Review if you can! Thank y'all so much for reading! :)

Her apartment smells of fresh herbs, roasted garlic, and toasted bread, and Santana doesn't think her kitchen's gotten this much action since she moved in. She places a bottle of wine in a bucket of ice in the center of the table, finicking around the placemats to ensure everything looks perfect. The silverware is perfectly polished, the plates are centered in front of each seat, and wine glasses are set to the side, ready to be filled. She takes a step back and admires her work, proud of the setting.

Santana steps back into the kitchen and grabs a rag from a nearby cabinet to get a head start on the dishes. She takes a clean spatula from the drying rack and dries it with the towel, setting it on the clean counter when she finishes.

"I told you I'd get those."

Brittany folds her arms across her chest and leans against the stove, admiring Santana as she continues working.

"And I told you that's not necessary. You cooked, I clean," she argues.

"I can't do both?"

"No." Santana smiles at the girl and throws the rag over her shoulder, moving about the kitchen to put away the dishes. "It's bad enough you're cooking in my apartment."

"I offered," Brittany shrugs. There's no animosity in their tones—just quiet fondness.

Santana chuckles and shakes her head, thinking back to their conversation earlier that day. It's been a week since their walk in the park, and Santana finally mustered up the courage to visit Brittany during one of her shifts.

When she walked in, the blonde immediately noticed her presence, and her face lit up from the concentrated frown she directed toward the espresso machine.

"Hey, stranger," she greeted when Santana reached the counter. Brittany propped her hands on the surface and leaned forward, shortening the distance between the two.

Santana returned a smile, moving a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Finally stopped by?" she asked.

Santana sucked her lips into her mouth and smirked, pretending to read over the menu. "I figured it was time for an actual cup of coffee." She shrugged. "That crap at the office never has enough caffeine."

Brittany grabbed a nearby coffee cup and wrote Santana's name on the side, placing it on the counter until she knew her order. "I hear it's a drug…maybe someone's addicted?" she teased.

"It's not an addiction. It's a coping mechanism," Santana replied, looking at Brittany fully. She had her hair in a low ponytail, a grey shirt, and a blue cafe apron. She'd never thought anyone looked so good in a barista uniform before.

"I feel that's a common excuse." She tapped a couple of things on the device in front of her as Santana continued mulling over her choices. The brunette didn't notice the subtle looks she shot over the counter, admiring the way her eyes flit over the daily specials.

"I'll just take a black coffee."

"All that pondering for something so plain?" Brittany joked, walking over to pour coffee into the cup. Steam wafts around the cup as the liquid pours down.

"I was actually looking at the pastries, thank you," Santana defended. "I haven't eaten today—my boss has been on my case since she walked in this morning."

"Ah," Brittany said, tilting her head back at the revelation. "Well, what are you doing later?"

Santana shrugged and shook her head slightly, no plans coming to mind.

"If you're not busy…maybe we can have dinner?"

That pitstop for caffeine led to where they are now…baked spaghetti in the oven and Brittany preparing a side salad to pair with the dish. Santana tries to step in where she can, but the blonde's adamant about cooking dinner herself.

"You're being a total control freak," Santana teases, leaning against one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

"Perfect is perfect," Brittany responds, looking up to shoot Santana a wink before continuing to slice vegetables. "But," she drawls, "since you're obviously pining for some control, you can pick out the movie?"

Santana nods, content with that suggestion. "Deal." She playfully pats Brittany's shoulder as she passes, walking over to her small DVD collection in her living room. She doesn't have too many movie variations. Most of her discs are her favorites from high school—which isn't bad, but they're not really her favorites anymore.

It's all dark stuff—the Scream movies, Child's Play, and the odd Star Wars or Marvel films. She doesn't want to completely subject Brittany to her nerdy side—not even Quinn and Rachel know too much about it.

She picks up a couple of boxes and decides to go with Child's Play. It's a classic, right? It's scary, but no one really takes it seriously—it's more comedy than horror at this point. She pulls the disc out of the box and slides it into the DVR, waiting for the title screen to appear, when she hears a loud thunk from the kitchen.

"Brittany?" she asks, setting the box down and rushing to the kitchen. When she enters, she finds her kitchen knife haphazardly thrown to the side of the cutting board, a half-cut tomato wobbling on the surface, and Brittany standing over the sink, running water over her hand. "Are you okay?"

Brittany quickly turns around and hides her hand behind her back, attempting to send Santana a reassuring smile as she nods. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and her eyes are glistening with tears.

"What happened?" Santana asks, her voice gentle as she nears the blonde. As she gets closer, she notices how Brittany tenses and stands up straighter. The water's still running in the sink, and she can see Brittany's hand remaining under the flow. "Brittany?" she asks again at the blonde's silence, peering around her body to get a view of the sink.

When she does so, Brittany moves with Santana, blocking her vision. Santana sighs and gives her a pointed look, unsure of what the blonde could be hiding. Did she break something? If she did, it's not like Santana owns anything irreplaceable.

"I just cut my finger," Brittany says nonchalantly, waving her free hand dismissively. "No biggie."

Santana's eyes widen and she rushes to grab Brittany's arm, pulling it from the running water. She sees a slit on the side of the girl's palm, and she quickly grabs a clean towel to wrap around it. "That's a huge biggie, Britt!" she exclaims.

"I'm fine," Brittany reassures. "Really."

"Do you need a bandaid…ointment? Oh, God, does it need stitches?" Santana pulls the towel back to glance at the cut again, slightly panicking and unsure what to do.

"No, I'm fine, Santana." Brittany gently removes her hand from the brunette's and holds the towel in place with slight pressure. "My mom's a nurse—it's just a shallow cut."

Santana nods and steps backward toward the hall, pulling the first aid kit out of her linen closet. "You at least need a bandaid."

Brittany nods and chuckles. "I'm not gonna say no to that one."

Santana can hear the awkwardness in Brittany's tone, although she's unsure why. She pulls a large bandaid from the case and peels it open, careful not to touch the gauze in the center. She holds out her hand and looks Brittany in the eye, silently asking if she can help.

Brittany sighs and puts her hand in Santana's, allowing the girl to carefully unwrap the towel and place the bandaid over the cut. "I'm sorry," she says, her eyes not leaving her hand.

Santana pauses in her movement. "For what?" she asks, looking at Brittany, but the blonde's eyes don't leave their hands.

"Ruining dinner," she replies meekly. "Making you worry."

Santana smooths her finger over the bandaid, being gentle as she runs her hand over Brittany's. "You don't have anything to apologize for," Santana reassures. "If anyone should be apologizing, it's me."

Brittany looks up at Santana with furrowed brows, puzzled at Santana's statement.

"I'm the one with the dull-ass knife," Santana jokes, a small smile forming on her face. "And tomatoes are a bitch to cut with one."

A smile breaks through Brittany's features, and she flickers her gaze from her bandaged hand to Santana's face. Suddenly, she wraps her free arm around Santana's shoulders and squeezes her once before releasing. "Thank you," she says.

"Thank you," Santana responds. "If it's any consolation, I was going to pick the tomatoes out of the salad anyway." She swings their grasped hands between their bodies, adoring Brittany's jaw drop at the revelation.

/

"Not to give you the third degree," Brittany starts. "But it's really hard to eat popcorn with this wrap on."

Santana turns to look at the blonde, watching as she tries to pick up popcorn with her free fingers, trying not to let it contact the large ace bandage wrapped around her palm that Santana insisted she wear after dinner. "Sorry," Santana apologizes. "It really is a bit much, huh?"

"Maybe a little," Brittany laughs. "But it's okay. Popcorn isn't my favorite movie snack anyway." She leans forward to place the bowl of popcorn on the floor beside her, reaching for the pack of M instead. She smiles at Santana and leans back into the couch, silently telling Santana she can play the movie.

With one click on the remote, the opening scene starts playing, painting the room in black except for the light from the television. Santana tries her best to focus on the movie, but she's seen it multiple times before. She finds that she'd much rather watch Brittany than some doll with a knife. She can't see too much of the blonde's face, since the room's pretty dark, but she can see the reflection of the screen in her eyes.

She watches as Brittany occasionally grabs a few M pieces and places them in her mouth—how her jaw clenches each time she chews. She watches how her eyes widen slightly every time something intriguing happens, even though the movie hasn't really gotten scary yet. She watches how she tilts her head further back into the couch, comfortable in her spot—comfortable in Santana's presence.

Santana finds herself inching closer to the blonde before she can even stop herself. She doesn't make any move, but their bodies are less than a foot apart now, their gazes locked on the movie. Santana can't admire Brittany's profile this close without the girl noticing, so she fixes her vision on the screen but lets her mind visualize Brittany instead.

It's only when Brittany physically tenses and jumps that Santana lets her gaze fall back on the blonde. Her eyes are slightly squinting, and her lips are positioned down in a grimace. Santana knows this part of the movie isn't particularly friendly, but she hopes she didn't pick a movie that would make Brittany uncomfortable. Besides…everyone knows who Chucky is, right?

It's after a particularly gruesome stabbing, when Brittany covers her face with her hands, that Santana realizes the answer.

"Is the movie too scary?" Santana whispers. "Do you want me to turn it off?"

"N-no," Brittany stutters, shaking her head but keeping her gaze locked on the television. "Just a jump scare."

Santana can hear the nerves in her voice, so she knows Brittany's lying. She reaches for the remote. "Well, I'm not digging it."

Brittany looks over at Santana, her bottom lip clenched between her teeth.

"Can I?" Santana asks, holding up the remote.

Brittany nods and takes a deep breath, her shoulders visibly deflating as the movie pauses. Santana stands from the couch and turns on the light before turning off the TV altogether. She places the remote on the TV stand and returns to the dining table, grabbing the opened bottle of wine and two clean glasses.

When she returns, she holds up the bottle, silently asking Brittany if she wants any. Brittany nods with a relieved smile and gently takes the glass from Santana's hand, holding it while she pours the wine.

"Thanks," she mutters.

Santana gives her a warm smile and places the wine bottle on the nearby table, returning to her seat on the couch. She sits sideways now, facing Brittany, and pulls her leg underneath her.

"You didn't like the movie?" Brittany asks, swirling her glass and watching the liquid ripple inside.

"Nah," Santana says. "I've seen it too many times. Not as good as I remember, either."

Brittany nods awkwardly. "Yeah…" she trails off, sipping her wine.

"Have you seen it before?" Santana asks.

Brittany shakes her head. "Never. But I think it's gonna be stuck in my head for a while."

"I'm sorry, Britt. I would've picked another movie if I'd have known—"

"It's not that," Brittany interrupts, chuckling. "It's just…my aunt has a toddler—with red hair—and I have a feeling I'm not gonna be able to look at him the same until he gets a little taller."

Santana laughs and leans her head down, amused but also understanding Brittany's point. "You've never heard of Child's Play?" she asks.

Brittany nods. "Oh, yeah, I have. My mom used to buy the big bags of mixed candy around Halloween every year. It was my favorite assortment." The corner of her mouth has a slight tilt, telling Santana she's mainly joking.

"Mm," Santana responds, nodding her head slowly. "Now I know you're favorite candy—guess I can cross that off the list."

"You have a list?" Brittany muses.

Santana rests her arm on the back of the couch and rests her head in her hand, looking at her surroundings. She purses her lips and shakes her head, embarrassed that she slipped and Brittany caught on. "A short one, maybe."

"Short's good," Brittany reassures. "Mine may be a little longer."

"You have a list?" Santana repeats Brittany's question, smirking at the blonde.

"I do," Brittany answers, not shying away from the question. "Want to cross some things off?"

Santana pulls her mouth to one side and sits up straight, crossing her legs as she gets settled in her new position. "Absolutely. You start."

Brittany moves to mimic Santana's position, squinting and pursing her lips as she thinks of her first question. "Favorite color?"

Santana laughs at the question. "Grey. You?"

"Purple."

"Favorite food?"

"Tomatoes, obviously," Brittany answers, rolling her eyes amusingly as she jokes about the night's previous events.

Santana laughs.

"Hobbies?" Brittany asks.

Santana slyly looks to her coffee table, where her half-finished puzzle still sits, waiting to be resumed.

Brittany picks up on her intent. "I was wondering about that," she says, smiling. "Puzzles, huh?"

"And books." Santana shrugs slyly. "Watch any sports?"

"Huge football fan," Brittany replies. "Who Dat!"

Santana looks at her with a confused grin as Brittany does a small fist pump into the air. "What?"

"Oh, come on!" Brittany exclaims. "New Orleans? NFL?"

Santana shakes her head—nothing comes to mind.

"Ugh, fine." Brittany waves off. "Morning person or night owl?"

"Night owl. You?"

Brittany narrows her eyes as she thinks of her response. "I'd say I'm a little bit of both. I love a good morning, but there's something so…enchanting about night."

Santana nods in understanding.

"What's something you want to learn?" Brittany asks.

"Oo, that's a good one," Santana compliments, pointing her finger at Brittany. "Fold a fitted sheet," she answers after a moment.

Brittany laughs, throwing her head back at Santana's response. "Has anyone ever told you you're quick-witted?" she asks.

"It mayyy have come up in past conversations, yes," Santana admits.

"I like it," Brittany compliments, giving Santana a soft smile.

Her eyes are sparkling so bright, and Santana doesn't know if it's because of the wine or the sheer intoxication this girl gives her. If she had it her way, she'd never have to spend time out of the blonde's company.

"I'm glad," Santana responds. "It can be a point of contention sometimes."

"What do you mean?"

Santana takes a deep breath and breaks eye contact with Brittany as she speaks. "I'm not always the nicest person," she concedes. It's not something she's proud of, and she's working on it, but it's a truth she has to accept. If not openly, then at least to herself.

"You've been nice to me," Brittany says softly. Her tone doesn't show any judgment or curiosity. It's just warm…open. As if Santana wanted to share, she's there to listen and not judge—but she's not looking for any confession.
Santana thinks over her words for a moment before looking back up at Brittany. "In the past," she clarifies. "And…still sometimes I guess."

Brittany nods in understanding. "We all have our own temperament. I don't think it's right to judge someone when they get pushed over the edge."

"It's not even that," Santana admits. She doesn't like talking about the person she was five years ago—as far as she's concerned, that version of herself disappeared when she graduated. But something about Brittany makes her feel safe—like she can speak freely about every insecurity and flaw and doesn't have to feel ashamed. "In high school," she starts, sipping her wine before setting it beside her, "I wasn't anything like I am today. I actually have to remind myself of that sometimes."

Brittany doesn't speak. She just carefully listens to Santana's words with a kind expression on her face.

"I was captain of the cheerleading squad, had a lot of insecurities…things I wanted to hide. And I took it out on other people." She shrugs. "Rachel being one of them." Santana expects Brittany's expression to change at the familiar name, but it doesn't. "Part of me still feels guilty about everything I did—said—to her. It's like I have to make up for all of it. That's not why I'm friends with her, by any means," Santana clarifies, waving her hand, "it's just this looming cloud that never goes away. I'm past all that now, I'm better than I was, but I think Quinn and Rachel are honestly waiting for the day when I snap, you know? When I stop this act and retreat back to the person they knew me as for most of our lives."

Santana stops, finished with what she has to say for the time being, and looks to Brittany for her response. It takes a moment, and the girl's facial expression never changes, but her response isn't what Santana expects.

"Then they're not really your friends."

Santana narrows her eyes slightly but doesn't say anything. She waits for Brittany to find her words and continue.

"I've only known you for what? A month now?" She leans forward and crosses her hands together. "And I already know that you're one of the kindest people I've ever met. Especially in this city." Brittany holds eye contact. "Look at how you handled that situation on the day we met. That guy was a dick. I honestly would've kicked him square in the balls had he grabbed me like that."

Santana smiles at the mental image of Brittany doing that. It seems entirely out of character, but also…not.

"Point is…if I can see how good of a person you are, in such a short amount of time, they should be able to see that as well. But they should see it tenfold. They saw your character development first-hand. And if there's any doubt in their mind that this you is in any way still correlated with past you, then there's some improvement needed on their part…not yours."

Santana can feel a familiar sting at the back of her eyes at Brittany's words. For so long, she's carried around this heavy burden of guilt, wanting nothing more than to shed it. She got rid of the Santana that caused all the pain, but it's like the consequences still lay heavy on her chest.

"Even when I'm being sarcastic?" Santana asks.

"Even when you're being sarcastic," Brittany reassures with a smile. "Or teasing, or even when you are mad."

Santana clears her throat and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thanks…" she says softly, not making eye contact.

Brittany reaches forward and grabs her hand, squeezing it between her own. Santana smiles at the bandage firmly wrapped around her hand, embarrassed but amused at her over-exaggeration. "Thank you," she replies. "But I do believe it is your turn to ask a question."