Title: Above The Moon
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 8.9k
Summary: She really is here. Brittany is here, and you think over the past 10 years without her, trying to figure out how destiny didn't bring you back together sooner, but you guess it just wasn't the right time.
Notes: So this one is a little different... Wonder if anyone can guess where it's going.
/
You love your life.
You're 26, you have a great job and good friends, and you have a different woman in your bed whenever you want.
It's not like you've never wanted a relationship, but every girl you sleep with has one of the red flags you avoid when getting closer, and it's alright to overlook it when they're just another notch in your bedpost, but when looking for someone to date, they're enough to put you off.
You're close with your mom, and she scolds you every time you turn up to a family event single, or with some random three-week date on your arm that you'll throw away the following day, but she knows you're not a bad person and you're just enjoying your early adulthood.
Everything goes downhill from here, figuratively, and literally, and so you're going to take advantage of it whilst you can.
You're not entirely normal down there, but you don't see that as an issue. Most girls you approach actually find it intriguing, and if they don't instantly want to see what you're like in the sack, it's only a couple of minutes of easy flirtation before they're pulling you into a dark alley or shoving you into a cab.
Anyway, it starts like any other normal day, and you're switching off your work phone as people don't tend to respect boundaries – you are a successful, quick-witted PR for the famous star, Rachel Berry – who as much as you despised when you first met before she earned her fame, she's actually okay. A little high maintenance, but nothing you can't prevent with a sharp tongue and a flick to the ear, and you've actually become good friends which led to your hiring.
You've become friends with her friends and hung out with them a million times as they're far less irritating than she is, and you like it. There's only a small group, a very sit-com type set-up going on, but you like them. Rachel is best friends with Mercedes Jones, and they have a strange rivalry as they're both equally as successful in their own areas with Mercedes owning her own record label and has like, two top ten albums, and Rachel's up for her first Tony award, but they claim to be best friends in the tabloids.
Then there's Kurt and Blaine, who are disgusting loved up and soon to be married, and you want to throw up every time they shout about how proud they are like they're at the very apex of the gay rights movement, but you guess Kurt kind of does that as a job – even though you're sure protesting isn't a job, but whatever – and is a spokesperson for several LGBT charities. It's how you met him when you first got to the city during a Pride parade and he introduced you to his then boyfriend, now fiancée, who you don't really like, but you just sort of tolerate.
Blaine's annoyingly talented and charming, but you just don't trust the guy.
Anyway, tucking your phone away in your bra, you head to the local bar and find all your friends there. Considering two of them are insanely wealthy, it still shocks you that you always come to this bar on a Friday night, like you did when you were all broke and working entry level jobs as it's kind of rundown, and dusty, but it's a little like home, so you're okay with it. Not that you knew any of these people before coming to Los Angeles, but you feel like you've known them forever and they make everything a little better, just by existing.
"Satan," Mercedes calls as you head to the bar, flagging down the bartender and nodding your head, signalling you want your usual which he accepts with a smile before you go over to the booth and slide in beside them. "How was work?"
Rachel isn't here yet, she's not far behind though so you have time to bitch. "If I ever get famous, it's because I've killed the troll," you joke. "Seriously, she may not make it to the gay wedding of the year," you add, vision flashing to the two guys at your table.
Mercedes, Kurt, and Blaine all throw their heads back with laughter, even though you're totally serious and you're about to continue on your story, telling them how Rachel told you how hard it is being a star today when you grilled her about not going all Britney Spears on some paparazzi as it tends to be a career killer, but then you hear the doors open and for some reason, it catches your attention. Your mouth is open, ready to talk, but your eyes drift off until they land on two blondes walking through the door and it suddenly snaps shut, all words failing you.
And it's not strange for you to check someone out, especially when it's two hot blondes, but you swear to God your heart stops when you begin scanning over one of them specifically, feeling a strange recognition kick in. Something twinges in your chest, and you find yourself squinting as if it'll zoom in so you can get a closer look, because you would put your entire bank account on the fact you think you know one of them from the brief glimpse of her.
"My girls are here," Mercedes sings, swiftly sliding out the booth and heading over to the two women that just walked through the door as they hook their coats up, backs turned to you, but all you can do is stare.
You don't know why you are, although you think you do because the longer you look at the one specific blonde as she turns around and grins at Mercedes, the quicker you realise you've seen that smile before.
Something clicks in your mind and everything stops, including your heart. Your chest tightens, and you try to inhale when the initial shock sets in, but it happens way too quickly and then you're leaning forward, hands bracing on the table as you realise who the person is. Kurt eyes you suspiciously, Blaine too, except he holds his hands out like he's waiting for you to spew all over the top, but you won't.
Even if it feels like someone just sucker-punched you in the gut.
Mercedes comes up to the booth, both the blondes in toe but you don't even register what she says or the beginnings of the introductions, or who the other blonde is, because you know you're right. The blonde is someone you've known from another time, another life, and you don't know whether you're frozen because she's actually in front of you again, or because of who it is and what she used to mean to you.
Because she isn't just anyone…
It's–
"…This is Brittany," Mercedes vocally finishes off your thoughts, and for the second time in under a minute, you're frozen still.
Although you're pretty sure you didn't get out the initial state, but now it's intensified as memories flash through your mind of Summer evenings back in Ohio with this very girl when you were a teenager, and it's hard to render you speechless, but here you are. You can't believe it's her, and you don't know if you're closer to vomiting like Blaine's still expecting, or whether you're closer to fainting. Neither one would be a good reaction, but life has thrown you a lot of curveballs, but this one… This is entirely different.
"Brittany," you repeat, unaware you've said it until there's blue eyes on you for the first time, falling upon brown after glancing around the table to find the source of the voice and you see recognition kick in after a few seconds, Brittany doing a similar thing you did a minute ago as the blood drains from her face and she turns about three shades paler than she was when she walked in.
But it's really hard to think about anything other than how incredible she looks. She looks exactly like you did the last time you saw her, when you were waving her and her family off from the sidewalk, when you were both 16 years old, but she's got tell-tale signs she's aged. Like how her hair isn't dyed blonde anymore, more like a natural gold and she's taller, more toned – somehow – but she still has impossibly long legs, and you pinch your thighs together, thinking about how obsessed you used to be with them.
Because once upon a time ago, you used to be between them.
Because Brittany is your ex-girlfriend.
Technically, the only girlfriend you've ever had so she was your first of many things, but the last of only a few, and you're trying to find some sort of grounding, something to snap you out of your daze because you have to be dreaming. There's no way in hell that she's just walked into a bar that you and your friends go to, and she's freaking friends with one of them. There's no way that fate has led you to this moment, where you're reunited from someone you used to know, and now, vomiting or fainting might be a good idea so you can have more time to process.
But you don't, because you hear Kurt call your name, which doesn't make you respond as you're still very much frozen in state, and you don't think you've moved or breathed since Brittany walked in. You probably should though, as oxygen is kind of a human necessity, but you're still thinking this could be a dream that you'll wake up from tomorrow, dazed and confused but able to continue living the life you built after her.
You never thought you'd see her again.
It's not a dream though, and you only realise it when she says your name for the first time in too long and you're rapidly bought back to reality, shaking your head as a single word leaves her lips.
"Santana?" She squeaks, her voice too high but it's still soft like you remember, and the urge to shut your eyes and enjoy hearing it.
You don't know when you got up, but you register you're back on your feet and sliding out of the booth on shaky legs, fingertips pressed to the cool table to steady yourself in case you do wake up, if it is a dream, but the blonde is blinking repeatedly like she's trying to wake herself up and you can't help but begin smiling.
She really is here. Brittany is here, and you think over the past 10 years without her, trying to figure out how destiny didn't bring you back together sooner, but you guess it just wasn't the right time.
See, Brittany was your first girlfriend, your first sexual partner and your first love, but you really never thought you'd see her again. Brittany's family moved to Michigan before Junior year started, which was the reason you broke up and you promised each other you'd stay in contact, but life got in the way. You just lost touch, because your lives were on different paths and you managed to talk for a few months after the blonde left, but then you started talking to other people and making friends, and then you were in Senior year dating another cheerleader, and everything just got away from you.
So to see her here, it's almost unbelievable, and you're seriously considering asking Kurt to slap you just to check as Brittany steps towards you, her head cocking to the side the closer she gets, brows furrowed but freckled face looking more beautiful than ever. You can't help but choke out a laugh, and your body begins relaxing as a warmth you'd long forgotten as she exhales for a long second, her chest now rising and falling considerably quicker than it was a minute ago.
It's really her.
"Uh, do you two know each other?" Mercedes leans into the space between you two, but you're still completely locked into ocean blue eyes that you used to swim in.
"Yeah."
"Yeah," Brittany breathes at the same time you do, and you manage to get out another laugh that's matched by her as you just drink in this sight.
And you don't know who makes the next move, or when Mercedes decides to lean out between you because the next thing you register is you're climbing to your feet, long arms are wrapping around your neck and pulling you into an embrace that you once would've died for and everything else just disappears.
/
After you manage to step out of the lingering hug and the initial explanation that you and Brittany have a history from a decade ago, Kurt decides it's reason to celebrate (reunion of old friends and a reason to poke around for information) and buys a round of drinks.
It's a little too familiar and comfortable, and you feel entirely uncomfortable because of that, but then Mercedes keeps commenting on how unlikely it is that you two know each other, even Blaine chimes in and looks annoyingly interested in your past as you never really open up too much, and the shock somehow fades away. You can't stop staring at Brittany though, from across the table, and she's doing the same and it's beginning to irritate you that your face is aching because you can't stop freaking smiling either.
To the point where Mercedes has to nudge you to join in verbally instead of just visually.
"Huh?" You splutter out, eyes dropping to the glass in front of you and you feel heat creep up into your cheeks.
"I said," Mercedes repeats, or so you think she does. You weren't listening at all. "How did you and Brittany meet? We want to know everything from the start."
You look up to the blonde again, seeing her duck her head like she wants you to answer, as she presumably avoided it which is why Mercedes nudged you, and you only knew her for like, a year when you were a teenager, but you swear that time didn't matter because you knew her better than she knew herself. You used to be able to tell what she was thinking with a single look, just like she could with you, and you guess that time doesn't change everything as you see the slight quirk of her brow, like she is confirming she didn't want to answer.
She doesn't know if you want to be honest.
Damn… She still knows you.
"We, uh," you clear your throat and manage a smile. "We met in Freshman year in high school."
All of your friends brows shoot up, shock setting in and you know that you've never really talked about your childhood or where you came from. A lot happened in your life, most of which you've never wanted to explain as it would be a clear explanation as to why you are the way you are, but you see Brittany nod like she's urging you on, not seeming too surprised that you're being honest. You could never lie around her, and it's not like you've lied to your friends, but you've just avoided the truth.
"Santana was a badass back then," Brittany adds, and it makes you smile even wider, your mind flitting back to your very first meeting with the girl, beneath the bleachers when you were smoking with some of the more questionable students, and she caught you. That was the first time you met a cheerleader that didn't instantly make you scowl, because she just seemed so pure and innocent, asking if she could try some cigarette, which you later found out was just a reason to talk to you.
Apparently, she had a crush on you from the first time she saw you in Spanish class.
"And Brittany was a Cheerio," you continue the story and hold blue eyes, seeing them sparkle at the memory.
"What the hell is a Cheerio?" Kurt pipes up, face screwing up with confusion. "It sounds like something I'd eat for breakfast."
You laugh, wanting more than anything to explain that yeah, you kind of used to have Cheerio for breakfast, but not in the way he thinks, but then Brittany's leaning forward, making you skip over the usual wanky comment that would leave your mouth at something like that, and it just makes you stare again and fuck. You've really got to stop doing that. No-one's called you out on it yet, but you can feel Mercedes and Kurt observing every reaction you're having. Probably because you're kind of a bitch and you're not usually so damn fluffy and you haven't made a bitchy comment in over ten minutes now.
It's almost a record.
"I used to be a cheerleader and our squad were called The Cheerios," Brittany explains, tilting her head to the side and Kurt's eyebrows somehow go further towards his hairline as his eyes slide to you, narrowing instantly when they see your grin.
"A cheerleader?" Kurt cocks his head to the side and smirks. He knows you like blonde and athletic, and you're guessing he's realising why. Your first girlfriend set the tone for your future types. "Interesting."
The blonde doesn't let Kurt say anything else before she glances around the table. "Yeah, we were a totally cliché couple," she throws in and it's like the lights flick on around the table as everyone begins realising what Brittany's saying in a roundabout way, and you would panic, but you're not ashamed. This isn't one of those awkward run ins with an ex because you two ended it amicably. You only broke up because of Brittany's family relocating and sure, you didn't stay in touch, but you left on a good note and so what if you were together once?
It's been a whole lifetime since then.
"Wait…" Mercedes catches on last, arm shooting out and hand covering your forearm, anchoring onto it and staring between you. "Did you two used to… date?"
Dating when you're 16 isn't really dating, but you still roll your eyes and nod when Brittany sucks her lips in to hide the grin. You two were together. For a year. You clicked instantly and a couple months into your relationship, you lost your virginities to each other. You weren't just girlfriends, but best friends too at the time and most of the time when you were together, it was easier than breathing. There was no pressure or judgement and neither of you cared that you were from different worlds – her the cheerleading one, and you the Skank type one – but it didn't matter.
Although you haven't really told your friends that you used to get drunk and smoke beneath the bleachers instead of going to class. You're kind of hoping that'll be left out, even if it's been mentioned already.
"Yup, my first girlfriend," Brittany cheers, and you knew she had kissed guys before that, but apparently you were different. Not just because of what you had in your pants, but because with you, it didn't matter that you were a girl. She just liked you, straight off the bat. Her love was never built on gender and it was always one of the best things about her.
"Mine too," you agree, lifting up your drink in a cheers to the blonde who scrunches her nose at her, and you have to admit it's kind of nice. All the other 'exes' who aren't really exes as you never exclusively dated, are bitter and if you're ever to run into them, they usually throw a drink in your face or ask you why you told them you were moving overseas when you obviously hadn't.
But that's just the way you are now.
"I was the only person she was ever nice to," Brittany continues, still sounding like she's singing her words, but you know she's teasing you, and again, you'd be embarrassed, but you got over that a long time ago. There was just something about the girl that you instantly knew you couldn't be mean about, and even to this day it still baffles you. "She was kind of a bitch, you know."
You laugh when Brittany nudges Mercedes, but it stops when she twists her head around, flashing you a knowing smirk. "That's probably the only thing I believe," Mercedes drones, and you know it's because you've kind of shown her the wrath of Snixx when she threw a tantrum over not being given tater tots as part of her rider once upon a time.
Not that she's your client, but you heard about it from her now ex-publicist as that specific circle is rather small and being her friend, and showed her Snixx as a response.
"Shut up, Wheezy," you throw back at her, so over this conversation already. That was another life and you're a bad bitch now, in a different way to back in high school, but you will still cut her weave out if she teases you over this in the days to come. "Moving on... I wanna know is how you two know each other," you question, finding it entirely shocking that somehow, in a world this big with 7 billion people, they've met, and it's led you back to Brittany.
"Britt's one of the first ever dancers that backed me up on tour," Mercedes replies, reminiscing visibly as that was years ago, which just shocks you further and the question leaves your mouth.
"That was like, 5 years ago?" You ask, eyes flitting to Brittany. That's 5 years of opportunity to realise you two were only one person away from seeing each other again. "How didn't I know that?"
"You don't know everything about my life," your friend throws back with a smirk.
"And I've been on tour with other artists since," Brittany shrugs, meeting your eye and smiling softly.
"You got that right… She went on tour with Queen B."
Your mouth drops open, eyes widening. Kurt's does the same and so does Blaine, both of them gasping dramatically. Could they be any more stereotypical?
"Beyonce?"
"The Queen B?"
"Yeah, girl," Mercedes cheers, lifting her arms up into the air and shimmying so her hips bump into Brittany's, who just throws her head back and laughs in return whilst Kurt and Blaine continue to catch flies at the response to their various nicknames of Beyonce. You would make a joke, but you're way too distracted by realising how much you missed the blonde laughing. It's infectious. "I'm just a cretin in the corner in comparison, now."
Brittany clicks her tongue, obviously not liking the comment but she knows it was said in jest. "Don't say that… You're amazing," she says and scrunches her face up at Mercedes. "That's why I'm back to help you choreograph."
You want to know more. You want to sit here all evening and hear about the past five years and how you didn't know that Brittany was literally around the corner, and what Brittany means by 'helping Mercedes choreograph' but then you see another blonde wander up to the booth and you recognise her from when she walked in with Brittany. You kind of forgot that she didn't come alone, and you would look around to see where her friend has been this entire time, but you really don't care enough.
You care more that the blonde is looking like she's about to drag Brittany away, which you can't stop as you two aren't best friends like you used to be and it'd be kind of weird if you stopped it. Not like you're going to go another decade without talking to her, now she's apparently working for one of your friends again.
(Your stomach flips at the thought.)
"Hey," the blonde says and scans the table nervously. "Mind if I grab Brittany? There's a couple of guys who want to buy us drinks by the bar," she continues, glancing back over her shoulder at two guys waving.
Trying not to show that you don't really like that suggestion, you bob your head and look to Brittany whose eyes snap to you instantly. She exhales when she sees you allowing it – not that you would disallow it or even have the right to – but she smiles and slides out the booth but pauses when she gets to your side and leans down, palm pressed a little too close to your hand that's resting on top.
"I've gotta go, but…" She holds your eyes and for a second, you forget how to breathe. "Don't leave without giving me your number. We've got a lot to catch up on."
Again, you bob your head and Brittany says goodbye to Mercedes, Kurt, and Blaine before whipping around leaving without another word.
/
Eleven Years Ago
You were 15.
A lot of things happened to you during that year, but the thing you noticed the most was that you really started hating people.
School was boring, the teachers were lame, and you had a few friends, but they were mostly associates that shared their stolen cigarettes with you beneath the bleachers as health class never applied to you. You didn't need to know the ins and outs of the human biology too much as you got taught pretty early on, having your situation and all.
But anyway, this one specific day, you were sat on the torn up sofa beneath the bleachers – you never knew how Mack got it down here – and you were sparking up a cigarette, your boot kicked up on a make-shift trash can, (which was just an old metal bucket) staring out into the field through the benches, where the Cheerios were filing in for practise, Coach Sylvester yelling something entirely inappropriate through a megaphone.
Had you not been born the way you were, you were sure you could've been at the top of that pyramid, as popularity was something that came easily to you, but you never wanted anyone to get close to you or anyone learn anything and that was the issue with being a Cheerio. Everyone wanted to know everything, and you would've been kicked out for aggression as you'd discovered a lot of people weren't okay with your addition and you were kind of fierce with a wicked tongue and a massive case of the resting bitch face.
Even the girls sat around you didn't know, and that was only because when you went to middle school, none of them were there. Your relationship with your parents was mostly good – your dad was strict with you but he was always old fashioned – but with your abuela it wasn't as good and she was the lingering voice in the back of your mind whenever you got close to someone and that was the main motivation to change districts and apply for a different high school to the one that contained people in the know about you as it seemed safer.
In that school, you kept to yourself, even if that meant freezing your ass off and filling your delicate teenage lungs with nicotine and tar beneath the bleachers.
As you were sitting there, watching all the red and white uniforms, and marvelling at how wonderfully short they were, you heard a crash and you all turned around to see one of the Cheerios that should've been on the field, stumbling beneath the bleachers and catching herself on the metal fences, looking all out of sorts. The immediate reaction was to laugh mockingly, then to snarl, but when the girl looked up, she had impossibly blue eyes and she just looked so damn innocent that you didn't react like you thought you would've done.
You just stared for a minute, tilting your head to the side and nudging Mack with your elbow when she scoffed, ready to tell her to stop before she went ape-shit – which was weird, but you didn't care at that point in time – and you saw the girl notice what you did, ducking her chin to her chest like she was relieved and thankful that you weren't allowing anyone to laugh at her.
And you didn't know what came over you, but purely because of that reaction, you took a long puff of your cigarette, climbed to your feet, and wandered over to her, fully expecting the usual venom to come out when some student discovered your hiding place, but then the girl was talking, and you just listened.
"I don't think this is the practise field," she said, managing a sheepish smile.
You cocked your head to the side, studying her through narrowed eyes and tapped some ash of your cigarette on the ground. She was blonde, and really fucking pretty, and you were sure she was in your Spanish class, but you didn't take much notice of people. Most of them didn't dare to look you in the eye, and you were cool with that.
"Not exactly," you replied and peered through the benches to the actual field the girl was looking for. "Think you're supposed to be over there."
The girl scrunched her face up, and you were shocked that you hadn't yet told her the direction you wanted her to fuck off in, but she started giggling and you jerked your head back. The usual reaction to you was either fear or uncertainty, but it was like this girl wasn't like that and she wasn't running off into the distance, which made you turn over your shoulder and peer at your friends who were waiting for you to be the bitch they knew.
But it just didn't come out, instead something else did that even shocked you because you were being... Nice?
"You need help getting there?"
That time, the girl was the one to jerk her head back and she nodded, biting her lip. "I think I need a map of the school, but even then, maps confuse me," she responded in the most adorable way and for a second, you thought that meant she was going to decline your offer which would've made you want to disappear into a black hole that appeared in the floor. "But if you've got time, away from your friends," she continued, blue eyes flitting over your shoulder and you could see that she wanted to say yes, just didn't know how. "Then I'd appreciate the help."
You didn't look back again though, just waved a hand towards them, and took one more drag before blowing the smoke out through your nostrils. "It's not that far," you answered, like it was totally normal for you to even speak to someone without using at least one curse word. The count was zero, at that current point and you were incredibly aware of it. "Let me finish my cigarette first."
The girl nodded, but you saw her eyes dart down to the white stick and you frowned, but you knew people and you could read them and so you did the next strange thing, another offer. That time though, it was with actions instead of words and the girl looked back up to you when you moved the hand holding the cigarette towards her, surprised that you knew what she was thinking, and a smile twitched at your lips when she nodded.
"Can I?"
You nodded that time. "Sure, just don't take too much in if you haven't smoked before."
She grinned but took it, the cigarette looking entirely foreign to her and for some reason, you watched in awe as she brought it up to her lips, inhaling quickly but wrinkling her nose up instantly as she processed the smoke. She spluttered, coughed, and you plucked it from her fingers when she held it out, her other hand curled into a fist and beating against her chest, her freckled cheeks turning red because she definitely hadn't smoked before. That's why you said what you did.
"It's not for everyone," you chuckled lowly, scratching your eyebrow with your free hand and took your own inhale before dropping it to the ground and stamping on it with the tip of your boot. "C'mon… If you don't get to practise, Coach Sue is going to put you at the bottom of the pyramid."
Without a goodbye to your friends, you shoved your hands in your pockets and raised your shoulders by your ears, urging the girl forward as you went back the way she came, and you thought it was weird that you were alone with her as you didn't even know her name, but it was okay. She was already making you feel incredibly fucking weird and had done since she literally stumbled into your life five minutes prior, and the silence wasn't helping conceal it, but you were good with people – even if you chose not to befriend a lot of them – and you decided to speak.
"So, what's your name?"
The girl grinned at you, bouncing in her step and the pleats in her skirt flowed in the wind, but you were really trying not to look at that. You were 15 and still a virgin, and it wasn't like you were looking for a hook up or a relationship because you were good on your own. There was a girl in your class who got knocked up, and you were only a few weeks into the first term of Freshman year, so you weren't intrigued to delve into the sexual side of being a teenager as poor decision were made by people your age.
Plus, you really did want to try and keep your secret, a secret. That would've been hard to do if you were a hoe.
"Brittany," the girl replied, and you put your everything into not repeating it through your own lips as she looked you over. "And you're Santana."
You whipped your head around, eyes narrowed because you weren't expecting that. "How'd you know my name?"
"You're in my Spanish class," Brittany shrugged, glancing away as you came to a turn and swept your arm forward, showing her that was the way to go.
You knew you had noticed her before, but all you could think about was how she had apparently noticed you more. To the point where she must have asked around to find out your name.
She smiled and ducked her head, holding a chunk of metal fence that was poking out when you walked through a gap in the fence after, and you could've caught your head on it on. You'd been down there way too many times, with severe nicotine rush and sometimes a low buzz in your ears from stolen alcohol out of somebody's parents liquor cabinet, so you knew it was there and wouldn't have, but you were more focused on how your chest was blooming at the gesture.
She didn't even know you, and she was already watching out for you. You hadn't met anyone like that before and it was striking you as strange as she already wasn't like any of those other cheer bitches. So you just stared at her, ignoring the way her eyes were sliding to the right like she was waiting for you to explain why you were doing it, but seeing as there was no-one around, you didn't think it'd be that bad to admit that you had seen her before, too. Like she said, you were in Spanish class together.
"You sit at the back, right?" You decided to say, because fuck it, why not? She was blonde and pretty, but you never had an opportunity to talk to her when you had noticed her as she was in a different clique to you. One that didn't sit beneath bleachers, clouded by smoke.
"You sit next to that Jewish guy," she fired back, twisting her face up in disgust but you were more focused on how she was revealing that she'd obviously looked at you a few more times than you had with her. You had no idea who she sat next to and in that moment, you wish you'd been more observant. "I don't get why he isn't learning Jewish instead of Spanish though."
You laughed, as that was the second weird thing that the girl said but you were enjoying it and you didn't want to tease her either. You had no reason not to enjoy it, and plenty of reason to tease, and knowing she was part of the Cheerios meant that you thought that meeting was not only fleeting, but a one off, and you were finding a way to be okay with that, but it was just reinforcing the belief that you were okay with being nice to her just that one time. She didn't give you any of the typical reactions, as you couldn't with her apparently, and it was like a breath of fresh air, after being in a polluted area.
High school, being the polluted area.
"I don't think it works like that," you got out, just as the field came into view at the end of another dirt track, surrounded by metal fences and you slowed your walk, knowing you wouldn't let her be caught with you. Not only was she late, but if the reason had been because you were with her even if you were just being polite, she not only would've got shit from her team, but Coach Sue would probably make her do like, 100 laps as revenge. "There you go. That's the field."
Brittany spun on her foot, the dirt grinding beneath her sneaker, and she took a step closer to you, chewing on her bottom lip as she gazed at you. It was uncomfortable, as most people never dared look you in the eye, and you usually felt super weird about eye contact as it kind of freaked you out, but you couldn't bring yourself to look away. She was just smiling at you like you two knew each other and hadn't just met for the first time properly, and it made you shift in your spot as it ignited nerves inside your chest.
You didn't know what was happening to you.
You didn't get nervous. You were Santana Lopez.
Yet there you were, quaking in your boots and putting all focus into not showing it.
"Thank you, but… Before I go I've gotta confess something," she said, and the smile dropped from your face as you straightened up. You really didn't want to hear that there was a Slushee facial waiting around the corner for you and that was just a distraction to get you onto the field. It wasn't like you ever went there unless it was to get to the bleachers as the normal way was blocked off. "I didn't wanna smoke."
Again, you were confused as you weren't expecting that either. You were seriously doubting your people skills with her. "What?"
"I don't like smoking, and I knew where the field was," Brittany continued but it didn't answer any of the questions in your mind.
And you were about to get mad. You were about to kick yourself for being nice to another person and see the results bite you in the ass, but then Brittany grinned, knowing you weren't getting what she was trying to say, and it wasn't devious or twisted, it was genuine, but that just further deepened your confusion. If she didn't want to smoke, and knew where the field was, why did she walk under the bleachers and ask you to show her where the field was?
"I just wanted to talk to you like... alone," she finally explained, and your eyes bugged open.
"What?"
Brittany nodded. "You always leave class super quickly and I just haven't seen you around in the hallways or anything… But I saw you go behind the dumpsters today and followed you."
There were more questions brewing inside your mind, like why she followed you after class as that was where you were prior to going beneath the bleacher, or even where her backpack was, but then you heard the loud booming of Coach Sue's voice down the megaphone, asking where part of her pyramid was, and you knew that was a call for Brittany. You didn't know much about her, but you'd been sat underneath the bleachers for almost three weeks, watching them practise on a daily basis, sometimes multiple times a day, so you knew that she was in the middle and kind of built the foundations.
But that only led you to wonder why she'd risk getting yelled at, or made to do 100 laps, just to talk to you. That was unusual.
"Um," you shifted your foot, gulping loudly as you looked at her through narrowed eyes. "Why did you want to talk to me alone?"
Brittany shrugged and her eyes dropped to your feet, dragging slowly up and you were a virgin, but you had internet at home, and you watched pornos when your parents weren't home, so you sort of had some knowledge about what it looked like when someone was checking you out. Not to mention your boobs had just come in and every teenage boy with hormones noticed when you walked down the school halls the week before, and one of your bleacher friends had told you that they were like dogs in heat at that time of year.
Starting off the new school year by searching out the hottest piece of ass was not on your list of things to do because you weren't going to be dating anyone. You hadn't even told your friends that you were gay, even though they'd made several jokes about it because you sure were gazey when it came to Cheerios practise. You weren't the only one whose boobs came in.
"Just thought we could be friends," Brittany finally replied, her voice breathy and you snapped your head up, blinking rapidly but then she was leaning in, too close for comfort and darting off to the left, dropping a soft kiss to the high of your cheek and pulling back with a wink. "Find me after practise and maybe we can work on that."
You hadn't planned to stay under the bleachers for that long, but you guess you could wait a little longer.
You just nodded, and that was the day your entire world changed.
/
You wait for a solid minute before looking to your friends, who all have the same look on their face like they're about to judge or yell at you.
You're so not here for that, and there's nothing really to be judged about as or yelled at for, as all you've done is tell the truth – for once – and it's not like you avoided talking about Brittany in the time you've known them, but there was never a time for you to bring her up as she was – up until about half hour ago – a person in your past. You never thought you'd see her again after you have plenty of people in your life that exist in that capacity, so it's not like you're going to tell Kurt, Blaine, and Mercedes about every single person you've ever come across.
That would be boring and totally pointless. Literally no positive ramifications from doing something like that and it's not like you know all of their past friends, enemies, or relationships either, so quid pro quo.
"So… that's her then," Mercedes is the first one to talk, but it's not judging or yelling, so you're curious.
"That's who?"
Kurt takes point on the answer to your question, leaning forward and catching your attention with a quirk of his brow, shrug of his shoulder like the answer is obvious. It's not though. You don't get why they're all looking at you like that if it isn't for judgement or shouting.
"Brittany's the girl," he responds. "Your first everything… It explains a lot."
Again, you're not in the loop and pinch your lips together, fingering your glass in front of you, looking totally unamused. The normal Santana is back. "God, just spit it out Prancy Smurf and Diabetes Express. You two are already boring me."
"Every person like you," Mercedes chimes in, sensing your tone and you look back to her, glad that Blaine isn't piping up as you don't really feel like being attacked from all sides. Plus, you don't really like him. You just tolerate him for Kurt's sake. Although you're not sure what Mercedes means by 'person like you' and it's beginning to annoy you. What's that meant to mean? "Who has a new girl every week and somehow always manages to get away relatively unscathed," she explains, tilting her head from left to right, lips pulled down like she doesn't really mean it – she was there for the psycho in apartment 4B – and shrugs at you.
"Always has that one person… That one girl in your case," she corrects quickly, eyes flitting over to the bar where Brittany's hauled up in the corner with her friend, and those two guys who were buying them drinks. "That set the bar too high, so that every person that came after just paled in comparison. You know... The one that got away," she finishes and glances at Kurt who nods, totally in agreement. "Just can't believe it's my girl, Brittany Pierce."
You go to deny it, but then you look over and maybe, without even realising it, that Brittany became that person as you grew up. The relationship you shared was brief, and a young, dumb love, but it felt so real. You remember the heartache when she told you her dad got a new job in Michigan, and you remember the feeling when she told you she loved you for the first time, only minutes before she up and left for what you thought would be forever.
And you guess, that yeah, okay, maybe you didn't know until right now, but she was the one that got away. You were only officially dating for like, 8 months or so, but it was perfect, and you remember it fondly, without sadness as you're now an entirely different person, living a whole new and you learned a lot of things thanks to that relationship.
All you have is the good memories, which kind of sucks as that's how you felt back when she left, but back then you always wanted to know why you were left with the good stuff. When you were a teenager, heartbroken and full of angst, you used to hate that every time you thought of her, your mouth smiled, and you used to hate that your memories were in the clouds, but your feet were on the ground as there as nothing you could've done back then. You were only 16.
Still, you can't defend yourself, or tell any of them that they're wrong, because you guess they're right… Brittany set the bar above the moon, so how would anyone ever compare? You never even tried to get into a relationship after that, and you guess that speaks volumes enough, even if you don't still harbour feelings towards the girl. That's long gone.
"You should get to know her again," Mercedes continues, taking your silence as an answer. There's an encouraging smile on her face, but you're shaking your head to tell her no, because that's not you. "See if you can't reignite that flame."
Still, you stare longingly at the blonde across the room, enjoying the company of the two guys who flag down the bartender for another drink, and you're not jealous, you're just a little irritated as you totally would've bought her a drink. You would've made her laugh too, but you guess you can wait for her to finish and get her number so you can meet for a coffee or something another time. Now she's back in your life, you think you'd be okay with it if she stayed, but probably just in a friendly capacity.
You can't exactly bang or date her again. You're single on purpose and that's not going to change anytime soon. Plus it'd run the risk of you not even being able to be friends, and regardless of your once relationship, you're coming to realise you've missed her just being around. Even now, sitting on opposite sides of the bar, with her eyes darting across to you every two seconds that you make a point not to meet – the feeling is enough – you feel lighter than you did before you walked in.
Not just because you're in your bar with your friends, your safe place, but because she's now in proximity and that feels good.
"Nah, it's not like that," you finally land on, trying to seem casual but you're pretty sure it doesn't come across that way as Kurt scoffs quietly and Blaine hisses at him from the side, kicking him beneath the table like it'll stop you from biting at him. It won't, but you're trying to convince yourself so you can hold back for now. "We left it amicably and we weren't just dating, we were best friends so maybe we can be friends again."
Mercedes hums, but you can hear the doubt in it and let it go, too. "Girl, all I know is she's going to be around a lot more now," she begins and throws you're a knowing look. "She's my lead choreographer and I want her to help with a few of my upcoming music videos," she lifts a shoulder. "So whatever you do, keep that in mind, okay?"
You bob your head, as you have zero plans apart from getting Brittany's number, but Mercedes isn't finished, tilting her head to the side because your reply obviously wasn't convincing enough. Kurt's backing up that theory too, making a low humming noise that sounds like a forced ghetto sound and you roll your eyes, so not needing this kind of attention. It's not like you planned to run into Brittany again, after all this time, and you're not planning on dating her or seeking her out to spend the night as your relationship wasn't ever like that and won't be now.
"Don't treat her like the other girls," she finishes and your eyes snap to her as she begins talking to Kurt and Blaine about their upcoming nuptials.
You take the opportunity to look back over to Brittany, who finally catches you and she holds your eye for a long moment, tipping her head down and lifting up her glass in a silent cheers.
You don't think you treat her like anyone else, even if you tried.
/