Title: Above The Moon
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9.2k
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: I know it's been forever... I can only apologise. Enjoy!
/
Brittany has a calendar up on the wall in the kitchen, and the next morning, you're cleaning up after breakfast when you come across it.
You don't know how you didn't notice it sooner, but grin at the fruit and vegetable stickers on various weeks, finding exactly the same in the months before as you flick through it and all other thoughts fly out the window. There are scribblings of appointments, and classes, and even today's one that you're both going to, but you're way too distracted with trying to figure out why the stickers are where they are to think about everything you've had to Google as you're not sure what to expect in an antenatal class.
You don't get to do it for long before you hear soft footsteps pad into the kitchen behind you, and moments later, Brittany's there, hands settling on your hips as she peers over your shoulder to see what you're focusing on.
"Why are you staring at the calendar?" She asks, and you twist your face to look at her profile, unable to stop yourself from admiring the shade of blue in her eyes. "Did you forget what year is it, too?"
You let out a short laugh and shake your head, spinning around to look at her properly. "No," you reply with affection in your tone and Brittany grins widely when you continue giggling. She was trying to make you laugh and it worked. "Just trying to figure out if you're becoming a farmer or just trying to predict your next weird craving."
Brittany giggles this time, which makes your stomach flip, and she glances at the calendar. "They haven't been that weird."
"Really? Because toothpaste, pickles and hot sauce is totally normal?" You scoff back, thinking to a few weeks back when she ate nothing but that for two days straight.
"Shut up," she chuckles out and swats at your arm, sticking her tongue out at you. "I have my reasons for the stickers."
You roll your eyes playfully and move to finish clearing up the kitchen, wiping a damp rag over the breakfast bar you were both sat at ten minutes ago. "Care to share?"
Brittany moves to the stools opposite, not sitting down on either but leaning on the bar between them and keeps her vision trained on you. "After one of our appointments when you said the baby was the size or a fruit or whatever, I started to keep track of how big she was and thought that was a cute way of doing it," she explains and nods her chin to her chest, gesturing to her bump. "This week, she's the size of a celery," her vision flits to the calendar, and you follow the line of sight to see the sticker on the Monday of this week on the calendar. "Next week, she's a pineapple. The week after, a cantaloupe, and after that, she's a large melon."
It's Brittany logic, and it's a logic that once upon a time led you to fall in love with her and so you can't help but feel affection rising in your chest as you watch her beam excitedly at her tracking system. She used to do shit like that all the time, and you bite down on your bottom lip, resisting the urge to sigh but the motion makes you whip back to action, realising you were about to go all giddy and stuff with forgotten feelings and memories, and shake yourself out of it, eyes blinking rapidly like you're trying to forget a nightmare after waking up.
"Makes sense," you force out and drop the rag back on to the counter, finding blue eyes narrowed when you glance back at them. You would question it, but you're pretty sure now you've looked at her that you may not have stopped yourself from going all sappy eyed as quickly as you wanted it to as she's half-smiling, like she's stopping herself from doing it in return.
That kind of look isn't allowed, as friends don't look at each other that way.
"Anyway," you clear your throat, regaining composure. "You ready to go?" You quickly follow up, knowing it's close enough to your antenatal class that you can use that as a quick exit.
Brittany doesn't question it, even if she holds your eyes for a beat too long, and instead lets out a long breath as she returns to a standing position and smiles softly. "Yeah. Let's go."
/
Okay, so turns out, no amount of research could have prepared you for this.
All the internet said was that Brittany would get some health, diet, birth plan advice and all that crap, and yet you've been in the damn class for half an hour and you're freaking traumatised. Google mentioned that you'd find out some not-so-great stuff, like early signs of pregnancy to look out for should anything go wrong, but about ten minutes into the session, the midwife pulled down a projector screen and threw everyone into the deep end with no preamble.
Starting with a birthing video.
You're not stupid, nor are you naïve and so you knew there'd be blood, but when you get a front seat view of a camera that definitely must have been film wrapped for protection, you almost die. Your body tenses, curls up and you bury your face into blonde hair as you sit behind Brittany, much like you used to when you two watched horror films as teenagers and the jump scares started.
She acts like she did back then, just holds your hands and tries to reassure you by squeezing various parts of your body, but it doesn't work as you have ears, and the sounds are horrific.
You feel bad. Like really freaking bad because you reacting like this is only highlighting how much agony Brittany's going to endure, and you need to grow the fuck up and handle this properly as she won't be alone. You'll be right next to her, holding her hand, potentially getting an x ray from her breaking a bone, but otherwise glued to her side.
So, you pick your head up, shuffle closer to Brittany and squeeze her around the midsection, feeling her hands slide over the back of yours as you lean close to her ear. "You okay?"
She nods. "Yeah," she says but it's quiet and you turn your neck to get a better look at her face. She's scared and you're being a selfish asshole by acting like you're the one that's going to be pushing a watermelon out your vagina.
"I'm not," you reply, and her body relaxes, a short, hushed laughter leaving her lips, and she leans back into you, her vision still tuned on the screen.
"Me either."
You're the one to laugh this time, to the point where the midwife by the projector screen shoots you a glare – this is definitely not something to laugh at – but that's not why you are so you just wrinkle your lip back at her. Being with Brittany is just easy, and even in tricky situations you make each other feel better just by being around and it's happening right now, and you can't help but notice and enjoy it.
Even with a woman screaming as her pelvis widens and a baby's head appears between her legs, suddenly it's just better.
You think Brittany feels the same as she sucks her lips into her mouth and muffles the giggle that continues to come out of her.
/
After the video, you glance around the room to find equally traumatised expressions.
Admittedly, not all of them as there are second and third time parents in the room – you wanted a variety so not all the stories would scare the hell out of you and Brittany – but you all make small talk as the midwife puts away some documents and flicks the projector off, before heading to the other side of the room to take up head position.
You don't move, just twist around to face the other way and everyone else does the same but it's easy as you're all in symmetrically placed yoga mats on the floor.
"Now, for the breathing exercises," the midwife announces, and your eyes dart around to see several couples shift like they know what they're doing, but you remain with the ones that don't. "If you can all turn to face your partners, legs across each other's so your baby is between you, and baby bearers," her vision flicks to you and Brittany for which you're glad. You guess she's in the know about your situation as she has access to medical records so she's leaving out certain terms. "Lean on your partners, and act like they're your physical support."
You hesitate, a little nervous to see what this part is but all the couples around you shuffle until they're tightly intertwined, legs over legs and tilting their foreheads together as they glance between them at the baby soon to appear in the world and it distracts you. Mostly because everyone is obviously a romantic couple in here, bar you and Brittany, and you kind of hate that as it means this could get awkward if people start getting intimate and stuff.
The idea of intimacy with Brittany kind of terrifies you to your very core. She's the only one you've ever had it with and apparently, still have. The times you've had sex have only gone and proved that.
However, when Brittany gracefully spins in her spot, throwing her legs either side of your hips and shuffling until she's basically in your lap, you forget all about that and start enjoying that you've got to do this. It reminds you of a position you used to have sex in when you were teenagers; one you stole from your parents copy of the Karma Sutra – gross, but it did help – and you desperately try to push that image out of your mind, but it's really hard to do when you peer up to see dark blue eyes burning down at you.
Somehow, you don't think you're alone in your thoughts, even if they're entirely inappropriate.
"Now, baby bearers," the midwife continues, her voice loud as she begins wandering down the makeshift aisles between the couples, looking at everyone. "There are three main stages during labour," she softly announces, and some parents nod their head, obviously privy to this information but you're not, and you're really interested. Although half of your mind is still focused on the burning of your skin from where Brittany's draped all over you.
"After your water breaks, and you're hopefully in the hospital about to give birth if that's your plan… You'll start to feel contractions," she explains and walks by you. You follow her as she passes, but find blue eyes still trained on your face when you glance back at Brittany and offer her a small smile that she returns. "As you probably know by now, these tend to be painful, but they're leading to stage one which we call 'bearing down,'" she adds on, and you mentally scribble this down in your mind.
"I've asked you to get into this specific position as this is out most common breathing exercise during the contractions," the midwife claps her hands gently and you grip on to the edges of Brittany's cardigan, bumping the low of her back. Now you feel guilty for getting a little heated as the next time you'll be like this, Brittany will be screaming in pain. "And one we advise to use should the contractions be close in stage one."
You bob your head and Brittany lifts her arms, resting them on your shoulders so her hands dangle behind you and play with the fine hairs at the base of your neck. That too is very distracting, and your mind wants to wander to memories that are threatening to come to the forefront of your mind, but you can't. That's selfish and you promised you wouldn't be anymore.
"The contractions will last approximately forty-five to ninety seconds and have a period of three to five minutes rest in between, and you'll feel the strong urge to push, which is when you will bear down," the midwife does another loop of the room, pausing by a certain couple who are staring deeply into each other's eyes. They don't even look like they're listening. "Dependent on your choice of epidural or other pain relief, you may not feel the urge to as strongly, but you'll definitely still be feeling like you need to do something."
All you can see inside your mind is images of sitting with Brittany like this, on a hospital bed, with nurses surrounding you and you think about how you'll calm her. You've always been the best person to do it, but that type of agony is something you don't really want to deal with, but know you have to.
"So, if we can just practise breathing in and out with each other during this stage, and we can move on to the next," the midwife finishes up, clapping her hands loudly this time and if you weren't so lost in your own thoughts, you wouldn't have jump, but you do, and it makes Brittany giggle.
"Shit," you hiss quietly, returning your gaze back to the blonde who grins at you, a sparkle in her eye.
"Yeah," she nods her head, and her voice gets breathy. You recognise it from years ago, when she used to get nervous and the way her breath shakes at it leaves her lips confirms that. "This is scary."
You pinch your lips up at the side, brows pushing together as concern floods through you, but you don't get to reassure her before the midwife wanders up to your side and stands over you, hands cocked on her hips and a serious look on her face. It makes you feel like naughty school children, and you bare a guilty grin up at her which she clicks her tongue to before you shrug, and she rolls her eyes before walking off.
And you're about to make a joke about how she needs to let loose a little, but then Brittany shifts and you become alarmingly aware of the position you're in all over again.
Your skin feels hot through clothes from where she's pressing down, and her arms tighten around your neck until all you can see is sea blue. You can't help but get lost a little in those ocean eyes, especially as Brittany plays along with the midwife softly announcing directions for the baby bearer to breathe in, lean in to their partner and exhale slowly.
She looks so damn beautiful like that, and it's hard to imagine the same face but pained as you take her in. Something you really shouldn't be doing as the midwife is now telling the other parent what to do, and you're completely tuned out to any instruction as Brittany holds your eye and continues breathing steadily.
Her breath is hot on your face, her freckles prominent on her soft skin, and you wish you weren't mentally heading down a heated route because you really shouldn't be.
It's entirely inappropriate, but you haven't had sex in like, the longest time now. You're only freaking human and sleeping in a bed with Brittany last night was one hell of a challenge; even more so when you woke up in the same spooning position you fell asleep in with her wrapped up in your arms, but somehow you didn't have morning glory which you thanked the heavens for when you made a split to the bathroom.
It just feels dangerous, and you put all focus into not thinking about it, but then Brittany scoots even closer on demand by midwife, your bodies clicking together, her feet wrapped around your back, so her ankles are pressing into the low of your spine, and well… Fuck.
The breath catches in your throat, heat creeping beneath your skin and flooding through your veins and you try to control it, and many, many memories of being in the same position but with considerably less clothing on flash across your eyelids like they're appearing on a screen. You see the teenager version of her, panting against your mouth as she rode you into oblivion on your teenage bed, her hand running through wild blonde hair and tangling at the roots, and you swallow thickly, breathing so much harder than before.
You really shouldn't be thinking this, and definitely should be listening to whatever the midwife is saying, but you just can't help it.
And you're about to scold yourself a little more, about to mentally slap yourself upside your head, but then Brittany tips your foreheads together, and you fail to do so when the breath that leaves her throat crawls over your skin. She's breathing unsteadily too, and you register that somewhere, you've seen the look in her eye before. Way too many times to mistake it and your lips pop open, an audible smack being the second loudest noise shared between you as blue eyes bore deeply into your brown ones.
She's totally thinking the same thing you are.
FUCK.
"Okay!" The midwife claps her hands, and you jolt backwards, still breathing equally as hard but vision averting to the woman stood at the top of the makeshift aisle. "Now baby bearers, if you could turn around so your partners are holding you from behind," she continues and waves her arms out towards everyone.
But Brittany doesn't shift immediately, and it takes a small quirk of your eyebrow to snap her back into action. She does, blinking several times and looking all types of flustered and offers a weak smile before doing as told, and you focus on the blonde as she moves, ears picking up on the voice in the room that now seems like a freaking echo. All your senses are zoned in on Brittany and she misses the smile you return, but it's breathless so you're kind of glad.
This is going to be so much worse than you imagined if that's how stage one is going to go.
/
You head back to her apartment after the class, feeling confused, concerned, and traumatised.
Not a great mix of emotions to feel at the same time, and it's made even worse as you can't talk about any of them out loud as you shouldn't feel any of them really. Perhaps concern, as you did watch a birthing video today and that kind of thing tends to affect a person, but certainly not the other two as they were only born out of a tension that shouldn't have been there considering what you were doing.
On the journey back, you were all up in your head, scolding yourself for getting aroused at a freaking breathing exercise, and a few other things that happened after, as that's really not what you should be focusing on, but you are anyway.
You can't help but think that Brittany felt the tension too, especially when you curved your hands around her belly and she muffled a moan, but again, you're trying your best not to think about that or even talk about it. She hasn't brought it up, so you're guessing it's just one of those things you're going to silently dwell over by yourself.
Something you think you can only do by sleeping on the sofa.
So, you set your mind towards that, and head into her place, flopping down on it and watching as Brittany peels off her jacket. You press your palm to your forehead, the beginning of a headache coming on from the internal torture you're currently putting yourself through and you try to think of a way to explain that you can't hack sleeping next to her tonight without seeming like a selfish, hormonal teenager.
However, it seems you don't have to, as moments later there's a weight next to your thigh and Brittany's perching on the small space beside you. You shuffle over, giving her more room and she smiles softly at you before reaching up to grab at the hand on your face, taking a deep breath in as she meets your stare.
"You sleeping here tonight?"
You freeze. You're not sure if she's in your head, or just knows you that well, or even feels exactly the same way, but you're probably better off not finding out that specific answer. So instead, you shift up into a seated position, still letting her hold your hand but you feel a whole lot better with more space between you now as you explain without explaining.
"Think so," you whisper and swallow thickly, hoping that if she is in your head, she can see that you're trying to be sensible. Not that you think anything would happen if you slept next to her, but she's achingly beautiful and your body is very aware of that and you'd just rather avoid a danger zone, if it were to even be that. Removing temptation seems like the optimal way to go.
"Okay," Brittany replies and holds your eyes, the corners of her lips curving up into a small smile and yup, she knows why you're staying here.
She doesn't say it though, just drops her gaze and scratches at her eyebrow, trying to hide the grin as it grows across her face before patting your hand with her free one and climbing to her feet. She cradles her bump, rubs over the protrusion and you resist the urge to hold either side of it and kiss it goodnight – maybe one day, but not today – and you say goodnight, watching as she retreats down the hallway and disappears into her bedroom.
You let your head fall back and stare at the ceiling, wishing away the memory of falling asleep with her in your arms from last night and how much you're craving for a repeat experience as that's probably unhealthy.
Being sensible sucks.
/
Sleep doesn't come easy.
You roll about on the sofa, going into every possible position but just wind up flicking on the lamp in the corner and the television and sitting up, hoping that some boring news report will put you to sleep. Naturally, it doesn't, and you look at the time, seeing it's the early hours of the morning and you don't have to work tomorrow, but you and no sleep is never a good combo and if you're honest, the are other reasons you're in desperate need to pass out as you feel like you could make a bad decision here.
Brittany's bedroom is down the hall, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't looked down it several times, just to see if there's a light coming through from the crack, but there hasn't been. And it's not like you want to climb into bed with her, but after that antenatal class you're all up in your head about the growing tension between you two, you just want to check if she feels it too, so you don't feel like a total idiot.
But that 'checking' would be dangerous with the way you're currently feeling, so with better judgement, you head towards the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge and try to distract yourself with the damn calendar again whilst you take a swig. It doesn't work, just like everything else you've tried this evening, and you're about to roll your eyes, grunt in frustration and scurry back to the sofa when you hear a door click down the hallway and well, you're interested.
You don't even tell yourself to move, you just do it and then staring at Brittany's bedroom door not too far away but still far away enough. You perk your ears up, head twisted, needing to see if you were just imagining the sound or if it was Brittany's neighbour through the wall, but then it happens again and fuck it, you can peek inside the room to check if she's okay.
Checking doesn't have to involve conversation.
That's the thought you repeat in your head as you creep down the hallway, reaching for the handle and twisting it open. You try to keep quiet, but the hinges squeak, the wood creaks and you wince as you push it open a few inches, enough to poke your head in to look around the door and–
"Santana?" Brittany chirps, shocked at your presence and you jump because yeah, you're shocked she's awake. There's a dim bedside lamp on, and she's sat up in bed, comforter pulled over her bump and there's a book in her lap. She looks really fucking cute, with blonde hair up in a messy bun and reading glasses on her face, and you try to focus on that but then you remember you've technically just been caught creeping and have zero explanation as to why.
So you just go with the first thing that pops into your head. "I couldn't sleep."
A soft smile creeps onto Brittany's face, and she exhales loudly, taking the glasses off her face, book off her lap and puts them on the side, crossing her legs and moving to the middle of the bed, fingers plucking at the comforter. "Me either," she shrugs but holds your eyes, and you don't think it's her being polite. You think she's trying to see why you couldn't sleep, but you don't want to answer that out loud.
"Thought I heard a door shut," you throw out there and blue eyes narrow, but Brittany just grins like she knows you're going into panic mode.
You fucking are. You were caught red handed.
"Wasn't me," she lifts a shoulder and looks at the book on the side. "The walls are pretty thin in this apartment and my neighbours are loud, so it might be them."
Yeah, you know that now, so you suck your lips into your mouth and awkwardly glance around the room, hand still set on the door like you're about to pull it closed but there's a disconnect between your brain and body so you're just standing there instead of leaving. You really should go back to the sofa as now you know Brittany's okay, and that was the intention of coming down here, but you just… You can't figure out how to do that right now.
"Do you wanna sleep in here?" Brittany suddenly throws out there and your head snaps up, eyes zoned in on the way she's still plucking at the comforter and now you know why she started. She's nervous and you're heavily assuming, but you think the reason she couldn't sleep might be the same as you. There was some weird ass tension in that class earlier and as much as you'd like to say you're not a creepy horn dog, you feel like that.
So sleeping in bed with Brittany? Probably not a clever idea. That'd just be tempting the devil and you've done so well up until now.
"Uh… I don't know," you get out, biting on your bottom lip and the voice inside your head is screaming for you to leave, but you rarely ever listen to that thing, and you really should. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."
Her shoulders drop, showing a moment of disappointment but then Brittany's bobbing her head, and she pulls her hands back into her laps, finally leaving the comforter alone. "I get that," she whispers but her eyes are pleading with you and FUCK. You've never been good at controlling yourself around her, especially with those big blue oceans beaming into your soul and that's actually a reason not to stay, but right now, it's the reason you've got to stay.
But if you do, you want to make it clear, without seeming like a hormonal teenager, that the only reason you're hesitating is because you both know there's something between you and you're only human. It really doesn't matter how pregnant she is, she's still Brittany and that's led you to be in a position like this, with her knocked up, you confused about your feelings and unsure of hers, and adding sleeping in the same bed, let alone living in the same apartment, seems like a recipe for disaster.
"Only because you're you," you blurt out and Brittany's head jerks back, eyes blinking rapidly but there's still a smile on her face. Probably because you look like a blabbering mess right now, getting all shifty and shit and adjusting your weight from one leg to the other way too many times to come across as chill. "And it got weird earlier in class, and we don't need to make this messy in the last couple weeks we have left."
It's as honest as you can be, without revealing that it's not just sex that scares you. You don't want to talk about feelings as this is difficult enough, and you're tired of reminding yourself that she's just your old best friend, and potential new one, and they don't typically sleep together.
"I also get that," Brittany replies, like she did a second ago and you hold her eyes, seeing the plea but not hearing it. "But I'm pretty big now, so…"
You think she's trying to explain that she's not feeling that type of way, and for a second you feel dumb as that clearly wasn't even considered, but after you splutter and blink away the heat rushing to your face, you look up to see something else behind ocean blue eyes. It's something you're not used to seeing, but you have seen it once when she was going on that date with the douchebag sales rep months ago and your head tilts to the side.
It's not that she isn't feeling it… It's that she doesn't think you could be attracted to her whilst she's big, and Brittany being self-conscious is almost unheard of outside of pregnancy.
So you think that's what motivates you to finally push away from the door, head over to the bed and perch on the side, boldly reaching for her hand until her vision is roaming around your face and yours is doing the same to her. That's the dumbest thing you've ever heard, as it really doesn't matter how Brittany looks or feels… She'll always be the most beautiful thing you've ever seen and for some reason, you think it's good idea to say it.
"Big or small, short or tall," you start and Brittany nibbles on her bottom lip, seeming so vulnerable. "You'll always be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Britt," you tell her, and your voice doesn't even waver with nerves as it should – that's not something platonic friendships say – and later, you'll kick yourself for opening up, but it's just reassurance.
That's all.
Brittany takes it differently though, her eyes searching yours as a smile creeps up on to her lips, and it makes you look away, heat flooding back to your face for a whole other reason now. You try to play it off by rolling your eyes at her too, but it just makes her giggle and push her hand into your stomach until she earns your attention again, expression open, innocent and so adoring that your chest blooms at the single gaze.
God. Why does she have to look at you like that?
"Fine, come on," she tilts her head to the side in a swift motion, scooting back up the bed and over to the side, her free hand patting the mattress beside her. "For old times' sake," she whispers and your vision snaps to her, as that's a reason you shouldn't slide into bed, but you do it anyway.
/
You should've been worried for other reasons.
You were worried that you wouldn't be able to keep your hands off her in a hot, naked, sweaty way, but now you're lying face to face in her bed, it strikes you that sex is actually the least terrifying thing you two could do in here.
It probably wouldn't have many consequences either, as both of you would more than likely agree to keep it a secret, but the thing that is going to be hard if this becomes routine sleeping side by side, you'll probably hold her, touch her, cuddle her to sleep, just like you did when you were teenagers and that's so much worse.
It would be like going back in time, to when you were together as teenagers wrapped around each other, and you know from the trip to your parents' house and that damn anniversary party that that's really not a good idea, but it just seems hard to think about it like that when no-one's around. It's like it's easier, like it takes less effort to pretend not to be completely comfortable around each other in a way that only couples do and so you allow your bodies to come together and melt into the feeling, pushing away the consequences at the same time.
Cuddling probably helps you bond with the baby, too.
Anyway, you allow your legs to tangle and for her hand to tuck beneath your pillow, the other one twirling strands of hair in the small gap between you. You allow yourself to inhale the mix of perfume and sweet skin, a thousand memories from years ago flashing across your brain and reminding you of how easy you can breathe when you're like this with her, because she's your personal zen.
And that's far more dangerous than having sex.
But you can't find the strength to voice that. Blue eyes are shining at on you, wide and honest and she's blinking so slowly you think that time may have stopped, but you know it's just the way she makes you feel. Hours with her feel like seconds, a moment with her and it feels like you're in heaven, and that's not a healthy way to be, but you know this is a snippet of what the future could look like if you ever wanted it to be.
You keep that all inside though. You lock it away, tuck it at the back of your chest and keep your eyes trained on her face as hers flutters shut.
(You then watch her sleep for another two hours.)
(A guilty pleasure, but that can be your own little secret.)
/
The following week goes the same way.
It becomes an unspoken routine, with one of you going to the bedroom and the other coming in already dressed in sleepwear, and you share a longing stare before you climb into bed together silently. Someone cuddles someone and then you're wrapped up in each other, falling asleep.
It's not as dangerous as you thought it would be – there's been no dark eyes and smirks at any point – and you spend a good hour a night after she falls asleep, just looking at her peaceful form, and take in everything you spent ten years missing. You relive teenage memories, and you're aware it's unhealthy, but you don't tell anyone about it.
Brittany doesn't seem to notice, and it means you're tired as hell every day for work, but you know it's only a matter of weeks now before there's a baby that's half yours and half hers in the world, and you won't be able to do shit like that anymore. You won't be able to watch her fall asleep as one of you will be getting up to tend to diaper changes or general crying, and after the first couple months, you'll probably move back to your apartment across town.
You'll return back to the life you lived before finding out you were going to be a parent, and that breaks your heart a little. It's not the ending you want, even though you don't know what you do want, and it frustrates you so much that the only way you can chill out is by drinking in Brittany whilst you have her, in the dead of night, and getting a severe lack of sleep because of it.
But it's the only thing that calms you down.
Anyway, it's not a problem watching her sleep in secret, until it is.
You're late for work one day as you didn't set an alarm, and the hours go by super quickly because you have a thousand things to do – thanks to Berry and being on Twitter at midnight after a bottle of tequila – and before you know it, the sun has gone down, everyone has gone home, and the janitor is making his rounds.
You still have a good couple hours of work to get under your belt, and you lean back into your chair, spinning around to take in the city lights, finding a peace in them that makes the back of your eyelids itch as you take a two-minute break. You hate when Rachel turns into a keyboard warrior as her deleting tweets does absolutely nothing thanks to screenshotting on cell phones and people sharing it all over social media anyway, so it's a pain in the ass and you'd love to get a bottle of vodka and drink away the frustration.
However, you're startled by the sound of your buzzer going off and seeing as it's dark outside and fairly late, you're unsure who could be needing to come in, so you press down on the button, leaning over to speak into the intercom. "What?"
"Bitch, let us up," Mercedes says, voice all crackly and you frown. What the hell is she doing here? And who is us?
"Wheezy? What are you doing here? And who's with you?" You ask instead, hearing your friend click her tongue down the line at the many questions fired at her.
"Berry and Kurt," she replies and now you're super confused.
"God, you're not gonna corner me in your office for some kind of intervention are you?" You fire back, thinking that's the only logical reason they could be coming up to your office at this time in the evening. Surely they have better things to be doing.
"Intervention for what?"
"Shut up," Kurt hisses at Rachel's question and you let out a throaty laugh as his voice gets louder. "Let us in, I need to pee."
You roll your eyes to yourself and release your finger off the button to press another, intrigue running strong, but Berry and the Bitchmunks currently without alcohol is never a good combo, so you spin around in your chair and await their arrival.
/
They're all dressed up, which only triples the confusion and when they step into your office, Rachel wrinkles her nose up, Kurt does a very gay hand pressed to the chest movement like he's personally offended by the bags beneath your eyes and Mercedes glares, not bothering to greet as she barges past the others, throws her jacket on the back of the chair opposite and cocks her hands on her hips.
"Why aren't you ready?"
Yup, you're still confused. "For what?"
Kurt steps forward, earning your attention. "I'm talking at this big event tonight. Did you forget?" He deadpans as the answer is clear, but you just flick open your emails on your laptop and spy the date, seeing a little banner beneath it with the time and date of Kurt's thing tonight.
Shit. You forgot about that.
Probably because you're getting less than three hours sleep a night and that's something you'd rather not share with them. They've been avoiding discussing you and Brittany since you got back from Montauk and that's been great, but now you can see Mercedes staring like she's seeing straight into your soul, even Rachel's got a lightbulb flicking on above her head like she's making her own assumptions and Kurt's taking in their gazes, which obviously influences him to share a similar expression.
Great. They're probably assuming you and Brittany are banging or whatever.
Now would be the perfect time to sidestep out of this conversation, and you know lying won't get you far, so you go with a half-truth. "I'm beat… Got loads of work still."
"Why are you beat?" Rachel interjects, and your eyes flash to her in a glare as naturally she'd be the one to press for more, but since you had that chat with her at the beach house, you've been feeling of grossly affectionate towards her and annoying as that is, you know she's concerned for you. "Is Brittany not sleeping well? Is the baby kicking?"
You go to answer, but it seems to make Kurt and Mercedes come to the same conclusion at the same time, eyes meeting quickly before they both grasp overdramatically, causing the words to slide back down your throat. Mercedes takes the reins, hands braced on the back of the chair on the other side of the desk and leans down, a fierceness in her eyes that wasn't there before, and you see Kurt flank her with a judgemental head tilt and you already know what's coming.
Which shouldn't be that worrying, but you're going to have to correct them, and the truth is far more terrifying than what you think they're assuming.
"Girl, tell me you two aren't having sex," she grinds out, and even though it sounds like a question, it's not and worse, you don't even get time to defend yourself as now it's out there, apparently it's gospel truth.
This is why you hate this fucking trio bombarding you like this.
"Santana!" Rachel scolds, instantly believing something you haven't even done, and weren't even given a second to explain that it really isn't like that, and Kurt just hums disapprovingly, shaking his head and staring at you before they all begin firing questions alongside having private conversation like you're not even in the same damn room as they are.
And it pisses you off because even if you were sleeping together, it's none of their freaking business. You and Brittany are basically living together, you're preparing for the baby to come in a matter of weeks as Brittany's due date is rapidly approaching, and it's not like you can knock her up again if you were even to have sex. Your friends, best friends even and being around each other constantly is trying, and you really need their support, not their judgement to remind yourself of that.
Seeing as you have a habit of forgetting every now and then.
All the anger builds inside of you, thoughts pinging around your skull and your brain sends words to your mouth before you even register, and you're up on your feet, voice booming at your friends.
"God, shut up," you yell, and all their mouths slam shut, bodies jolting at the sheer volume, but you're pissed and have good reason to be. "We aren't fucking, okay?" You follow, voice scratchy and you think it's out of sheer panicked honesty. "We're going to sleep, waking up, living the day as normal and then going back to sleep together," you state, just in case they didn't get it the first time, but they all share dubious looks. "Like I've told you a hundred times, we're just friends and I'm bored of you guys trying to make it into something it's not."
Rachel's mouth snaps shut, Mercedes leans back with hands still on the chair, and Kurt's eyebrows shoot up, and they all stare at you through wide eyes like they weren't expecting an outburst. They should've done, as it isn't the first and certainly not the last, and you just roll your eyes, lean back into your chair and let them know with a deadpan expression that you don't give a fuck what they think of you and Brittany.
"And the reason I'm beat, Rachel," you hiss her name, vision flitting to her. "Is because you decided to start a Twitter war with Miley and funnily enough, that doesn't look great for your image, so I've been clearing that up," you point out with a glare this time and she recoils, shoulders pinched as she takes a step away and behind Mercedes.
One down, two to go.
"Wheezy, you were the first person I told about the pregnancy, so do you think I would lie to you about something like this?" You fire at her, and she hesitates, but ends up shaking her head and the judgement seeps out her body. She's satisfied, so that means you're on to the last one.
"And Princess Peach," you grit out towards the only guy in the room whose eyes are already focused on the ceiling, tongue pressed to the back of his teeth like he knows what's coming. "I'm sorry but I'm gonna have to miss out on another big gay speech," you widen your eyes, showing the playfulness but you're not really joking. He talks at events all the damn time. "I'm sure it'll be magical and nothing like any of the hundreds of others I've gone to in the past, but I'm busy dealing with the troll's fuck ups and so my lack of sleep has nothing to do with Brittany."
They all stare silently, eyebrows raised like they weren't expecting you to bitch out but what else were you going to do? They've just bombarded you in your office, and okay, you're sort of getting your back up to the point where it's suspicious, but you're panicking that they'll ask more questions, and you really don't need this right now. Some venom has always diverted their pestering, and you take a moment to eye each of them, awaiting a twitch to show that you need to spew a few vicious insults their way, but they don't.
Or rather, that's what you think until Kurt takes a step forward, eyes narrowed sharply, and jaw clenched. "You said going back to sleep together," he states and your blood runs cold. Fuck. "What did you mean?"
Both the girls look to him, then to you, then piece together the part they obviously skipped out on, but he didn't, and well… Double fuck. You didn't mean to say that, and that's confirmed when Mercedes jaw drops open, Rachel shuffles forward with wide eyes and Kurt smirks. That bastard.
"Are you sleeping together?" Rachel whispers, mostly an accusation rather than a question but you just swallow and lean back into your chair, choosing that silence is stronger than words right now.
You didn't want to mention that, as you know she doesn't mean sex and half of you now wishes you'd just pretended like you were fucking as that's considerably better than falling asleep in each other's arms. That's way messier and goes against everything you've been going on about in regard to being 'just friends' as that's hardly friendly.
Sure, none of them apart Rachel has stuck their noses into yours and Brittany's business in recent months, but this is a whole new ball game. One you really didn't want to fucking play and you'd rather pretend like you didn't hear the question than answer it.
They come to their own conclusion anyway.
"That's gotta be… Hard," Mercedes comments and it's so not what you were expecting that you're thrown off for a whole other reason.
She has a soft understanding in her voice that usually makes you feel good, but right now it just pisses you off as you don't need fucking empathy. You're a grown ass woman and just because you like watching Brittany sleep, doesn't mean you feel anything for her. You've just missed out on a lot of it in ten years and you're soaking it all up before you move out or whatever's going to happen.
"Does that mean you'll gonna keep living together after?" Rachel chimes in and your vision snaps to her, but again, you stay silent.
You don't know.
"Yeah, I mean she's not far away from her due date, right?" Kurt picks up and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. Here comes round two of the bombardment. "Have you guys talked about what your living arrangements will be like when she comes?" He cocks his head to the side, and you bite your tongue. Nope, you haven't, but they don't need to be privy to that information. "Are you sleeping in the same bed to prepare for the baby or because you're hoping something will happen to make you more than friends?"
"No," leaves your mouth and Kurt lifts a brow, the smirk returning to his face but clearly one word was too much. You should've just stayed silent for the third time.
Mercedes waves him off though and picks her jacket up off the back of the chair, folding it over her arm whilst staring at you. "It's one or the other, Satan," she remarks and gives you a judgemental glare. "You and Britt have to figure that shit out, and regardless of whether or not you're telling the truth about having sex–" Your mouth opens but she presses her lips together and it slams shut again. Guess you have no choice in silence this time. "–That has to happen."
"Unless it is that you're hoping something will happen which is why you haven't done it yet," Kurt slides in with a low tone and your eyes narrow at him. "You sure you two aren't in that place?"
You remember being asked that question before, and whereas back then, the answer left your mouth quicker than your mind could think of it, this time, you blank. You don't move, don't speak, and stare for a beat too long because Kurt takes your silence as a response this time, probably like he did before which is why he's just gone straight for the jugular, and lifts his chin, the smirk turning into a smile.
But it's the image of you, Brittany and your unborn child, sitting on a porch in the house in the suburbs – which to you, is that place he's referring to – flashes across your brain, created by his words, that kicks you into action. You click your tongue, lean forward, and shake your head as you rest your elbows down on your desk, trying to show that you're just being quiet because of them barging in.
(Even if you're fairly sure that's not the reason.)
(You'd just rather not think about the real reason.)
"No, we aren't in that place," you retort, voice strong and confident. "We aren't sleeping together, but we are sharing a bed," you decide to say as it's already out there and maybe it'll stop them from lingering over you and Brittany's very confusing relationship. "We haven't talked about where we're going to live or what we're going to do, but we've still got a couple weeks and we'll get to it, just like we've got to everything else so far," you reason and press your lips together when they collectively glare like they're mentally connected. "Are you satisfied?"
Kurt isn't, as he twists his face up, but Mercedes is and obviously she's eager to go as she made the first move to grab her coat, and so she just shakes her head, looks disappointed and doesn't try to hide it, but you just huff loudly to show you're not interested. You and Brittany have made it seven and a half months, so you think you're good with your relationship.
Even if it feels different recently, but that's probably down to the impending birth of your child.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Mercedes shrugs and loops her arm around the other two, urging them towards the door but her vision stays trained on you. "Or doesn't," she grins, and you click your tongue, flip her off and she laughs. "Call me tomorrow?"
You bob your head, as you're really not going to this speech thing, and you all bid your farewells before you're left alone again.
/
How are we feeling about this story still?