time to think of why you're breathing now, but really hard; a question you think Brittany's thinking because her eyes are squinting like she's reading a foreign language. You can't blame her. As much energy as you're putting into being normal, you know you're not being freaking normal and it's really starting to irritate you. Why can't you just be chill? She seems to be.
"And we've always got the scene with Brittany and Sam, if you want to put that back in," Artie continues, directed towards you and then they're all staring, but one pair of eyes begin burning holes into your profile harder than the others and making the blood rush faster around your body.
Yeah, you hadn't quite told Brittany about that yet, which is something you probably should've done before sleeping together outside of a professional environment. Now it's not going to look good on you and you can't really say why you did it because it was before the sex. Prior to that, it was just a normal best friendship with Brittany, with a few question marks in certain areas. Even if you were feeling abnormal to her, you could've played it off easily, but now it's got to have deeper meaning and you don't want to know what that meaning is yet.
Not until you've heard if she's feeling the same way. You don't want to make it weird. Or weirder, you should say.
"I thought we didn't need it," you finally grit out, your throat thick and you swallow against it, resisting the quiver that threatens your lip as it's the first time you've spoken. If Brittany sees that, she'll know you're lying and fuck that. You're feeling far too pressured and overwhelmed with everything and you're going to crack if you don't steer this back to the topic at hand. This isn't about cutting a scene, as you were going to do it with your own anyway, so it doesn't have to be a thing.
(Even if it definitely is now.)
You look to Kurt, knowing you can't turn your head and meet the eyes you want to because you haven't held them for longer than two seconds and you look guilty as hell right now, but Kurt just studies you and shit, maybe Artie would've been the best person to focus on, like you thought before. He still seems to be oblivious to whatever the fuck is going on – you're not sure either – but the sweat forming beneath your boobs is sign enough that it's probably not good thing.
"I mean, it'll bring the stepbrother and stepsister kink to the movie which will prove popular," Artie offers and searches through the folders you hand back to him, plucking one out and flipping it open. Your eyes don't need to linger on it for longer than two seconds though because you're still processing the first thing he's saying, and you can't process seeing those two names on the folder with a description of things you were doing to her literally six hours ago.
Out of everything you don't want to do right now, it's think about that.
"But it's really up to Britt," Artie continues and looks to the blonde, but she's not looking back. You don't have visual confirmation, but you can just feel her eyes on you still. You don't think they've left you since Artie offered out information you hadn't shared with her yet. Information she should've known. This is a shared thing, after all, regardless of the hierarchy that naturally occurred.
And you don't usually pull the card, because you feel good about being the ringleader, but if there's a time to use the power, it's now. Not the best thing to do in hindsight, because you sit forward, obviously not liking the way that it's now an option because you don't even want that scene on the table anymore. You don't think you could physically sit on that damn directors' chair and watch Sam fuck Brittany's brains out.
Even the mere thought is making your stomach twist and nostrils flare as anger sizzles through you, hot like fire and you throw the folder on to the coffee table, clasping your hands together as a serious atmosphere settles around you.
"I'm not sure it's necessary, that's all," you say, trying to seem nonchalant but knowing you aren't succeeding, and a smirk tugs at Kurt's lips. Which you shouldn't notice but you're focusing on everything that isn't blonde haired and blue eyed and it's really hard to ignore it without focusing entirely on the other two people in the room. If your attention or gaze sways for two seconds, you might have a nervous breakdown. "How many scenes would we need to get it right?"
Artie studies you for a long minute, clearly wanting to ask you why you're not being as chill with this as everything else he's suggested since this whole thing started, and flips through a few pages in one of the other folders off the coffee table, presenting it to you. You take note of the numbers and do a quick math equation in your head to work it out. You'd only need about three more scenes to reach the length of time Artie's drawn out – according to ratings on sex statistic websites of preferred film length and selection – and you know this is a (cop out) way of getting around the explanation of why you didn't need Brittany and Sam's scene in the first place.
"Will this fit in our schedule?" Your eyes drag up from the sheet, knowing that Holly only allowed three days of disruption at the diner and pushing it might be too much. She's kind, but not at the sacrifice her livelihood.
"We could make it work," Kurt interjects, the smirk still on his face as he tilts it to the side, glancing between you and the blonde on your right. You really wish he'd stop doing that, but he's not going to let up and when he sits forward to match your position – hands clasped and leaning – you know it's coming. "Are we missing something?" He quirks, wiggling his head around condescendingly and you resist the urge to snarl at him. He's going to call you out. "Is there a reason why you wouldn't want Brittany and Sam's scene included Santana?"
For a whole other reason now, you freeze. You feel the oxygen sucked from your lungs as you gulp too loudly and curse yourself for not being able to keep your cool or lie immediately, because you're usually a freaking wizard at hiding your emotions but you're tangled up in knots over last night. Nothing about this day has been normal and you woke up ten minutes ago – probably because you woke up next to your best friend after having the most incredible sex – but the silence is dragging, and eerily loud, and you need to say something.
They're all staring at you, expectantly, using your own power of leading against you and fuck, fuck, fuck.
Panic is striking your chest hard, your muscles tensing all over your body at the crushing feeling and your eyes dart from Artie, to Kurt, and then finally to Brittany as you twist your neck the slightest. She's not glaring at you anymore, which would be a good thing if she wasn't squinting with a wrinkle in her brows, her lips pressed together, instead. She's just waiting to see what you say, but you were hoping she was going to say something first at the risk of breaking your own heart, but you can't fucking think of a way out of this.
You just tried to sidestep with the questioning about scheduling, but apparently it revealed more than you wanted to show as Kurt latched on to the scent like you thought he would.
So, you need to talk. Right now. You need to say literally fucking anything. As long as they're words, they're good.
It's got to be better than the silence you're currently experiencing.
"No, I don't care either way. I just don't want to fuck up the timing," you rush out and instantly regret what you said when the words pierce the atmosphere.
Fuck.
Why did you fucking say that?
You thought that anything would be better than silence, but you really should've just swallowed your tongue because now you're looking at Brittany and she's shutting her eyes slowly, chin tilting down to her chest to hide her expression, but you know she's disappointed.
You're disappointed, too, and you fucking hate yourself because you just panicked and said anything and didn't know if you could admit why you aren't okay with her fucking someone else. You basically just aired your apparent feelings about last night, destroying any possibility or at least severely damaging it, if there even was one and ruined everything you worked towards with her, however unwitting that was.
You're such a fucking asshole.
"Interesting," Kurt observes, tilting his chin up as he rests back in his seat, bringing his clasped hands up to his chin, pointer fingers balancing his head. "Well, Artie has a basement of tech stuff in his mom's house for the editing so the timing shouldn't be an issue."
"And I can do that outside of the schedule," Artie follows up, his voice strained because he has no clue what's going on but he's trying to be helpful and stick to business. You need to follow his lead. "Editing will take longer, and we'll have to rewrite the script now, but it's cool," he shrugs. "I'd just be playing video games down there if not and I've got time today before we film, if you guys are free?"
You think he's trying to make the situation better, but you just want to end this conversation and get them the hell out of here, but they're looking really comfortable, and Kurt begins taking his hideous fur coat off as Brittany rises from the couch. You glance to her, and she doesn't meet your stare but then she's putting that too-sweet smile back on her face as she inhales deeply (and shakily) and folds her arms over her chest.
"I'll make some coffee," she suggests, and both guys shoots her a grin before Artie takes his laptop out the bag hooked to the handles of his chair, and Brittany disappears into the kitchen.
/
After the first round of coffee, you decide you need a moment to yourself and offer to make the second.
Everyone looks at you a little confused, you're the type of host that likes the get it yourself type attitude, but they accept, gathered around the coffee table and Brittany's only looked at you three times, and you died every single time she looked away quickly. She hasn't really spoken to you either, not in the way she usually does, and Kurt seems to be sniffing the scent trail to find the proof at the end because he keeps asking your opinion, then Brittany's and eying the growing space between you on the sofa and God, you just want to punch his cat's ass of a mouth in.
Still, you play the good host and make your way into the kitchen, flipping on the machine and putting a pot beneath, leaning on the counter out of view with your arms folded across your chest. You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers, wishing you'd put your glasses on before reading them all because you're kind of blind and have a headache now and–
Who are you kidding? You've got a headache because you've been fighting yourself inside your brain. Your thoughts have been racketing around your skull like a ping-pong ball and you didn't know whether to apologise and just spill out the truth that you don't want the Sam and Brittany thing because you can't hack it. It would literally be the end of you, and you'd never love or trust again, and you'd lose your entire world which is the opposite of what you'd promised yourself when agreeing to this fucking porno because Brittany's not going to say anything positive after the shit you spewed.
You don't get to torture yourself any further, though, because you hear footsteps and then Kurt's poking his head around the side and coming towards you, leaning on the counter on the other side.
"We gonna talk about the elephant in the room?" He asks, not even sparing a moment for you to tell him to leave you alone.
"There is no elephant," you spit back, feeling the guards shoot up around you. You don't want to have this conversation now, or ever, especially with the person who's been making it so much worse. He doesn't even know the fucking half of it, and neither do you, so you don't have anything to say about the so-called elephant in the room.
The coffee stops pouring, and you take the opportunity to fish a few fresh cups out the cabinet, setting them down in a line and pouring out the liquid carefully, holding the lid on top as you do so. Kurt's staring at you though, even though you've now got your back facing him, and he'd have to be a total idiot to not pick up on the weird tension in the other room. Ever since you opened the front door all dishevelled and shit, and since she walked out your bedroom, which he freaking saw, he's been hooked on something that only you and Brittany know about, and you swear you're going to kick him in the balls if he upsets her with his suspicious comments.
You think you're doing a good job of that all by yourself.
"You two are being weird," he states, coming up beside you and grabbing a few sugar cubes out the container, dropping them into his coffee. "And did I see her leave your bedroom, this morning?" He follows and yup, there it is. "That robe doesn't look like hers, either. Not really her colour."
There's a stack of evidence against you, and you know you've already let slip an hour ago when you said you didn't care about the scene with Sam and Brittany because you obviously do, and it's not like you could correct him because he's a fashion queen and a nosey bitch – it's one of the reasons you bonded – so you're rendered speechless. But you don't let it show, instead pushing back the panic that keeps setting in and stir the coffee before grabbing two of them, eyes darting down for him to do the same to the other and turn to face him.
"Sometimes she sleeps in my bed," you lie, keeping your face as stoic as possible.
Well, it's not a lie; sometimes she does sneak into your room when she has a nightmare or is especially cold, but not like last night. Last night, she made a beeline for you and knew fully well what she was going to do the second she came in, and you were more than okay with that. It wasn't until you blurted out some bullshit about not giving a damn about her and her sex life this morning, after you inserted yourself into it willingly and excitedly, that you fucked it up.
Of course, you care. You can't imagine anyone experiencing her the way you did and even though the thought that many people have is already grinding on you, even if you can't exactly think that without being a total hypocrite.
Great, you're a hurtful, lying, hypocritical bitch. That's a good look.
"And she happened to sleep in your bed after having sex the same day?" Kurt challenges, jaw shifting like he's caught you with your hand in the cookie jar, but you're away from Brittany so maybe you can claw back some of that bitch façade that always fails around her.
"Just because you fall in love with everyone that buttfucks you in a dark, creepy alley next to a dive bar, doesn't mean that I do, too, Porcelain."
He doesn't even flinch at the insult, instead turning the smugness into a smirk and he's totally not buying it, but the coffee is going to get cold, and you can't think of anything else to throw at him because you're lying and apparently can't hide that. What the fuck is wrong with you today? It's like your body is here, but your soul, heart and mind are stuck somewhere entirely different. You're like a zombie walking around, just without the brain eating part.
"That okay, pumpkin?" You quirk, faking a smile and step around him, intending to head out the kitchen and out of this conversation, but he calls your name, and you look over your shoulder at him.
"You said it would be fine, and you need to remember that," Kurt states, his face no longer twisted into a smirk, but now looking a little softer, like he's taking your answers as confirmation to his teasing, and you think for a second you see regret for it, but then it's gone and he's sucking his lips into his mouth, shrugging. "Don't let it fuck up your friendship," he says and gives you a knowing look before skipping past you and returning to the living room.
/
It's four hours, and like a thousand coffees later, and you're glad for the caffeine buzz because you didn't get any sleep last night – for obvious reasons – and you've got a whole night of filming ahead of you.
Rewriting the script hasn't been easy, but you've juggled around the timings and decided to shift your scene with Dani until tomorrow and included the new guy and the girls in a few other ones, too. You didn't manage to argue your scene, because Brittany and Sam's scene wasn't highlighted, just sat in a folder on the corner of the coffee table and that was what you wanted more, so you didn't speak up in fear the spotlight would be turned on you. Kurt asked if you were okay to star in your scene with Dani still, following it up with that you were taking over a lot of the licensing and legalities of the whole thing as a reason as to why you may not be, and you'd shrugged, feeling blue eyes on you, which Artie misread as confirmation.
Brittany hadn't spoken up though, and it was disheartening to say the least, but you couldn't blame her after what you said. If you didn't care about her (currently lost) scene with Sam, then why would she care about yours and Dani's?
Anyway, Artie's on the phone, after he sent a text to the new guy Puck, as he was referred to by Kurt, to call him and they've been talking about where to meet and when. Turns out, it's pretty soon, and you were so caught up with every little thing Brittany was doing that time has flown by and you're shooting the next scenes soon. You're still in your clothes from earlier, Brittany in the robe as it's been nothing but work, work, work since you got up, but you've got clarity on the rest of the schedule, and you've been preoccupied.
(You also want clarity on other things, but this movie is a priority and Kurt reminded you that you need to not fuck up your friendship.)
(You seriously need to apologise for saying you didn't care.)
(Even just as a best friend, of course you'd care and so that was a dick move on more than one basis.)
"Right," Kurt gets to his feet and dusts off his pants leg, shifting them back into place. You don't know how, they're so tight you can count the change in his pocket, but he does it anyway. "We've got to get going," he grabs his jacket and throws it over his arm, patting it. "Got a lot of sex to film."
Artie laughs and nods, agreeing and packs away the last of his folders, and his laptop, and zips up his jacket before wheeling towards the door, but Kurt doesn't move and you eye him, but he just lifts a brow in response. He's not going anywhere, despite the other guy leading the way and you're curious, but then his eyes flit over to Brittany who's tidying up the remaining coffee cups and you get it. He knows he's onto something and doesn't want to leave you two alone, and as much as you want the time to talk to Brittany, you can't deny you're thankful for him waiting for you.
You do need to keep your friendship intact with Brittany, if nothing else comes from last night, and not just because you're making a porno, but now isn't a good time. You've got to get to the diner and set up and run a rehearsal with the new guy and all this other shit that's time restricted.
(You're also looking for reasons to delay the inevitable conversation, as you're now terrified how it's going to go.)
"Hurry your ass up then," he retorts, and with attitude and you narrow your eyes his way. "Neither of you are filming tonight anymore, so put on anything and tie your hair up."
Brittany looks up, seeming a bit confused by the demand but Kurt's a princess at the best of times, and you can all share a car there instead of walking, and leaving you to talk to Brittany and screw up the porno because of your own personal shit, so it's not too out of the blue. You didn't start this to fuck up, and you've dragged everyone with you through it so you can't just leave them stranded and distract yourself with other parts of your life.
The part that involves Brittany is currently high risk, and you'd rather forget about last night (the second time) and just go back to what you were instead of blurting out some more bullshit to hurt your best friend.
You don't want to lose her.
So, you bob your head and turn on your heel, heading straight to the bedroom.
(You're glad for the few moments alone.)
(Even if it's at the scene of the crime.)
/
Brittany's cold to you the entire journey.
She sits as far away from you in the back seat, pressed up against the cold glass during the five minutes you're in the car together. You feel the distance like it's an ocean between you, but you just listen to Kurt rambling on about his scene with Spencer yesterday and how he's going to seek some external company with him at some time. You weren't lying when you said he falls in love with everyone he sleeps with, he's just that type of gay.
You pull up at the diner, Kurt pulling into the spot, and you all help Artie get out from the seat, taking out his chair and opening it for him before walking inside. The lights are still on, even though the sun is setting and Brittany wheels Artie towards Holly when you get inside, leaving you with Kurt who eyes you from the side and shrugs the jacket from his shoulder, clapping his hands together as he heads off towards the large board on an easel to post up the scenes, so everyone is on the same page.
You stare around the set, trying to gain the same feeling you had when you arrived yesterday, only to find a new face in the room.
Puck is in one of the booths, feet kicked up on to the seat, his body sidewards as he picks at a plate of fries on the table, looking smug and cocky and basically everything you hate about men. It wouldn't surprise you in the least if this wasn't his first rodeo, and you're already getting the ick from the way he's watching every woman in the room as if he'll have a chance with them, but then his eyes shift to Brittany and your face drops.
Your legs lead you over to him before you can make the decision to, and he does the same thing he's done to every other female in vicinity, not hiding the way he's checking you out as his eyes drag from your heeled boots, up your jean cladded legs, over your leather jacket to your head where they linger. The look on his face if you whacked your wang out would be memorable, but he's no longer looking at Brittany, or anyone else, and so you can handle that. This isn't the first time you've swayed a guy away from you. You know how hot you are.
"Noah Puckerman?" You state, folding your arms over your chest. "I'm Santana Lopez."
He grins, but there's a curl at his lip that lets you know he's going to make an ass of himself in three seconds. "Hottest boss I've ever had, hands down," he replies and chucks another fry in his mouth as he sits up, leaning his elbows on the table, waggling his eyebrows your way.
You scoff, super fucking loudly and with purpose, and take a seat, folding your hands over to lean towards him as intimidatingly as you can. "You're a pig and you're irritating me already which isn't a good start for you, hombre," you state and his face drops. Good, he's getting your vibes now. "But Kurt insists you're packing," your eyes move to below the table. "And we kind of need a few more scenes and apparently," you linger on the word. "You have some free time to help out."
"It'd be my pleasure," he retorts and swallows before grinning, bouncing back immediately. "Wanna do a scene with me? Heard about your sitch and that you're a strictly non-dickly otherwise," he looks down at your lap and you don't know whether you're offended or intrigued by his complete lack of awareness. It could be a sensitive subject, and you're a little pissed someone told him before you could use it as ammunition, but it's not like you weren't expecting a slimy comment to leave his mouth. "But you're still hot as hell and I kind of want to see what's going on down there," he shrugs and picks up another fry, chomping on it. "No ass play for me though, but we can still mess around," he states with a shrug, and you're still startled.
"Just stick to your script," you settle on and get up from the booth, knowing you have better uses of your time and after this conversation, you don't think he's much of a threat to anyone but himself. He's just another horny douchebag with a big dick.
"Sure thing, boss."
You throw him a glare over your shoulder as you head over towards Holly, Artie and Brittany, but by the time you get there, it's just you and Artie. You watch the retreating forms of the blondes, caught up in heavy conversation and you chew your lip as Artie speaks.
"Ready to film?"
No. You're not ready for anything, but you nod anyway and exhale shakily.
/
It shouldn't come as a surprise that Puck jumps at the chance and suggests a scene with Sugar, Holly Dani in one scene where he's the only guy.
Naturally, you reject him, even though Artie looks intrigued by the suggestion, Holly entirely grossed out, and you realise then that Puck's going to be a pain in the ass to direct. He's rebellious – like the mohawk didn't give it away – and much like he did with you, doesn't sway when all the other women in the room reject his initial flirtation techniques. They're weak as hell, he has zero game, but Sugar's kind of dim and begins flirting with him, then Dani swiftly after and you're baffled by their lack of standards as they all begin chuckling together and the new guy smirks like he's Hugh fucking Hefner when they accept his suggestion of filming together as a trio.
Holly, however, does have standards and looks entirely disappointed in his attitude, but remarks on his confidence to handle two fiery women like Sugar and Dani.
But if he's flirting with them and embarrassing himself, then he's nowhere near Brittany. Which you know because she disappeared with Holly after the Puck thing happened, then Kurt disappeared at some point, too and your boss returned with a façade that you couldn't see through, and you haven't seen your best friend since. That was only ten minutes ago, but every minute feels like an hour when you're away from her, even more so than ever and you're getting more and more impatient with waiting to just see her.
You think you'd be less anxious.
Artie announces it's time to start shooting, and it's a rehearsal as you didn't even audition Puck, and Sugar willingly offers herself up on the table, ready to demonstrate a few potential positions but fully clothed and your attention is drawn to it. The lights go down shortly after, everyone keeping their voices down until there's a few whispers and Artie begins directing.
You hop in your chair and put on your headset; eyes trained on the set but your mind somewhere else completely.
/
The rehearsal goes well, and Puck is convinced he only needs one take, so you get prepared for shooting the real scene.
However, he's all about talk and fails to get it up when the camera flicks on four times over, and even though it's entirely amusing to everyone who owns a penis, you can't help but feel bad. It's a lot of pressure, fucking in front of a group of strangers and an entire film studio and you guess it got to him. Not that it did the same to you, which just drags your mind back to Brittany and you search the darkness for the familiar head of blonde hair or blue eyes, but she's still not here and you think she's been buried in the makeshift closet half the time in the back room.
Everyone seems to be getting changed swiftly and comes out with a cheer and you know Brittany makes people react like that.
But she still hasn't talked to you.
Technically, you haven't had a conversation since last night and even then, it wasn't even a conversation, more like you just talking and her doing.
"Cut!" Artie yells, slamming down his clapperboard and the lights come up as Puck shifts off Sugar from where he was crouched behind her. Sugar is perched with her head between Dani's legs, and they all look to the voice as he grunts, which is weird because they obviously weren't into it either, or maybe Puck's lack of erection was doing its thing, but you're just waiting to see what part of that horrific shit show he's going to comment on.
He begins mumbling away with creative directions as this is the fifth take coming up and it's not going well, but you just cross one leg over the other, shifting the clipboard on your lap as you rest your head in your hand and watch, not really tuning in. You don't know whether you should bite the bullet and go find Brittany, seeing as she's obviously not coming to you, and you've been staring at the entrance to the back room for over an hour and a half now.
Although, you guess you could ask Holly where she is, on the off chance that she isn't where you suspect and okay, that's kind of a weak move but you haven't got a great hand to play. Anything you do will either make it better, or considerably worse and you don't want to risk it right now. You just want to see Brittany and look into her eyes and read her like you always can, like you did last night when you were having sex because you were so sure you saw the same thing you felt reflected at you.
You don't get to think any more on it though, before you feel someone come up to you from behind and your heart leaps out of your chest when you whip your head around, seeing blonde hair but not the eyes you wanted and sink into your chair as Holly looks at you.
"Hey sweetie," she greets and ducks her head, seeing the disappointment of her presence. "What's up with your fine butt?"
Just the searing disappointment that she's not Brittany.
"Nothing," you reply and shake yourself out of it. "It's just not going as smoothly today."
Holly hums softly, like a mother calming a baby and you hate that it kind of works. She's just really fucking nice and kind. "It'll take time to adjust, especially with a new cast member who's kind of a douchebag," she says and folds her arms over her chest, staring out at the set as Artie begins moving Puck around who just argues about angles. He's really picky. "But you created this and should be proud."
The pride isn't present in your body anymore. It faded out when you filmed your scene with Brittany, because as much as you were proud to have come up with this whole plan to finally make it in life, it's effected parts of yours that you weren't expecting it to. That's started this whole fucking thing of confusion and hesitance and awkwardness. Before, you could sweep Brittany in a hug and fuck around like best friends, and it's been a solid twenty-four hours now since you were last completely normal with her. The walk back home after you finished was weird. The moment in your flat after that was weird – you even talked about it – and then you had sex again, and now it's weirder.
You just want some sort of familiarity. You feel lost without her.
"Not really feeling that, right now," you admit, lowly, shocked at the truth but you know you're in a safe space with Holly. She's like your cool aunt who won't tell your mom when you sneak out for a party at the weekend, so you think you can confide in her. Not too much, though. You still don't want to say it out loud.
"Why?"
"Just a lot to process," you reply, without a beat but she narrows her eyes, catching on to the way your voice cracks. "It's confusing."
Holly straightens up, but shuffles until she's as close as she can be to your chair, eyes now trained back on the set. She's not looking at you, and you don't know if it's on purpose but you're glad for it. It doesn't feel like she's trying to read through your words, so the lack of eye contact is good. "What's confusing about it?"
"The Brittany part," you whisper, wanting to get it out and knowing Holly went into the back room with Brittany when you first started shooting Puck's rehearsal, so maybe she said something to her in there. "Has she said anything?"
Holly's eyes flit to you, but she shakes her head. "No, but I pick up on vibes," she retorts, like she knows what you're really trying to talk about.
You don't know if you like her answer. Brittany could've told her, like you're telling her now, and it's making you think that Brittany might feel different about everything now you've lied about caring. Or maybe she's just pissed off, but either way, she could've confided in Holly. They have a similar relationship to the one you have with the older woman and has helped her out before with boyfriend troubles as you're not much help there. You don't understand men and they gross you out a little, so it wouldn't have been out of the blue to tell her about your thing.
"It looked intense," Holly continues, and you frown at her, but she explains. "The scene."
"Yeah, it was."
"You can't fake that kind of chemistry, you know," she comments, and you gulp. Yeah, you know that, but the scene was just the tip of the chemistry iceberg for you and Brittany. What happened after was like an implosion of love and need and makes that scene pale in comparison. "Is that why it's confusing?"
You don't answer for a minute, taking your bottom lip between your teeth but you feel the vulnerability getting too much. Obviously, Brittany hasn't said anything to Holly, or she wouldn't be referring to the scene; she'd be mentioning what happened after you got home. That's the part you're hanging onto, as well as the dumb ass thing you said about not caring who Brittany sleeps with after sharing a night of passion and that's why everything's confusing.
Sure, Puck is pissing you off too, and causing unnecessary delays but you can fix that with a quick tongue lashing. You're yet to intervene, as Artie is attempting to handle it but he's far too distracted with Sugar's tits as they're out on show – she's half naked in some high waisted skirt and stockings – and that'll be the last thing on your mind if you have to go over. You're just letting him handle it for now, but you think you'll have to say something soon because Puck kicks Artie's chair away when he tries to reach for him, just to steer him into the correct position.
"Yo!" You screech, jerking out your chair at the movement, headset falling around your neck as you forget (purposefully) to reply to Holly. All eyes snap your way, and you hop out your chair. "Leave off, Wheels, Puckerman," you snap, clicking your fingers his way and the guy's mouth drops open, shock present in his face as you shoot to stand in front of him, hands going to your hips. "No me gusta, hombre," you hiss, and Artie shakes his head, but you just silence him with a throw of your hand in his direction.
About ten seconds ago, you were getting overwhelmed and screwed up talking about Brittany with Holly and it was going somewhere you didn't want to go, and you think in an hours' time, you'll realise you're overreacting, but you just need to let out a little venom before you explode. Maybe that'll help you release your frustration, make you feel better, and you're not about to stand aside and let him be a jackass to any of your friends.
"You're here on a second-hand ticket like Jack on the Titanic and don't think for one second I won't leave your ass to drown in the middle of the ocean because we don't need you screwing this up like I'm sure you've done multiple times in the past," you gently remind Puck and he lifts his hands up, like he's surrendering, but there's a smile on his face and it makes you snarl. "If anyone's kicking anyone's wheelchair, it's me," you lower your head, anger sizzling in your veins.
You were right, this is making you feel better.
"And it's not our fault that you've turned into a fifty-year-old truck driver who can't get it up," you add, and Puck looks around, embarrassment clear in his expression when a few sniggers echo around you. He's no longer smiling, and you've got his balls in a metaphorical vice. Good. "So go warm up, pop a Viagra or do whatever the hell you need to get your pathetic motor running," your eyes flit to his flaccid dick, on show for all to see. You think it's shrunk further since you got over here. "And get back in here to do what you're being paid to fucking do."
It's all very aggressive, and you're pretty sure everyone's gone deadly silent because they're terrified of you, but you don't care. Holly is right, you should be proud of this, and you need to put all your focus on to this because since you took it off, it's all gone to shit. You haven't even managed to get half the first scene and the hours are ticking by. You would know; you've been staring at the damn thing, counting every minute that goes by where Brittany isn't around you and if you don't get some of this anger out, you're going to explode.
"Got it, gringo?"
Artie's looking between everyone, mouth open as far as it can be whilst his lips are still pressed together, like he's stopping himself from bursting out into a laughing fit, and you enjoy his reaction for a second before you feel a presence enter the room and obviously, this is the moment Brittany chooses to appear. Your eyes flit above his head, finding the blonde coming out from the darkness of the makeshift closet – you were right about her being in there – and she's peering over everybody, noting the tension but not understanding why.
You stand up straight, clearing your throat and grabbing your headset, putting it back on your ears, but with one side off, and return to your seat, holding your clipboard on your lap as Holly eyes you from beside it. You're pretending like you're just pissed, but the anger drained out of you when Brittany came out of nowhere and now, you're struggling to breathe properly and your face is getting all hot. It could be mistaken for exhaustion of the ass whooping you just delivered, so you're going to let everyone assume that as you point towards Artie and give him a stern stare.
"We good?"
Artie just nods, and Puck sulks off to the back room, probably to take some of your advice whilst everyone begins running around again.
(But you don't lose sight of Brittany.)
/
Funnily enough, Puck manages to push through his physical issues and gets first scene done.
Next up is Sam, Puck and Sugar, and you decide now's a good time to go find the right costumes as Brittany's been learning about the technology from Artie for the past ten minutes, so she's currently over by the equipment, and when you get inside, you realise why she has been hidden away. She's been making the temporary closet into a cosy office, with a small lamp in the corner, a rug she must have brought from home and a speaker on a tiny picnic table set up.
It's like she's been making a place to hide for the day, and you hate yourself just that little bit more as she has put thought into it, and you know her well enough to know when she does stuff like this.
When she's sad.
When her grandma died, she built a fort in your front room and slept in there for three days. It's like she has to have somewhere to hide away, and you look at it for another minute before shaking yourself out of it, sighing heavily and focus on the reason you came here. Your hands sort through the clothing rails, hearing the screech of the hangars on the metal and pick out a few ideas, throwing them on the stool you assume Brittany was perched on whilst she was in here.
There's a book on the side, too, open but on its front, stretching the spine next to an empty coffee cup, but you're trying not to think about how she's been hauled up in here all day, probably to avoid you and burying her head into other people's lives written in the form of a story as it's an escape from her own.
That fucking sucks.
You're not alone for long though before you hear footsteps behind you and your body knows who it is before your ears hear the voice. It's like a sixth sense when Brittany's around but heightened now you've slept together (twice) and everything's like brighter, sharper now. It's like you're seeing through brand new eyes. This is how Bella must have felt when she was turned into a vampire in Twilight, but it's a ability specifically tuned to your best friend.
In some ways, you think you knew by coming in here, it would draw her attention and break the silence that's been there all day. You knew she'd follow you because her eyes were on you since she came out as you went crazy on Puckerman, but he deserved it and did his job without further prompting. He also managed to keep it up, which you don't know if it was fuelled by your anger or because he's got like a shame kink, but it worked.
Still, just because you were slightly prepared for this, doesn't mean that you can control how your breathing stutters when she clears her throat, announcing her presence as if you didn't already know.
"Heard you went all Lima Heights on Puck," Brittany says, piercing the silence and your body relaxes at the tone of her voice. You haven't talked to her all day, and this is what a junkie must feel like after a hit.
You don't turn around though, instead shrugging your shoulder. "He was being a dick," you retort but you know she wasn't looking for an explanation.
She comes over to you, standing too close for you to be able to focus on anything else and every one of your senses is blurred. "Not sure he deserved Snixx, though."
You try not to smile, but you know she's doing it on purpose as your eyes slide to the left to meet hers hesitantly, but she's just looking around your face, and for a second, it doesn't feel weird. It doesn't feel like you slept together twice last night then fucked it up this morning. It feels like it did before, easy and straight forward, but your face faulters when you think that it isn't like that, and you can't just ignore everything. You have to talk about it, and you still need to apologise. You owe her that, at least.
"I'm just not in the mood today," you try, and Brittany nods her head, not pushing you even though she isn't buying it. "Didn't get much sleep," you add on, through a whisper and that earns her attention again, blue flashing to you.
"Yeah," she agrees, acknowledging the elephant in the room – fucking Kurt – and for a whole other reason, you stop breathing. She doesn't look like she's about to get mad or show the sadness she did earlier when you said you didn't care about her and Sam's scene, and you guess it's because you're talking about the sex, not about that, but it's still in your mind. You don't want to bring it up because it's going to ruin the moment, and so you just keep your mouth shut and do the only thing you can do and stare as her vision drops to your lips then back up again, almost in slow motion.
God, you wanna kiss her.
You can't even lie and now you're not talking, not moving, all over again, even though a thousand things are being said between your eyes. You can already feel that pinching in your stomach, the excitement of wanting to do something you're not supposed to and it's all too familiar. That was the only fucking thing you were feeling last night, both the first and second time you were having sex, because it was breaching the lines of friendship and you want to acknowledge the guilt you should feel, but Brittany's looking at you like she did last night and fuck.
If you don't move, you're going to kiss her, and you can't. You need to apologise at first.
But it seems like she's on a different wavelength, and not even on the other one you were considering because she drops her head and takes a step away, searching for outfits but also snapping out of the moment. You clear your throat, blinking rapidly and regulating the oxygen intake in your lungs and you look up to her breathlessly, like nothing ever happened.
"Are we going to talk about it?"
The question stuns you. You really weren't expecting her to be so cavalier, so straight forward, and because she's put you on the spot, you don't know how to react. "Um," you feign a cough and return to sorting through the clothes to distract you. You need to get your shit together. "Talk about what?"
You hear the way she exhales through her nose, like you've disappointed her again, and you really want to kick yourself for having this type of reaction. Anything would be better than this, although you thought that last time and then became the bitch version of you again, so maybe silence is the way to go here. Maybe she'll fill in the gaps for herself and you can go back to having those silent conversations because they're so much easier than you trying to figure out how to formulate a sentence around her, let alone apologise for being an asshole and then reveal your true feelings.
(Or the ones you think you've realised have kind of always been there, since you were an acne-riddled, geekatron.)
"That we had sex," she answers, not being thrown off by your poor attempt at sidestepping and you're glad you're not looking at her or you'd just blurt out the truth. Or something worse.
You swallow against a thickening throat, and you swear in a minute you're not going to be able to breathe at all. You haven't properly since she walked in, and you're really trying to get these costumes in order, but your hands are doing things they don't usually do like flinch out and go left instead of right. You can't even tell your body what to do, your mind is so messy, and you could really do with a shot of something strong to straighten out the knots in your head and relax your tensing muscles.
Still, you know you shouldn't avoid this conversation, for the sake of your friendship, and she's being brave enough to push you when you're trying to get out of it so the least you could do is try, too. It's equally hard for her, because you're not the only one who was involved, and she's got to be feeling some type of way about it. Especially if she's come in to talk to you, as you were far too chicken shit to do it yourself and has spent half the day hidden in this freaking makeshift closet. There's even a damn rug, so she's obviously gotten cosy.
And if you're going to get through it, you know you need to chill the fuck out and be normal, like you used to be. If she's not going to act out of the ordinary, then neither will you.
"Yeah," you nod, acknowledging it out loud for the first time. You were half convinced it was a dream. "What about it?"
Brittany presses her lips into a tight line, your eyes shifting to the left in time to see the flash of annoyance behind the blue and you clench your jaw. You not only need to chill, but you need to control your tongue. You're only making it worse. "Were you okay with it?"
For a second, you're confused, vision returning and neck twisting so you can look at her properly. Your hands still on the rail, clutching on to what you hope is the last outfit – you need to get out of here as soon as possible – but you don't get why she's asking that. Of course, you're okay with it, you were just scared she wasn't, and you'd upset her with the not caring about the scene thing.
"Yeah," you reply, nodding your head shakily, nervous to ask her the same. "What about you?"
"Yeah," Brittany doesn't miss a beat in the reply and sucks her cheek into her mouth, chewing lightly. "I'm okay with it if you are."
A smile tugs at the corner of your lip when you notice her doing the same thing. "Good," you whisper and it's not much, but you'll take it. You're feeling a little more comfortable, but you know you have to apologise, still. "And I wanted to say sorry," you start, and Brittany cocks her head to the side adorably. You feel your chest clench but clear your throat against it. "I didn't mean it when I said I didn't care."
Blue eyes dart around your face. "I know you care about me," she replies but you don't think that's an acceptance of your apology. "But I'm not doing the scene with Sam, if it's a choice not to," she shrugs, and you resist the urge to clap like a fucking seal. "Think we've got enough to go on."
It's what you wanted, but you don't feel like you've cleared the air. "Britt–"
"You should use this in your scene with Dani," she says, reaching for an outfit on the rail and pushing it towards you, where you clutch it against your chest, but her hand doesn't retract and you can't help it when your fingers stretch out, stroking over the back of hers. Her eyes snap to yours, her breath hitching in her throat, and you gulp thickly, narrowing your eyes. Why did she just bring Dani up? That can't have been done without prior thought and you don't really get why she'd change the subject or cut you off. It's not like you were talking about her but–
Oh.
She was trying to talk about the upcoming scene with you and Dani.
She's just told you she isn't going to do scene with Sam, and you could be totally misreading this but maybe she's waiting for you to explain why you didn't cut yours, as it involves Dani, but you did when it came to her and Sam's? You don't really have an explanation, bar the fact you really tried to suggest deleting yours and Dani's scene whilst rewriting with Artie but couldn't find a good enough reason as it will be helping with diversity.
"Are you mad I cut your scene?" You ask, not even realising what you're saying until it's out there. Shit. You just want to pluck it out the air and swallow the words.
Brittany hovers, biting her lip. "Depends on why you did it," she responds, looking more curious than soft now.
"I don't know," you answer, because it's the most honest you can be. You think you do actually know, but you're not sure now because you don't want to say the words balancing on the tip of your tongue in fear she'll hear them and run away, both physically and emotionally. "I didn't think you wanted to do it that much but if you do then I can just get Artie to add it back in."
Clearly, it's the wrong thing to say because Brittany's face twists with annoyance again, her eyes hardening and her jaw clenching as her chin ducks to her chest. It's kind of hot, actually, but you don't have time to admire that because she's shaking her head and laughing, but you didn't say anything funny and when you get a better look at her face, you see it. She's pissed off. She's disappointed that you didn't say the right thing again, but you didn't mean it in a bad way. You just wanted to seem totally chill either way because you weren't getting a reading on her.
But you are now.
Now she's shaking her head and looking away, inhaling sharply through her nose and you flinch at the sound. You've fucked up.
Again.
"I don't want to do the scene that much, Santana," she grits out and you open your mouth, but she flares her nostrils, and it snaps shut. "God, I'm so stupid," she adds through a whisper to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger before looking down to the floor again, avoiding all eye contact with you. You want to argue. You want to tell her she's not stupid, but you don't know why she thinks she is because nothing's really been said – apart from fuck ups on your end – and you thought you said the right thing but apparently not.
And because you're matching what she just said, and because you've already said the wrong thing so what could you say to make it worse? You shake your head, knowing it's the only thing you can do, and your hands hover out in the air, like you want to grab her, but you won't. You don't think touching her would be the best idea, and she clearly thinks the same because she holds her hand out, one tucked against her ribs and now she's the one shaking her head at you, preventing you from doing it anyway.
That hurts you, a sting shooting through your core, and you visibly flinch, and you wrap your own arms around you to hold yourself together as the embarrassment and rejection hits you like a tonne of bricks. You don't know how to make this better, and because you're a bitch, even though you never aim it at her, you're being put in an uncomfortable position and your mouth starts going before your brain can tell it to stop.
"So you do want to do it a little bit, then?" You ask, and it comes out far meaner and considerably more jealous that you wanted it to, but you don't know how to react. There's not a single coherent thought in your mind and hasn't been since she wandered into your personal space, invading every sense of your being.
But you've pissed her off. She's now towering over you, seeming ten feet tall and her eyes are burning as they bore down at you, and you're not sure if you're seeing hurt or anger, or maybe a mix of both but you don't like it. You've gone and said the wrong thing again, and you're really a fucking clueless idiot when it comes to talking about feelings. You've always been an actions kind of person instead, always showing what you wanted with your sexual allure and everything other than words, but now's a time to do the opposite, you're just reacting in the only way you know how.
Running away from the truth and defending yourself as there's a slight possibility you could be vulnerable and exposed.
You hate yourself.
"Regardless of what you might think," Brittany hisses, stepping forward and ducking her head but not in the way you're used to. Her body language is way off, arms tight around her body and she's vibrating with fury, her cheeks turning dark pink the longer she stares at you. "If I wanted to have sex with Sam even a little bit," she mimics your words. "I'd just say so, or I'd just do it," she follows up and you wince at how flat and hard her tone is, but she doesn't stop there, flaring her nostrils and pausing for a long moment, mouth dropping open like she's trying to figure out what to say. "I enjoy sex, but I don't just have sex with anyone," she adds, and you can hear what she really means. "But it's good to know how much you care about that."
She doesn't just have sex with anyone, and you two had sex last night. You're not just anyone to her, and now you've gone and hurt her feelings again by saying the wrong thing.
And you want to apologise. The sorry is on the tip of your tongue but then there's a crashing sound from behind Brittany, and your eyes flit over to see Sugar barrelling in, tripping over a small box by the door and taking in the transformation of the storage closet with loud "wow's" like it's the cutest thing she's ever seen. You did feel that way, but a lot has happened in a couple of minutes, and you try to return to the topic, but Brittany's stepping back, grabbing one of the costumes laid out for Sugar and shoving it into her chest, a little too hard.
Sugar squeaks, blinking slowly as she takes in you and Brittany, eyes shifting like she isn't sure what she just walked into and you aren't either, but you weren't finished.
Brittany is, though. She doesn't say anything else to you before dropping her eyes to the ground, shaking her head disappointedly and walking off the way she came.
/
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