It's been a while since I posted a Brittana oneshot so here's a long one. I'm not entirely satisfied with some parts of this but I don't know how to fix it and the writing has been dragging for long enough so I'm sorry for any quality issues. This is dedicated to my dear Novaforever, you know why.
It all started before she had even met Brittany. She had no idea how to explain its occurrence or who exactly to blame for it. But for whatever reason when she became a teenager her parents started becoming strangely supportive of her and not in a "You can do anything you put your mind to" way.
One day she had come home from school to find her living room decked out with streamers, balloons, and even a star piñata. It looked like the place was set up for a birthday party –the only thing was that it wasn't her birthday, nor was it her father or mother's birthday either. So all she could do was let her mind stall as she gaped at her parents' jubilant faces, heads topped off with those dorky party hats. They were standing under a banner that proclaimed "Santana, we love you!" the banner was garishly rainbow coloured, that should have been her first warning sign. But how could she really have known what this party was about? The only possibility she could think of was that she had some kind of terminal disease that no one had told her about or that she was adopted or something.
"Mom, Dad... what is this? Is... is everything okay?"
Seeing her hesitance, the pair made their way to Santana and enveloped her in their arms in a group hug. This did nothing to alleviate Santana's worries over the source of the sudden celebration. When they pulled away from her they looked so damn excited and happy that Santana kind of wanted to back out of the room until their enthusiasm was brought down a notch.
"Santana, this is just a party celebrating you and everything you are," her mother said.
"We love you so much and you make us so proud. We just want to let you know that you have every right to be proud about who you are," it was her dad's turn now.
"And express it in any way you like," Her mom chimed in.
Now they just beamed at her and looked at her expectantly. And she just wanted to know what the fuck was going on.
"What does that even mean? Are you trying to get me to act more Puerto Rican? I'm not celebrating my culture enough or something?"
Her parents looked at each other, puzzled, before quickly shaking their heads.
"No, Santana, we're talking about something else. It's okay if you're not ready to talk about it right now but we just wanted to say that it's more than okay to be gay."
Santana felt her jaw drop.
What. The. Hell. Was. This?
"I'm not gay!" She blurted, appalled that her sexuality ever came into question.
"Or bisexual or pansexual or maybe you just don't like labels, it's not important. What is important is that we will always be here to support you and love you."
She felt prickly panic all over her skin. This was too much. She was straight. Straight as an arrow. Straight as a ruler. Straight like her perfect teeth.
She was just thirteen years old. How could she be anything but straight? She didn't know one person her age that was gay. And she most certainly wasn't. Obviously her parents were just confused about life in general, like they usually were.
"Mom, Dad, I'm going to tell you this one more time. Make sure you listen. I am not gay. I'm straight. I'm not going to have a party or eat any of that rainbow cake you have there. Now I'm going upstairs to listen to the Jonas Brothers, a band that's full of boys."
There we go, that ought to cement her obvious heterosexuality.
"Whatever you want, mi corazón. These things take time," her mom said with a smile that clearly showed that she was humouring her daughter.
She narrowed her eyes at their still-so-very-happy faces and stormed out, intent on sulking in her room. She made sure to stomp on every single stair up to emphasise how very mad her parents had made her.
She thought that would be the end of the story. She had thought that maybe her parents had just caught an episode of The L Word on Showtime one day and had convinced themselves that their daughter was an L word too. Once they saw how wrong they were, they would just drop the over-supportive parent act because really there was no need. But the story wasn't even close to ending.
Periodically they would check in with her and give her basically the same speech, while she sputtered with outrage and said that she was straight, she was straight, she was STRAIGHT! And no matter how frazzled and angry she got, they would just stand there, smiling serenely, looking like they knew something she didn't.
She loved her parents but honestly they were aggravating. But even then they were more tolerable than they became later on, because she was afforded little breaks in between speeches. During these breaks she stopped obsessing over inspecting her life for things that might make her seem gay to her parents. At this time in her life it was only about every two months or so that she looked at herself panicked in the mirror and wondered if everyone at school could see what her parents saw. She didn't need that kind of attention in her life.
And then freshman year came. With it came older boys, popularity codes, Cheerios, red uniforms that hugged curves and showed off leg, and of course Brittany.
Brittany was something else.
Santana didn't notice her right away. Being a little more reserved than some of the other girls on the team, Brittany blended into the crowd well enough. Until she started moving. Brittany was an amazing dancer. The way she could twist and bend her body was mesmerising. Brittany danced like some people painted masterpieces or wrote great novels. Her body was the tool and the routines were her language. That's what got Santana's attention.
As practices went by she started noticing things. Like how strikingly blue Brittany's eyes were. Or how sometimes she would get this mischievous smile on her face when she saw Santana looking her way. And sometimes, if her parents hadn't made her freak out too much that week, Santana even found herself noticing how lovely and long the blonde's legs were. She only wished that she could be as tall and lithe as Brittany was.
At the time she supposed the catch she felt in her stomach that seemed to strike whenever the blonde looked her way was envy. Later she would recognise it as something entirely different.
All she knew was that something inside her was compelling her to learn more about Brittany and what better way to do that then by becoming her friend?
It was surprisingly easy.
Santana expected Brittany to be leery of her attention, to wonder if the dark haired girl really wanted to be her friend or just wanted to mess with her in order to get a better position on the pyramid. But that wasn't how Brittany's mind worked, she soon found out. After practice one day she went up to the blonde and put on her best smile, trying not to look cocky (which was a formidable task for her) or nervous. Because for some inexplicable reason she was nervous.
"Hey, I've been watching you at practice. You're pretty good at what you do," She told Brittany.
Did that sound stupid? God, why did all her finesse have to leave her just now?
Brittany let a ghost of a smile trail her lips as she took in Santana's compliment.
Santana raised an eyebrow at the simple yet self-assured comment. Brittany's smile grew.
"That you watch me. And that I'm good. Thank you."
The shorter girl didn't quite know where to go from here. She was slightly mortified that Brittany had noticed her staring. But the blonde was looking at her so expectantly that Santana forcibly pulled herself together. Or tried to, at least.
"What I'm saying is that you seem pretty cool. We should be friends. Or hang out some time, you know," She shrugged nonchalantly.
The smile melted off of Brittany's face and she gave her one long, scrutinising look. Santana tried not to squirm. When satisfied, the blonde glanced at her side before drawing close to the Latina.
"I have something very serious to ask you first. It is really important to me if we're going to be friends."
Swallowing slightly, Santana nodded.
"Do you like rainbows?"
Santana looked at the girl to see if she was joking. Brittany stared back, stone-faced.
"Well..." She thought of the ugly rainbow coloured items her parents had steadily started collecting and spreading throughout the house, "Yeah, sure. They're cool," She lied.
"How about birds? Ducks specifically."
"Uh yeah, I like them."
Brittany came even closer and Santana's breath caught in her chest.
"What about rainbow ducks?"
"Rainbow ducks? I don't know, I've never seen one," She said, now almost regretting having initiated this weird conversation.
Brittany's eyebrows drew together in contemplation but after a bit a dreamy, vacant look replaced it.
"Me neither. Okay, we can be friends," she said joyfully.
The brunette let out a breath when Brittany stepped out of her personal bubble.
"Sorry for giving you that test but I've had so-called friends that didn't let me know that they had a problem with ducks and rainbows until it was too late and I just want to make sure this time."
"Oh, that's terrible... misleading you like that," Santana said, trying to not look guilty.
"Right. So... can I come over to your place some time? Maybe we can hang out and watch a movie?"
Maybe it was the fact that suddenly the conversation was so much more promising, maybe it was because Brittany now looked a little shy and not quite so intense as before, but Santana felt a surge of confidence go through her.
"Sure, how's Friday sound to you?"
And so the date was set. Now came the hard part: making sure that her parents didn't ruin everything.
She decided to bring up the topic of her new friend at dinner. She figured that was when her parents would be at their most vulnerable and that they would be more inclined to listen when their mouths were full of mashed potatoes and roast. So after listening to her dad talking about the clinic and her mom about the office Santana cleared her throat. They turned to look at her warmly.
"And how about you, mi hija? Did you have a nice day?"
"Yeah, I guess I made a friend."
They looked delighted.
"Don't act so surprised. I know how to make friends. Anyway, the important thing is that she's coming over this weekend and I need you guys to try to act normal. And not you normal, I mean like regular parents normal."
Her mom frowned at that, while her dad shook his head and took a second helping of mashed potato.
"Yes, you absolutely know what I mean. I mean no saying that I'm gay in front of my new friend. Because I'm straight. No asking her why I haven't joined the gay straight alliance at school. No offering her baked goods that have rainbows iced into them. In fact, I don't want any rainbows in this house when she visits," Santana told them, crossing her arms as though the matter was settled.
"Santana, I know you want to make a good impression on your friend, but if she doesn't accept you for who you are then you should probably not be friends with her," her mother said.
Something in the way her mom said that made Santana snap. She launched to her feet and stood glaring at them.
"And why can't you accept who I am? Why can't you accept that I'm straight? I like men, as much as you would love me to be a big lesbian!"
There was a lengthy pause as her parents looked upon her, pained.
"It's okay to be afraid, Santana," this time it was her dad saying it.
The lines in his face made him look so tired and old. She felt the clench of guilt rise up in her but she ignored it. She had every right to be mad. There was only so much she could take. She left them and went up to her room.
Finally it was Friday and she had gotten her parents to agree to be on their best behaviour. She felt a flutter of excitement when she heard the doorbell ring. She rushed down the stairs. But it seemed that she wasn't the only one who was excited to see her friend, because she saw her parents waiting for her near the front door.
"Guys, seriously, you don't need to meet her right away. You'll scare her away."
"We just want to know your friends, Santana," her mother smiled.
Santana shrugged and was about to open the door when she got a good look at what her dad was wearing. Nothing fancy, really, just a regular t-shirt. A regular t-shirt that so happened to have the words "I love my gay daughter" printed on it. Santana's jaw dropped in her surprised mortification.
"Dad! What are you wearing? Are you trying to ruin my life? Go change!"
"But I want to meet your friend! It would be rude not to greet her at the door."
The doorbell rang again, more insistently now. Panicking slightly, Santana drew her eyes to the coat rack and took her dad's jacket from it.
"Fine! Put this on, just throw it on quick!"
Her father grumbled a little, but complied. Santana threw the door open and there was Brittany, throwing her a cautious smile and proving that she looked just as good in her street clothes as she did in her Cheerios uniform.
"Hey," Santana smiled.
She opened the door more widely and ushered Brittany in.
"Um, these are my parents," she gestured to them and they grinned at her, "Javier and Ana. And this is Brittany."
The two practically leapt forward in their enthusiasm to shake the blonde's hand.
"So pleased to meet you."
Santana held her breath, fully expecting Brittany to run to the hills. But as she scanned the girl's face, she saw no alarm, strangely enough.
"Yes, it's nice to meet you too Ana, Javier. Why are you wearing a jacket? Is it cold in here?"
Her dad opened his mouth, likely about to say something like "Oh it's because my daughter is ashamed of my pride" or something equally embarrassing so Santana cut in before he could start.
"Oh, that's nothing. Let's go up to my room now," She said, pressing her palm into the small of Brittany's back, encouraging her to leave the hallway.
When they made it up to her room, Santana breathed a sigh of relief.
"Your parents are nice."
Brittany made herself at home right away. She was sitting on Santana's bed, swinging her legs, all sunny disposition and innocence.
"They're okay... when they aren't embarrassing me."
Brittany's bright look seemed to dim a little at that, but whatever was lost was soon regained with the lively conversation they dove into. And the more Santana talked to Brittany, the more she realised that going up to talk to the girl the other day was a good decision. A great decision, really.
The thing about Brittany was that she would say the strangest things sometimes and didn't care if people looked at her weird for it... it was kind of cool. She had this kind of ease about her that Santana envied.
So after getting to know each other better and eating some pizza and laughing a lot it was time to watch the movie she had prepared. Santana picked up the dvd box from her nightstand and showed it to the blonde.
"So my parents picked this out for us to watch. It's supposed to be kind of like Charlie's Angels or something. If it's lame though we can stop watching and just pick another movie out."
Brittany had been hugging her legs drawn up close to her body but lowered them in favour of inspecting the cover of the box. Four girls in schoolgirl outfits graced the cover and in the middle was the movie's title "D.E.B.S".
"Looks fun," Brittany passed the box back.
The brunette nodded her head and started the dvd player up. When the title screen came on the TV she selected the movie and went to settle at the head of her bed, next to Brittany.
Santana didn't quite know what to expect from the movie at first. She hoped it wouldn't be some cheap knock-off of Charlie's Angels, but so far the first ten minutes had been promising. And then came the revelation that the main villain of the story was a lesbian.
Suddenly it became obvious why her parents chose this movie for her.
She nervously glanced over at Brittany to see her reaction. But the blonde wasn't giving her anything to work with, keeping her face impassive. Santana sighed and edged her body further away from Brittany's. Maybe they could watch for a bit longer. She just hoped that the story wasn't going where she thought it was going.
Of course that was too much to hope for. But Santana had been ready for it. When she saw the main character, who was apparently over her ex-boyfriend, close her eyes and part her lips as the supposed villain drew close, Santana scrambled for the remote on her nightstand and pressed stop.
"Well! That's enough of that, right? What do you want to watch now? Twilight or The Notebook?"
She sounded jittery, didn't she? She hoped that Brittany didn't notice the quaver in her voice or the way she couldn't seem to look the girl in the eyes.
"Why d'you stop it?"
Surprised, Santana met the girl's questioning eyes. Brittany wasn't smiling now. She looked at once both worried and slightly put out.
"Do you have a problem with lesbians, Santana?"
No one had ever asked her that before.
"No... no! No, it's just –my parents have this idea, this crazy idea and it uh..."
Brittany tilted her head slightly in incomprehension, much like a puppy would. It was kind of... adorable. Or cute or whatever was an appropriate thing to call your recently made platonic friend.
"Never mind. Let's just go back to watching this thing," Santana muttered, cheeks flaming.
The blonde nodded and looked pleased at that. When the Latina went back to the bed it almost felt like Brittany had drawn closer to her (were their legs touching before?), but that might have just been her.
The first time Santana had sex with Brittany was amazing. Everything had felt so right. In the moment at least. And also the next day when she saw the soft spread of blonde hair on her pillow and those sleepy, beautiful blue eyes.
Santana couldn't resist the urge to climb on top of the girl and kiss her languidly, so she didn't even try. But already there was panic clawing at her rib cage, tearing, trying to break free.
She eased the monster by cheapening the moment, whispering "You made me come so hard last night". Brittany still smiled, but Santana knew she would have smiled even bigger if she had whispered about how special the night had been, how she felt that Brittany had shaken her to her core.
But Santana needed to emphasise the physical, the sexual. What do you need to attain orgasm, really? It requires manual stimulation paired with a good sense of imagination, that's all.
It doesn't need to have anything to do with liking men or women.
That's what she tells herself at least.
So her and Brittany got dressed, went downstairs for breakfast, tried not to laugh when Ana or Javier asked them if they got much sleep that night, and then Santana walked the blonde home, a few blocks away. Before letting the girl go up to her house, Santana gave her a peck and reminded her that this had just been a onetime thing. She said it nicely enough, or so she liked to think. But Brittany's smile seemed a little strained as she waved goodbye and then walked up her driveway.
Santana walked home mechanically. She felt like she was in a stupor as she entered her house, ignored her parents' greetings and made her way upstairs. Her bed was in disarray, sheets tangled and the comforter lay half on the floor. It was quite obvious what had gone down in there.
Shaking her head of memories of tongues teasing and teeth scraping tantalisingly over flesh, she threw herself onto the bed. She was immediately engulfed in her best friend's scent.
She closed her eyes and buried her face into the pillow. The bed smelled like Brittany. And sex.
Oh god she had sex with Brittany last night.
And liked it.
No, loved it.
And wanted to do it all over again.
But she was straight.
She turned onto her back and groaned. She didn't need these little flashes that were coming back to her. Choice clips of the blonde were replaying in her mind. Brittany, squirming under Santana's touch, begging with her eyes. The gentle, teasing graze of pale fingers up and down a tanned torso before those fingers were brought down with intent.
She just wanted to forget it all.
Forget about how she couldn't keep her promise to be a good friend.
Forget about how one dark, passionate look from Brittany was enough to make her lose control of herself.
Forget that being with Brittany felt so fucking right.
Most of all, she wanted to forget because straight girls aren't supposed to enjoy feeling how very wet their best friends are.
She had to stop thinking. Sitting up abruptly, Santana swung her legs off the bed and got up. She stripped the bed of its sheets and threw them in the wash. Then she threw herself into her homework, completing assignments that weren't due for weeks. She managed to distract herself from the buzz of confusion in her head until supper time, when her parents insisted she eat with them.
She brought an asparagus spear up to her mouth and chewed on it lifelessly as her parents practically shone with happiness. She wasn't really listening to them today but that was okay, they were probably talking about something they read about in the newspaper or something equally boring. She only tuned in when she noticed they were looking at her pointedly.
"... over, Santana?"
She blinked stupidly a few times.
"Uh, sorry, could you repeat that, Mom?"
"When is your girlfriend coming over again?"
Santana felt like she had been dropped into ice water.
"Your girlfriend, Brittany? You know what would be a lovely place to take her? To that nice little place that opened downtown. They do amazing Italian," her mom said, turning to Javier for confirmation.
He nodded his head in earnest.
"Yes, it's really good. I know you like your Breadstix, nena, but this place is a lot classier. Much better for a date."
Santana stood up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly.
"Brittany is not my girlfriend," her voice was dripping hostility and her glare left them no room for mistaking her current mood as anything but angry.
All they could do was stare at her in shock. And once again Santana sequestered herself in her room. Later her mother would come to comfort her, apologize and plant a kiss on her forehead, just like she always did. But nothing would change. Her parents would still think she was gay and some part of her would still wonder if they were right.
She heard the front door open and close. Then the muffled sound of lively conversation. And then –"Santana! Your girlfriend is here!"
The brunette sighed in annoyance and hurried downstairs. She found Brittany and her parents standing in the hallway, chatting animatedly. They quietened when she approached. She smiled at her friend and greeted her before whipping to face her parents.
"She's not my girlfriend. Oh and by the way, tomorrow I'm going to Breadstix with Puck. A boy."
She ignored the sympathetic look her parents shot Brittany, but she couldn't do the same when she saw the pained look on the blonde's face. Guilt gnawed at Santana's gut. But she had to do this. She couldn't let her parents think that Brittany was her girlfriend. And she also couldn't let Brittany think that their arrangement was anything other than physical.
But it seemed like however many times she told them that Brittany wasn't her girlfriend, her parents never changed their tune. Every single time the blonde came over they always greeted her like doting in-laws, and they always called her Santana's girlfriend. Brittany, it seemed, loved it.
The first time Quinn came over to hang out Santana had been expecting a full inquiry. Her dad would ask her why she had broken up with Brittany, while her mother would compare Quinn to the old girlfriend to decide if she was a suitable replacement. Santana wanted to make things clear to them from the start and so right after she let Quinn into the house she properly introduced her to her parents.
"Mum, Dad, this is Quinn. She's just a friend, not my girlfriend," She told them warningly.
"Of course she isn't. What? You think we don't know how to differentiate between blondes? We know she's not Brittany. Quinn, so very nice to meet you," Ana greeted warmly.
"Don't mind our daughter, she's convinced we don't know anything. You don't treat your poor parents like that, do you Quinn?" Javier asked.
"No sir, can't say that I do," Quinn was grinning like the jerk she was.
All Santana could do in retaliation was glare at them all. And later, when they were hanging in Santana's room she made sure to give Quinn the ice queen treatment. Until Quinn decided to throw her a fastball, that is.
"Brittany, huh? So are you two dat-"
"No! No... why would you even? I didn't-! We just... you know?" Santana knew she was being incoherent, but she couldn't bring herself to tell Christian Quinn, president of the celibacy club that she was (best) friends with benefits with Brittany.
But it seemed that she didn't need to say anything. Quinn nodded knowingly.
"Yeah, I know. You're not that subtle."
Santana sputtered, trying to think of things to say in defence, or perhaps in retaliation if she could manage it.
" And I was pretty certain that you didn't have the guts to date Brittany, but I wanted to make sure," Quinn smirked haughtily.
What a bitch. Santana thought this explained why she hadn't invited this particular blonde over to her house before.
She was going to say something. That it wasn't about guts, she just wasn't into girls in that way. That she was a badass that wasn't scared of anything.
But these days she felt like her fears were piling up by the minute. And most of those fears happened to involve Brittany in some way.
"Not that you really need too much more courage when your parents already think you're gay."
Finally Santana was able to wrench out a weak reply.
"But I'm not..."
The blonde ignored this and continued on.
"It must be nice... having parents that support you no matter what. I could really have used that a month ago," seemingly subconsciously, Quinn placed a hand on her stomach, which would soon swell with the life she carried.
All defence mechanisms were halted abruptly and Santana gulped back some guilt. Quinn definitely had a point there.
"Yeah, you're right. They're kind of great. Did you want to share them? They seem to like you fine," the dark haired girl offered, a bit awkwardly.
Comfort was not her forte.
Quinn seemed pleased enough. She smiled and nodded. Santana noted in slight alarm that there were actual tears in Quinn's eyes. It must have been the pregnancy hormones.
"You could be like my replacement sister. Since my real one doesn't want anything to do with me."
Her face crumpled, as she was wracked with sobs. Santana's chest tightened in sympathy and she moved to take the girl into a hug. Why did everything have to be so hard?
Santana had told them time and again: Brittany's not my girlfriend, she's not my girlfriend. Always said in anger, in frustration. Now she said it again, over and over. Brittany's not my girlfriend, she's not mine. But this time it was a lament.
She had finally done it. She had gone up to Brittany at her locker and told her everything. All the things that she had been too scared to admit were true. Santana knew that there was a chance that she would get her heart broken. She had assumed that it would have been because Brittany didn't love her in the same way. She never expected Brittany to say she loved her and then reject her in the same breath.
It hurt. It hurt so much. And not just because she got rejected, but because now she thought she might be gay and she no longer had her best friend to turn to.
Santana had Brittany as a friend but she had walked away from her because she felt like she couldn't be around the blonde. Like she would break completely if Brittany put her arms around her.
But somewhere deep down Santana knew that she had been setting herself up for a failure. She knew that Brittany was too loyal to choose her over Artie. Brittany was too nice sometimes, but she still managed to reach into Santana's chest, grab her heart and squeeze it like a tennis ball.
Santana was used to feeling alone. People tended to be jealous of her, or they didn't like her attitude, or they just plain couldn't handle her, so they left her by herself. But now, stumbling to her car and fumbling with the ignition before driving off to anywhere far away from her best friend, she felt more alone than ever.
Sniffing and wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand (likely smearing eyeliner everywhere but what did she care?), Santana turned on the radio, mashing buttons so that anything would come on to distract her from herself. A familiar sounding song came on and she blinked her bleary eyes in an attempt to see the road more clearly.
What's worse than having your heart broken? Having your head broken from getting into a car crash because you're stupidly driving while crying your eyes out over a girl who is probably busy making out with her boyfriend, Santana thought, bitterly.
She came up to a red light and took the time to grab a tissue and wipe at her eyes furiously. She looked at herself in the rear view mirror and narrowed her eyes. This was shit. She was going to stop crying and stop driving aimlessly. What was this, some crappy Nicholas Sparks novel? She was Santana Lopez for fuck's sake.
Suddenly the instruments playing in the song became accompanied by a voice.
I try to discover a
Little something to
Make me sweeter
Refrain from breaking my heart.
I'm so in love with you
Now Santana recognised the song. It was from that stupid lesbian movie she watched with Brittany when they first became friends. The lyrics were definitely not something she needed at the moment.
"Fuuuuck you," she hissed, almost punching her radio in an effort to get it to turn off.
She looked up and noticed that the light had turned green. Then she was met with the aggravating sound of someone giving their car horn some action. Not even bothering to turn around, Santana flipped the guy behind her off and pressed down hard on the gas pedal.
After some time she drove into her house's driveway and parked. She didn't feel good, not by a long shot. But she had managed to not let one stray tear out for the rest of the drive home. She was going to keep it up because crying never did shit for her. Crying wasn't going to set everything back to how it was before. Crying wasn't going to make Brittany forget about Artie
She was going to toughen up. She was going to forget about Brittany, Artie, everything that made her feel out of control.
Grabbing her bag, she exited her car. She made her way up to her front door and opened it cautiously. She was planning to tell her parents that she didn't feel well, that she had a migraine or something. Or at least that was the plan. But then she came into the living room and found the place bedecked with rainbows, rainbow streamers, rainbow banners. And, in the centre of the room were her mom and dad, smiling goofily with those stupid party hats on. On the table in front of them there was a rainbow cake.
Shakily, Santana drew closer and saw that they had written "We love you, Santana" on the cake. Her gaze darted back up to her parents, who were looking concerned.
"I'm sorry mi hija, we didn't mean to make you sad," Javier told her, looking guilty.
"We don't mean to push so hard. If you say you're straight, we believe you. We will love you no matter what," Ana said.
Santana noticed there were lit candles on the cake. And even they were rainbow coloured.
The next thing she knew she had burst into tears and was soon bawling her eyes out. Ana and Javier were taken aback for a moment but then moved away from the coffee table and enveloped the girl into a hug.
"B-Brittany's not my girlfriend, mom. She's not mine. She doesn't want me," She sobbed as her mother rubbed her back soothingly.
The thing that Santana never knew when she said that she was straight as an arrow was that arrows don't stay straight, they bend after being shot. Straight as a ruler? Well there were many perfectly bendy rulers out there. Straight as her perfect teeth? Her teeth were only straight because of many thousands of dollars that were spent on orthodontic work. So maybe she wasn't as straight as she had previously thought.
And falling in love with your best friend who happens to be a girl? That was pretty gay.
But so was going on a roadtrip with your girlfriend to go to perform in a National show choir competition in New York.
"Are you two doing okay back there? Do you have to go to the bathroom? We can stop if you need to."
Santana rolled her eyes while Brittany just giggled at her side.
"I'm okay, Javier," the blonde smiled, running her fingers distractingly up and down Santana's forearm.
"We're fine, Dad. You don't have to keep asking us."
Ana looked back to her from the passenger's seat.
"We just don't want you girls to be shy. We can stop whenever, we have plenty of time to get to the city."
Brittany gave Ana a reassuring nod and the woman, apparently satisfied, turned back toward the front of the car. The blonde's gaze was brought back down to Santana's arm and she resumed her feather-light touches that made goosebumps rise up, despite the heat of the car. It almost felt like Brittany was drawing patterns on her skin.
"What are you doing?" Santana asked quietly, more curious than bothered by the ministrations.
Finally Brittany raised those blue eyes up to Santana's dark ones. She bit her lip and gave her a playful look.
"Do you need a translation?"
Santana's brows drew together in confusion.
"For this," Brittany emphasised and started drawing more patterns on her arm.
Laughing softly, Santana nodded.
"Yes, I need a translation, B."
"Well I was bored while you were napping, so I made up my own language. There are about a hundred ways to say 'I love you' and I'm writing them all on your arm... it's taking a while," Brittany almost sounded apologetic.
Santana felt her heart swell with a kind of simple happiness that she had never thought she would achieve. She took the tracing hand in hers and entwined their fingers.
"You don't have to do that... I know already," she whispered.
The blonde's mouth twitched into a smile once more. She brought her face forward and rested their foreheads together.
"I wanted to make sure," Brittany said.
And then she pressed their lips softly together in a chaste kiss. It was nice, until she heard the rumble of her dad's chuckle.
"Hey, aren't you supposed to be paying attention to the road? We could have gone on the bus to get to Nationals like everyone else, but you promised you two wouldn't say anything about me and Brittany," Santana complained.
Her father laughed once more, louder, and her mother joined in.
"Santana, I didn't say a word. You think you'd be better off with ten other kids? They would be way worse than we are."
She huffed at their mirth, putting on a show, but really she was hiding a smile. As she nestled into her girlfriend's side, she thought that she really could not have gotten luckier.