The week unfolded as a whirlwind of shared moments and routines for Santana and Brett, their days fell into a natural rhythm, as morning after morning, Santana found solace and comfort in the routines she and Brett had established.
From shared breakfasts to impromptu coffee runs, their mornings became a sanctuary, a respite from the bustling city that awaited Santana's presence. Santana, with her coffee cup in hand, would spend leisurely mornings with Brett before embarking on her daily journey into the heart of the city for work. As the weekend approached, a sense of anticipation lingered in the air.
Quinn, the ever-organized and nurturing friend, had taken charge of the morning. The enticing aroma of sizzling bacon wafted through the apartment, a tempting melody that drew everyone into the heart of the kitchen.
The door to the bathroom creaked open, revealing Brett as he emerged clad in nothing but a towel. Drops of water clung to Brett's chiseled physique, catching the soft glow of ambient light and casting a subtle sheen across his well-defined chest.
Santana, engrossed in her own thoughts, glanced up instinctively as Brett entered the room. A silent gasp caught in her throat as her gaze involuntarily fixed on the sculpted contours of Brett's body. The unintentional stare lingered for a moment, Brett, ever perceptive, caught the subtle shift in Santana's attention. His eyes, sparkling with a playful mischief, met hers in a knowing exchange. With a nonchalant confidence, he shot her a playful wink.
As they gathered around in the kitchen for breakfast, the easy camaraderie between Quinn, Santana, and Brett set the tone for the weekend. The smell of coffee filled the air, mingling with the savory notes of breakfast delights. Quinn, the master chef of the group, had prepared a feast that promised to kickstart the day on a delicious note.
Quinn began, placing a plate of pancakes in the center of the island, "I got tickets for the matinee showing of Hamilton this afternoon."
Santana's eyes lit up with excitement. "Seriously? That's amazing, Quinn!" Brett, reaching for a strip of bacon, grinned. "You always know how to make weekends epic, Quinn."
Quinn shrugged modestly, her gaze flickering between Santana and Brett. "Well, it's not every day we get a chance to see Hamilton. I thought it would be a nice way to spend the afternoon together."
The vibrant energy of Broadway lingered in the air as Quinn, Santana, and Brett stepped out of the theater after experiencing the spectacle that was Hamilton. The bustling streets of New York City surrounded them, but the echoes of the musical's powerful performances still resonated in their minds.
Brett, with an exhilarated expression, couldn't contain his excitement. "That was incredible! I never thought a Broadway show could be so... intense. Lin-Manuel Miranda is a genius!"
Quinn, who was a seasoned Broadway enthusiast, nodded in agreement. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Brett. Broadway has its own magic, doesn't it?"
As they strolled through the bustling streets of Manhattan, the trio discussed their favorite moments from the show. Brett shared his amazement at the choreography, while Quinn and Santana exchanged their thoughts on the musical's historical narrative.
Eventually, they reached the entrance to the subway station. The familiar hum of trains and the rhythmic echoes of footsteps filled the underground space. Quinn checked the subway schedule on her phone, guiding the group toward the right platform.
Santana, feeling the need to break the silence, turned to Brett. "So, Brett, thoughts on your first Broadway experience?"
Brett's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "Honestly, it exceeded my expectations. I never thought I'd enjoy a musical so much. Thanks for dragging me into the world of Broadway, Quinn." Quinn chuckled. "Anytime, Brett. There's nothing quite like the magic of live theater."
As they descended the stairs to the platform, the subway train arrived with a distinctive whoosh of air. They boarded the train, finding seats together in a row. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the tracks provided a backdrop for their reflections on the day.
Santana, still processing the musical experience, couldn't resist a playful jab at Brett. "So, what's next on your cultural exploration list?" Brett leaned back in his seat, contemplating. "I don't know. Maybe an art museum? I heard the Met is pretty good." Quinn's eyes lit up. "The Met is a great choice. We'll go tomorrow."
The subway train rumbled through the tunnels, carrying the trio back to Brooklyn. The day had been filled with laughter, culinary delights, and the enchantment of Broadway.
The following day dawned with the promise of a new adventure for Brett as he eagerly planned a visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Quinn, always up for a cultural excursion, found herself looking forward to exploring the renowned museum. However, before they could set their plans in motion, they needed to consult with Santana.
Quinn and Brett, having enjoyed their Broadway escapade the previous evening, approached Santana as she sat on the couch, engrossed in a book. "Hey, Santana," Brett began with a bright smile, "We're headed out in an hour. Wanna join us?" Quinn chimed in, her enthusiasm matching Brett's. "It'll be a great way to spend the day. What do you say?"
Santana looked up from her book, contemplating the invitation. After a brief pause, she shook her head. "Nah, you two go ahead. I think you'll appreciate the art more without me". Brett, undeterred, leaned in with a hopeful expression. "Come on, Santana. It'll be fun. Plus, I might need your expert opinion on some of the exhibits."
Quinn smiled, appreciating Brett's effort to involve Santana. "He's right. Your commentary adds a unique flair to these cultural outings." Santana chuckled, recognizing the playful banter. "Nice try, but I'll pass. You two go and enjoy the museum. I've got some things to catch up on here."
The bustling streets of Manhattan had played host to a day filled with exploration, museums, and an array of delectable culinary delights for Brett and Quinn. As they returned to the Brooklyn apartment, The door swung open, revealing the empty living room, and a subtle confusion etched itself onto Brett's features.
"Where's Santana?" he queried, glancing around the apartment as if expecting her to materialize from the shadows. Quinn, removing her coat and tossing it over a chair, shrugged nonchalantly. "No idea."
Brett's brow furrowed, a tinge of concern coloring his expression. "She didn't mention anything about plans for the evening?" Quinn shook her head, "Nope." Despite the casual tone, a flicker of unease crept into Brett's thoughts. Santana's predictable routine, had given way to an unexpected void.
As the evening unfolded, the apartment seemed to echo with an eerie stillness. Brett and Quinn settled onto the couch, surrounded by an atmosphere that felt somewhat incomplete. The choice of movies became a momentary distraction, a feeble attempt to fill the silence that lingered like an uninvited guest.
Brett scrolled through the list of available films on the streaming service, his mind intermittently wandering back to Santana's absence. The vibrant energy that usually filled the apartment had dissipated, replaced by a strange emptiness.
Quinn, sensing Brett's unease, attempted to infuse a sense of normalcy into the evening. "Pick a movie, Brett." Brett half-heartedly selected a movie, his eyes intermittently glancing at the door as if expecting Santana to walk in at any moment. The minutes ticked away, each passing second amplifying the conspicuous silence that enveloped the apartment.
As the credits rolled on the chosen movie, there was still no sign of Santana. Brett couldn't shake the growing unease that had settled in his chest. "Santana is still not back, where could she be?" Brett mused aloud, his voice betraying a mixture of confusion and worry. Quinn sighed, "I don't know, Brett. She's an independent woman."
The apartment, once a haven of shared camaraderie, now echoed with unanswered questions. The vibrant energy that Brett and Santana had cultivated over shared meals and laughter had been replaced by an unsettling stillness.
As the night wore on, Brett's concern deepened, casting a shadow over the evening's endeavors. Santana's inexplicable absence remained an enigma, leaving him in a state of suspense, Quinn decided it was time to call it a night. "I'm heading to bed. Long day tomorrow back to the Monday grind."
Brett, still feeling uneasy, opted for a different plan. "I think I'll stay up for a bit, catch something on TV." Quinn gave him a knowing smile. "Alright, don't stay up too late. Goodnight, Brett." "Goodnight, Quinn," he replied, watching as she disappeared into her room.
Left alone in the living room, the soft glow of the screen casting a gentle light across the room. He sprawled out on the couch, the cushions providing a comfortable haven. His mind couldn't help but wander to Santana, still out in the city. He wondered what she was up to, where she might be.
The door creaked open, and Santana stepped into the dimly lit apartment. The clock on the wall read 12:15 am. She had lost track of time as she closed the door behind her, she tried to be as quiet as possible. The apartment was dark, with only the soft glow of the TV illuminating the living room.
To her surprise, as Santana tiptoed further into the room, a voice emerged from the shadows. "What time do you call this?" Brett's playful tone cut through the silence, causing Santana to jump slightly, her eyes widening at the unexpected voice. "Shit, you scared me," she admitted, exhaling in relief. "I didn't think you'd still be awake." Brett chuckled, patting the empty space on the couch beside him. "Couldn't sleep. Quinn's gone to bed, though."
She nodded, settling onto the couch next to him. "Long day, huh?" Santana sighed, her body sinking into the cushions. Brett leaned back, propping his arm on the backrest. "Where have you been?"
A wry smile played on Santana's lips as she met Brett's gaze. "Just out with Kurt. Lost track of time, you know how it is." Brett's eyebrows furrowed in a mix of confusion, "Are you drunk?"
Santana chuckled, the sound carrying a carefree melody. "A little" she admitted, her eyes locking onto his. There was a mischievous glint in her gaze, before Brett could press further, Santana leaned in, her lips dangerously close to his. The air crackled with anticipation as she spoke, her breath mingling with his. "Lost track of time, lost track of everything," she whispered, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that left no room for doubt.
Captivated by Santana's magnetic presence, feeling a gentle touch from her fingers on his face as the warm light from inside the apartment illuminated their facial features as Santana pulled Brett in for a kiss. Her touch sent a jolt of electricity through Brett's body, intensifying the urgency of their embrace as Santana deepened the kiss by slipping her tongue into Brett's mouth and straddling him on the couch.
Brett eagerly reciprocated, deepening the kiss as he explored every inch of her mouth. They were lost in the intensity of their passion, their bodies intertwined on the couch as they surrendered to their desires. Santana's lips tasted sweet, her hands roaming over Brett's chest as they continued to kiss. His hands traced down her back, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips as his hands went under her shirt. He couldn't believe how good she felt in his arms.
Their kisses grew more urgent, their breaths becoming heavy as their bodies pressed closer together. Santana let out a soft moan, sending shivers down Brett's spine as he pulled her even closer. He could feel her heart racing against his chest, matching the speed of his own. They broke the kiss for a moment, both catching their breath and gazing into each other's eyes. In that moment, there was no one else in the world but them. It was as if time had stopped and all that existed was this intense connection between them.
Without a word, Brett pulled Santana back in for another kiss, this time deeper and more passionate than before. He couldn't get enough of her taste, her touch, everything about her driving him wild with desire. Santana's hands trailed down to the waistband of Brett's sweatpants, slipping inside and causing him to let out a moan.
He opened his eyes and suddenly, he snapped out of his trance as he remembered where they were: the living room. Quinn a short distance away. Brett gently pulled back, his eyes locked onto Santana's with a mixture of intensity and concern. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, and for a moment, time seemed suspended in the quiet acknowledgment of the uncharted territory they had just entered.
"Santana" Brett whispered, his voice a soft murmur that cut through the silence. He placed a tender hand on her cheek, a gesture that sought to ground her in the reality of the moment. "Quinn is home"
Santana, still caught in the haze of their shared kiss, brushed off Brett's caution with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I don't care" she slurred, the alcohol still weaving its influence through her words. Her eyes, glazed with a mixture of desire and inebriation, locked onto Brett's. "I want you."
Brett's gaze held hers, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips. "You do care" he said, his voice a gentle assertion. He shifted, creating a bit of distance between them on the couch. "Let's not do something you might regret, Santana."
As Brett stood up, the gravity of the situation settled on his shoulders. He understood the allure of the moment, the magnetic pull that drew them closer, but he couldn't ignore the potential consequences. Santana, in her intoxicated state, swayed slightly as she sat on the couch, a pout forming on her lips.
Brett extended a hand toward her. "Come on, let's get you to bed" he suggested, the concern evident in his eyes. Santana, for a moment, resisted. Her eyes locked onto Brett's with a mixture of frustration and desire. "I don't need help" she insisted, attempting to stand on her own. The alcohol, however, had taken its toll, and she wobbled precariously.
Brett, with a soft chuckle, gently guided her toward the bedroom. "You may not need help, but I'd rather not have you face-planting the floor on the way" he teased, his tone a blend of lightheartedness and genuine care.
As they entered the dimly lit bedroom, Brett guided Santana toward the bed. The room was a sanctuary of shadows and muted hues, and the quiet reassurance of the moment settled over them. Brett helped Santana settle onto the bed, and for a moment, their eyes locked in a shared understanding.
Brett, sensing the delicate balance between the desire they felt and the potential complications, leaned down to place a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead. "Get some rest" he murmured, pulling away with a gentle smile.
As he exited the room, the door closing softly behind him, Brett couldn't help but reflect on the complexity of their evolving dynamics. The unspoken tension lingered in the air, leaving him in a mixture of desire and caution.
The blaring sound of an alarm cut through Santana's restless sleep, shattering the quiet sanctuary of the bedroom. She groaned, her head pounding with a relentless ache that seemed to echo in the room. Blinking against the assault of morning light, Santana squinted at the digital display of her alarm clock.
7:30 AM.
The realization hit her like a sledgehammer. The throbbing pain in her head seemed to intensify as she pieced together the fragments of the previous night. The drinks, the confessions with Kurt, and the stolen kisses with Brett blurred into a hazy memory. Santana's eyes lingered on her phone, which lay on the bedside table, as if daring her to confront the consequences of her choices.
With a heavy sigh, Santana reached for her phone, the bright screen momentarily blinding her. She winced as she navigated to her messages, her fingers fumbling against the touchscreen. A quick glance at the time confirmed that she was already late for work.
Summoning whatever strength she could muster, Santana drafted a brief message to her boss. "Not feeling well. Can't make it to work today, Sorry." With the send button pressed, Santana let her phone fall back onto the bedside table. Closing her eyes, she tried to block out the incessant throbbing in her head and drift back into the solace of sleep.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over the room, Santana roused herself from the restless embrace of sleep. The remnants of the night's indulgence clung to her like a heavy shroud. With a deep breath, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the room momentarily spinning in response.
Brett sat alone at the kitchen island, his lunch in front of him as he absently swirled the fork through the salad. The apartment seemed eerily quiet, the remnants of the morning's activities hanging in the air. The events of the previous night lingered in the atmosphere like an unspoken secret.
As he pondered the dynamics they found themselves navigating, signs of life finally emerged. The sound of footsteps reached Brett's ears, and he turned to see Santana entering the kitchen. If the disheveled appearance and the grimace on her face were any indication, she was grappling with the aftermath of a rough night.
"You look like you've been dragged through a bush" Brett remarked, a teasing glint in his eyes as he observed Santana's less-than-stellar state. Santana shot him a glare, her expression a mix of annoyance and amusement. "Thanks" she retorted, her voice laced with a hint of sarcasm.
Brett, however, wasn't deterred by her glare. He reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water and a small container of painkillers. "I got you these" he said, handing them over to Santana.
She accepted the offering with a grateful nod, the painkillers a welcome remedy for the persistent headache that had been haunting her since she first woke up. Pulling her close, Brett pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Santana's head. "I did mean a sexy bush" he whispered, a playful smirk on his lips.
Santana rolled her eyes, but a genuine laugh escaped her lips. The tension that had lingered in the air seemed to dissipate, replaced by a shared understanding and a willingness to embrace the lighthearted moments amidst the complexities of the situation.
"What do you want for breakfast?" Brett asked, his tone a blend of sincerity and affection as he moved toward the stove, ready to whip up something to soothe Santana's unsettled stomach. Santana pondered the question for a moment, the corners of her mouth turning upwards in a thoughtful expression. "Surprise me," she finally replied.
Brett moved around the kitchen with a sense of purpose, the clinking of utensils and the sizzle of bacon creating a rhythmic symphony. Santana, lounging on the couch with a hint of a headache lingering, watched as Brett expertly plated the meal. The aroma of the cooked bacon wafted through the air, and her stomach rumbled in response.
As Brett placed the steaming plate in front of her, a mischievous smirk played on his lips. "This should mop up the last of that alcohol" he declared, the smirk widening as he eyed Santana's reaction. She shot him a grateful smile, her eyes betraying a mixture of appreciation and amusement. "You're a lifesaver" Santana admitted, reaching for the plate with a sense of anticipation.
Brett settled on the couch next to her, as Santana indulged in the comforting simplicity of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast – a breakfast designed to appease not just hunger but the lingering effects of the previous night's indulgence.
Santana reached for the remote, "Netflix?" she suggested. Brett nodded, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Sounds like a plan." As the last bites were savored, Santana set the empty plate aside. Brett, catching her eye, couldn't resist a playful comment. "Feeling better?" Santana nodded, the lingering headache subsiding under the influence of good food and the camaraderie they shared. "Much better, thanks Chef" she quipped, a playful gleam in her eyes.
Brett chuckled, appreciating the lightness that had settled between them. "Anytime you need rescuing from a hangover, you know where to find me." as he wrapped his arm around Santana's shoulder, pulling her in for a comfortable embrace.
"Do you have work today?" Brett inquired, glancing at Santana with genuine curiosity. Santana shook her head, her expression one of contentment. "Called in sick. Today's all about crappy romcoms and recovery." Brett chuckled, appreciating the candid honesty. "Sounds like a perfect day to me" he remarked, pulling her in a little closer.