Another update is here! If you can review, it's much appreciated. I love reading what your thoughts are! :)
Back at the booth, Quinn's looking around the bar, curious as to where Brittany and Santana went. It's been nearly an hour since they went to dance—they can't still be on the floor, right? They'd have come back for a drink or something. She walks around the perimeter of the dance floor and looks through the crowd, not spotting a sign of either one of the girls. She checks the bathroom and finds no sign of them there either.
"Have any of you guys seen Santana and Brittany?" Quinn asks, getting three headshakes in return. "I'm gonna call Santana."
…
She can feel her phone buzzing in her back pocket but makes no move to answer it. Whoever is calling can wait until morning.
Santana has Brittany pinned against her apartment door, not removing her lips from the girl's neck as she tries to unlock it. Her keys jingle in her hand as she twists the knob, and once the door opens, Brittany switches their position and pushes Santana inside, pinning her against the interior wall. The wall shakes with the force, and they quickly shed their coats, tossing them haphazardly on the floor. Santana grabs Brittany's collar and pushes her backward, leading her toward her bedroom. On the way, her leg bumps into the coffee table, causing the corner of her half-completed puzzle to detach from the rest, sending the pieces flying through the area.
The girls stop and look down at the mess. Brittany looks up at Santana apologetically, opening her mouth to say something. Santana quickly puts her finger over Brittany's mouth and shakes her head. "I wasn't finishing it any time soon, anyway."
Santana reconnects their lips and continues leading Brittany to her bedroom, flopping on her bed once they get within reach.
…
"She's not answering," Quinn says dejectedly, placing her phone back in her pocket.
"Girl, I'm sure they're fine." Mercedes waves dismissively.
Quinn nods. "Yeah, you're right. I'll call her back in a little bit." She sits back down, and Mercedes pats her shoulder comfortingly.
Kurt and Rachel give her a wicked smile, causing the blonde to laugh. Rachel slides her card toward Quinn and wiggles her eyebrows, nodding as Quinn slowly takes it from her. Quinn stands from the booth and smiles, intent on getting herself another drink, when Kurt exclaims, "Get us another round!"
Rachel shouts and agrees with Kurt, laying her arm over his shoulder as they rock back and forth in the seat.
/
Santana awakes to the most adorable sight she's ever seen.
Brittany's curled up beside her, her arm resting on Santana's stomach, sleeping soundly. Her lips are only slightly parted, her face is free of makeup, and her hair looks a mess as it splays across the pillow, but she looks more beautiful than Santana's ever seen her. They're facing each other, Santana being the first to wake. She can't help but graze over Brittany's features, admiring them as longingly as she likes without fear of getting caught. The blonde has a light dusting of freckles over her cheeks, with a few prominent ones standing out at various spots on her face.
Santana reaches out and lightly presses one on her forehead before gliding her finger down, not breaking contact with Brittany's skin, and resting it on another on the apple of her cheek. She continues tracing until a sliver of blue looks at her with a confused squint, eliciting a chuckle from Santana.
"What are you doing?" Brittany asks, her voice quiet and raspy from sleep.
"Playing connect the dots with your freckles," Santana answers, unwavering in her movements.
Brittany smiles and tilts her head down, acting shy. Santana moves her forefinger across the blonde's forehead, removing a strand of hair from her face and gently placing it behind her ear.
"It tickles."
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No."
So she doesn't. She's on her third rotation, now knowing the pattern well. She can continue tracing while looking into Brittany's eyes, admiring the dazed, sleepy look in them. The blonde sends her a timid smile when their eyes meet, and Santana can see her shift in focus as her eyes quickly dart down to Santana's lips. Santana pauses her finger near Brittany's chin, deviating from her path to skim her thumb over her bottom lip.
When she makes eye contact with Brittany again, the sleepy haze is completely gone. Instead, there's a dark intensity there, and Santana feels the blue pulling her in, closer and closer until their lips meet sweetly again. She doesn't deepen the kiss, mindful of morning breath, but holds still for a few moments before pulling away.
"Good morning," Santana says sweetly, tapping Brittany's nose.
Brittany scrunches her nose at the gesture, grabbing Santana's finger to interlace her hand with the brunette's. "Yes, it is." She glances at their hands, rotating her hand back and forth to take in the sight. "I like the way your hand fits in mine."
"Good." Santana clears her throat. She brings their hands to her mouth and places a ginger kiss on the back of Brittany's. "I don't plan on letting go."
Brittany blushes and looks down, burrowing her face in the comforter.
"Aw, you're blushing," Santana teases, pulling the blanket down so Brittany can't shy away.
"And you wouldn't?" Brittany challenges, raising her other hand to tickle at Santana's ribs.
It's then that Santana realizes they're not clothed. The sheets are covering their bodies, so it's almost as if they were, but Santana can feel Brittany's fingers on her skin much more intensely. The bottom of her stomach pools with heat at the realization, and she feels her heartbeat increasing with every second.
"Ahh, see." Brittany pokes her cheeks. "Who's blushing now?"
Santana rids herself of the less-than-innocent thoughts and concentrates on Brittany. "That's for a very different reason," she defends. She leans down and presses one, two, kisses to Brittany's lips before nuzzling her nose with the blonde's. "What are you doing today?"
"What do you want me to do today?"
/
Santana flips the pancake over and admires the golden brown surface that appears. Once fully cooked, she places it on top of the stack nearby, waiting for Brittany to finish in the shower. She moves over to the coffee machine, puts in a filter, and pours grounds inside, smiling as she hears the low hum of Brittany singing.
Twenty-four hours ago, she never would've guessed she'd be where she is now—making breakfast for a beautiful girl after an amazing night. Thinking of last night's events causes heat to rise to her cheeks, and she can't help but smile.
She lays out clothes for Brittany on the bed, picking her favorite hoodie and shorts combo to give to the blonde. She's folding them neatly, flattening out any wrinkles, when she hears a loud, incessant knocking on the door. It's a repetitive bang, and Santana crinkles her brow in annoyance at the disruption.
When she opens the door, she's met with a flustered-looking Quinn who looks equally mad and relieved at seeing her. She pushes past Santana, stepping into the living room, her arms crossed over her chest. She turns to face Santana with a hard glare.
"Where the hell did you go?" she asks, her voice causing a slight throb to start at Santana's temple.
"Home," Santana responds, shrugging.
"No shit, Sherlock," Quinn bites. "But you couldn't have told anybody? No, 'hey, everyone! I'm leaving now!'" She waves her hand mockingly, as if she was saying goodbye. "You just left without warning!"
"I'm sorry, Quinn," Santana apologizes, stepping closer to her friend. "I just had other things on my mind and—"
Quinn holds up a finger and shakes her head, cutting her off mid-sentence. "No. That is the dumbest excuse I've ever heard—even the most intoxicated remember to tell their friends when they're leaving. I would know—I had to deal with three of them last night."
Santana purses her lips and looks down in guilt…she forgot about Kurt, Mercedes, and Rachel. "Quinn—" she starts hesitantly but gets interrupted yet again.
"What could have been so urgent, Santana?" Quinn places her hands on her hips and stares at Santana expectantly.
Santana doesn't know how to respond.
"And how long have you been home? I would've come here to check if I wasn't trying to get three walking disasters home…alone!"
Santana understands Quinn's aggravation, but she'd be lying if she said her tone wasn't starting to make Santana's blood boil. It's frankly none of Quinn's business what she decided to do with the rest of her night. Yes, she should've told Quinn that she was leaving, but not doing so doesn't give Quinn the right to barge into her apartment and demand answers. The most she could give was an apology.
"Look, it doesn't seem any answer will be good enough for you, Quinn. I said that I was sorry, I told you I went home—what more do you want?"
"I want to know why."
"Why?" Santana exclaims, ironically smiling. "Why does it matter?"
"Because you put me through hell last night, Santana!" Quinn shouts back. "You weren't picking up your phone; no one knew where you went! You and Brittany just disappeared! I just couldn't get ahold of you, and I…" Her voice quiets, and she pauses for a moment. "I thought something might've happened, all right?"
Santana bites the inside of her cheek, considering Quinn's words. She can't look up to make eye contact with the girl…the guilt's eating her away now. She wouldn't trade anything for last night—but she can't help but regret making Quinn worry. She can see the anger slowly melting from Quinn's body, instead being replaced with relief. Santana tentatively steps forward and, not seeing the blonde step away, slowly wraps her arms around her shoulders. "Sorry, Q."
Quinn returns the hug, patting Santana on the back a few times. "I'm just glad you're okay." She steps back and runs a hand through her hair, clearing her throat. Through the corner of her eye, she sees the tall plate of pancakes sitting atop the kitchen table, and she furrows her brows in curiosity. "Hungry, I'm assuming?"
Santana turns to where Quinn's pointing and slowly nods her head. "Somewhat."
"Did you, uh…want company? I can tell you all about Rachel's attempt at directing a choreographed routine to everybody on the dance floor." Quinn smiles and laughs.
"Um…raincheck?" Santana asks.
Quinn narrows her eyes but nods. "Sure, but—"
"Santana?" Quinn's interrupted as Brittany emerges from Santana's bathroom, toweling her hair dry. She's wearing the oversized hoodie and shorts Santana laid out for her but doesn't notice Quinn's presence immediately. "Did you get the—oh." She stops when she sees Quinn, awkwardly holding the towel still in her hands.
Quinn eyes Brittany closely for a moment, her mouth forming the shape of an "oh." She looks back and forth between Santana and Brittany, her hand pointing between the two as she switches gazes. She closes her eyes and shuts her mouth, shaking her head quickly as the realization sets in. "Uh," she starts, trailing off. "I'm gonna…go." She swiftly turns around and walks toward the door, exiting without another glance back.
"Is she okay?" Brittany asks tentatively, gesturing toward the door Quinn just closed.
"Yeah," Santana sighs, replacing her expression with a smile. "Pancakes are ready."
Brittany jumps in excitement and presses a kiss to Santana's cheek as she passes, making her way into the kitchen.
/
"This is why I hate Ikea."
Brittany laughs, furrowing her eyebrows at Santana. "I'm pretty sure we're assembling a puzzle, not furniture." She's fiddling with a puzzle piece, rotating it between two fingers.
"It's the same concept," Santana argues, desperately looking for a home for the puzzle piece in her hand. Brittany insisted on helping Santana finish her puzzle, feeling bad that half of the completed section was dismantled last night. So, they're currently sitting on the living room floor, trying to finish at least half the puzzle before the day ends. "This is impossible."
"Well, maybe that's what you get for choosing a," Brittany picks up the box thrown haphazardly to the side, "3,000 piece one."
Santana glares at the blonde, though there's no hostility behind it. "Blame my ambition," Santana defends, holding her hands up. She looks at Brittany across the board and admires how her eyes take in nearly every detail of the picture. She notices the smallest things—ones that Santana takes forever to find a piece for. Things like the edges of the lake as it blends with the dock or the hull of the boats as they disappear underneath the water. "I give up," she says, throwing the piece down and standing up.
"This is why it takes you months to finish one," Brittany teases, accepting the offered hand Santana holds out for her.
"Maybe," Santana agrees. "I honestly don't know why I keep buying them."
"Is it at least rewarding when you finish?"
"Not really. Then I take forever to disassemble it and put it back in the box."
Brittany shakes her head and walks to the kitchen, grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge. They plop down on the couch, staring at the incomplete puzzle in silence. Santana leans her head on Brittany's shoulder and closes her eyes, content with staying this close to her for the rest of the day.
"Sleepy?" Brittany asks, breaking the silence.
"No," Santana lies. "I slept for like…six hours."
Brittany laughs and reaches for Santana's hand, playing with her fingers as the brunette relaxes further into her side. She moves her touch further up her arm, running her fingers up to her elbow and then back down to her wrist. Santana hums softly at the touch, marveling at the feeling.
"I wish we could stay here forever," she admits, her voice no louder than a whisper.
"We have all afternoon," Brittany replies at an equal volume.
"Until going back to regular life tomorrow," Santana groans, sitting up fully.
"Is that such a bad thing?" Brittany asks.
Santana doesn't know how to respond. Does she want to leave this little bubble she and Brittany created in the last twelve hours? Absolutely not. But she can't pretend that she truly despises her job either. After all, Mercedes is there with her every day. Sure, Shelby's overbearing, but at least she gets to do something related to the career she wants. Others aren't so lucky. "It's just…a lot, sometimes," she settles with.
"How so?" Brittany asks, turning her body to face Santana fully. She rests her elbow on the back of the couch and puts her head in her hand.
Santana looks at the blonde across from her and sees nothing but genuine curiosity and care. She doesn't even know why she looks for anything else in Brittany—she always finds the same thing. "Can I ask you something?"
Brittany nods.
"Do you have a dream?"
"Of course," she answers with no hesitation.
"Is it coming true?"
Brittany looks at Santana for a moment before nodding slowly. "A little bit at a time."
Santana moves her hair out of her face and crosses her legs underneath her, turning to face Brittany. "It just seems like mine's at a dead end." She grabs her ankles and leans forward ever so slightly, feeling somewhat stuck in her position. "I'm working in the field I want to be in, but it doesn't seem like anything will come of it. I work my ass off for Shelby, but I'm nothing more than a personal assistant. How am I supposed to make it in the music industry if I don't have an opportunity to show everyone what I can do?" She pauses to take a breath. "Look at Mercedes, Rachel, and even Kurt. They make their dreams come true—they can audition and submit samples of their work. What do I have?"
Brittany regards the brunette in front of her for a moment, listening closely as she vents.
"How am I supposed to get an in? I don't want to ride on someone's coattails—I want to make it on my own. Because of my work. But I don't get that opportunity…no one wants to see what I can do."
"So make them," Brittany says simply.
Santana furrows her brows. "What?" she asks, confused.
"You said no one wants to see your work?" the blonde clarifies. "Then make them want to see it. Instead of waiting for an offer, make one yourself."
Santana scoffs and shakes her head. How has she never thought of that before? Sure, she's never thought anything like that was possible with Shelby—she still doesn't. But is that better than never trying?
"You're right," she says. "That's genius, Brittany."
The blonde shrugs and gives Santana a shy smile. She doesn't have the same overcomplicated view of the world that Santana does. Sometimes, looking at things at face value, not overthinking things, is the best way to find success.
"Thank you," Santana gushes, leaning forward to wrap Brittany in a tight embrace. "You always know exactly what to say."
"It's my blonde superpower," Brittany jokes.
A moment passes before Santana untangles herself from Brittany, a warm feeling fluttering through her chest from the sheer contact. She'd be embarrassed at how easily this girl can make her feel things, but she doesn't even care. She taps Brittany on the nose, earning a nose-crinkle from the blonde in return, before returning to her previous position.
"What's your dream?" she asks Brittany, picking up her water bottle to take a sip. "I know it's related to dancing, but is there anything specific?"
Brittany shrugs. "I just wanna dance."
Santana laughs at the simplicity. "It's gotta be more than that, Britt."
Brittany shakes her head. "No, it's that simple. Dancing feeds my soul—it makes me me. So as long as I'm doing that, I'm good."
"Are you?"
Brittany nods. "I teach dance to kids on Monday and Wednesday evenings. Not the best gig, but like I said, all I wanna do is dance."
Santana smiles, imagining Brittany in the center of a room full of kids, all watching and mimicking her every move. If she had Brittany as a dance teacher when she was their age, she'd never miss a class. "You don't want more than that?"
Brittany shrugs. "I mean, I'd like to move into professional dancing one day in the future. But if that never happens, I'm content with it."
"You really amaze me, you know that?" Santana admits fondly. There's nothing about the girl that's even remotely similar to the way Santana functions. Here she was, just complaining about how her job seems like a dead end, how she wanted more in her career—meanwhile, Brittany's doing the bare minimum, but is happy. Her soul is fed as long as she's doing what she loves…she doesn't search for a bigger title. And Santana wishes she could be like her.
"I'm just me," Brittany replies, waving the compliment off.
"Exactly."
/
That night, Santana runs her mind through the different ways she can actively take her future into her own hands. She's not going to quit her job—that wouldn't be a smart decision—but there has to be some way she can progress. She doesn't have all the technological equipment to create a soundtrack, and Shelby sure as hell isn't going to give her permission to use hers—not that she knows how to use it.
How can she create music without music?
She paces around her living room, hoping the movement will jog her brain for ideas. She thinks of her friends…maybe she can have a chance working with one of them? Mercedes especially. But she shakes her head, letting go of the idea. She wants her success to be based on herself—her work. She doesn't want to have to thank anyone else for making her dream come true.
She looks up, biting her nails in concentration as she glances around the familiar room. She's lived here for nearly three years. These walls, the decorations, colors, and pictures are all engrained in her brain. Everything's been in the same spot since she moved here.
Her eyes fall on the bookshelf standing tall near the television. It's decorated with dozens of books—some gifted, others bought—that sit idly, collecting dust. She hasn't even read some of them. She walks over and picks up one of her favorites, opening the cover and admiring the words printed on the small page. She smiles, remembering her original goal when she moved to New York.
She still wouldn't mind having a published book one day, her name written in bold on the front. But it doesn't feed her soul the same way music does. She thinks she chased the whole author thing because she's been told all her life that she has a gift. Writing was something that always came easy to her—it never took any effort. Quinn used to get hysterically mad in high school when she spent hours on an essay, and Santana could bullshit it in half an hour.
Memories of her old stories and writings start flooding her mind, words upon words flitting through her mind. She never felt as free as she did when she was able to put them on paper. She's thinking of that feeling—and how much she'd love to have it back—when it clicks.
Writing.
If she can't create music with instruments, she can create it with words.
She sets the book back in it's original place and rushes to grab a notepad and pen. She has a laptop she could use, but writing the lyrics by hand seems so much more traditional. She plops on the couch and rests the notepad on a pillow, wiggling the pen over the page for inspiration. She was always able to write best about her strongest emotions, so she wracks her brain for what she's feeling. She doesn't want to write about love—that's such a cliche. She lets her thoughts move around to all the different aspects of her life, until she finally settles on one that could bring her healing—potentially in more places than one.