We've kind of just been at it for weeks.
Not just the cheek kissing and hand holding, either. Although, those things are pretty damn sweet, too. But no, it's been, like, nonstop hanging out and exploring the city together for a couple of weeks now, and it's basically just really incredible.
We're not dating. Well. We're sort of dating, but she's not my girlfriend, and we haven't even properly kissed yet, which rules out a few other things (unfortunately), but I think we're definitely getting there. Like, what we're doing right now? It kind of fits in to what most people would deem 'couple-y'.
Cuddling is great, and if you think otherwise, you're lying to yourself. Honestly, there aren't many things better than gettin' cozy with pretty ladies. Especially when the pretty lady is Emily Fields. This week, though, we've both been pretty busy.
She actually has a job at this little coffee shop that's about ten minutes from both of our places, so I've made a point to visit her between my own job interviews. Her uniform is legitimately the cutest thing ever. Ever. But see, the thing about Emily is that no matter who you are, she will be nice to you until you give her a reason not to. Working at a coffee shop, she ends up dealing with a lot of irritable people. There was one lady that said she had a deviant soul, and even threw her coffee cup at Emily for literally no reason, she was just crazy and needed caffeine. Which was obscenely ridiculous because she had no business yelling or creating violence with my gi-her, and if I would've been there, I would've ripped that bitch a new one. Emily brushes it off like it's no big deal, because apparently she puts up with that on a regular basis. Needless to say, Emily's been super stressed lately, and it's not fair.
So I figured I would help with that. We've both been out and about, so we decided that Thursdays would be reserved for our downtime together. Which usually leads to cuddling, thankfully.
"I'm serious! I don't think that's even remotely possible."
"Santana. I've seen it on TV."
"What channel? Disney channel? Because I swear to you, giraffes don't ski. It doesn't happen." She pinches the arm I have curled around her waist, but she's laughing all the same.
"No," she says, mock bitterness lacing her tone, "on real life television, Santana. Stuff that's a hundred percent provable." I'm glad her back's to me, because if it weren't, she'd slap me for rolling my eyes.
"Sure, babe. I absolutely believe you because of the evidence you have presented me with. Oh, wait. You have none." Turns out she didn't need to see me roll my eyes, because I was still slapped. "Ouch! Why are you so mean to me?"
"Me?" She actually turns around, which like, hi Emily's eyes, you're looking particularly glittery today. "If anybody's mean here, it's you!"
This has been my favorite part of the past weeks, really. Emily can be so unbearably adorable, and she doesn't even know it. She gets all fiery and smiley and cute and it's just too much. "Oh, it's totally you. You hurt me on a regular basis! I have bruises, Em."
Emily does this little scoff-type thing. "You hurt me right here." she then lifts her fingers from my jawline to outline the space around her heart.
"Nuh uh. Your heart's completely fine, you cry baby. Look," she's too busy shaking her head to see it coming, but I raise my hand and press it over the space she just mapped out, feeling her heartbeat. It doesn't feel like it's about to explode out of her chest cavity, so I think we're good. "Feels normal to me."
She ducks her head a little bit and scoots down the couch a little bit so she can rest her hand on my hip and her head on my own chest.
"Yours sounds pretty good, too."
This is just a reminder of how stupid it is that I haven't kissed her yet. How has that not happened? It needs to.
It's getting fairly late anyway, so we just stay like that for the rest of the night, and eventually she drifts out. Watching her sleep isn't as weird as it was that first time, I've mostly gotten past the whole 'this-is-creepy' phase, I guess. I could count on one hand how many times it's happened, though, so I'm still not totally used to it. For whatever reason, it's taking me longer than usual to fall asleep with her. Majority of the time, after I hear her breathing get heavier, I can fall asleep within ten minutes. It's been twenty, so I noticed a few more of her sleeping habits.
Emily talks in her sleep.
The next morning really isn't weird, because bringing me breakfast has actually become part of Emily's routine when she doesn't have to work the morning shift. So it's not like it's awkward that she's here, not even that she was sleeping on top of me when I woke up. It's a little weird that she kept saying another girl's name in her sleep, though.
"So, do you actually eat here when I don't bring you food? There's, like, nothing in your fridge."
Her arms aroung my waist and her nose pressing into my neck distract me from the question, so, "Sorry?"
"Food. Where do you keep that?" Emily's smirk is fucking sexy, there's no other way to put it.
"Uh, yeah. Just, you know." Emily's laugh is also really hot.
She nods, kisses the side of my neck, and then just walks back into the kitchen.
"Do you want anything in particular?" She asks from the doorway.
I shake my head, still kind of overwhelmed. Like I said, we've been doing things like that regularly, but it's usually after my brain starts working and not at an ungodly hour of the morning.
She makes biscuits, the extra flakey kind that could literally be used as pillows, and I can't really help but pull her into me while she makes them. Seriously, the only thing better than biscuits are breadsticks. Oh my god, I wonder if there's a BreadstiX around here.
Emily hung around for a while after we finished breakfast. We watched some reruns of Friends, and she played with my hair while I made phone calls. Nothing too exciting, but I was happy she stayed, and she was happy to be here. It was nice.
I didn't mention the girl that she was dreaming about or whatever. That's her business. And even though I'd like to know basically everything about whoever she is and why she's even relevant, it could be literally anything. If Emily ever wants to talk about it, I'm cool with that. But I'm not going to bring up something that I have no business talking about.
So maybe I should... educate myself. That's what Facebook is for, right?
Ten minutes later and I find myself sitting at my desk, the website now opened. But, fuck. What am I even doing? So what if Emily is dreaming about another girl? I dream about girls all the time. Beyonce and I kind of have a thing, actually. Anyway. Who even cares? Alison is a super popular name. Maybe she watches Community. Even if she doesn't, so what? She can dream about whoever she wants whenever she wants how ever she wants.
Would I like her to be dreaming about me? Duh.
Emily calls a few hours later to let me know that she won't be able to stop by at all tonight, because she has to cover another shift for one of the idiots that works for her. It sucks, but it's probably for the best right now. I've managed to unpack (mostly) everything, but now it's less about that and more about getting the things I didn't know I would need. Like the purchases I've already made this week: paper towels, an extra toothbrush(shut up), dryer sheets, light bulbs, a fan, and curtains. Crazy, right? So while she's busy making lattes or whatever the hell, I'll be furnishing my apartment and running errands. Which might not be a bad idea, because this will give both of us a chance to actually be productive instead of, well, us.
But like, I haven't been doing anything since she left, anyway... Why start now? I could always just go back to Facebook.
Who the hell is Alison?
Once I got to Emily's 'Friends' page, I knew that I should really just stop. That's exactly what I do, because really, what difference does it make? If Emily had a thing for this girl, how would that change anything? It wouldn't. She obviously doesn't have a thing with Alison anymore, because I feel like I would've met her or heard of her or something if she did. So we're good. It's good.
I don't really want to keep thinking into this so much, so I opt to take a walk. I've been around the 'neighborhood' a decent amount of times by now, so I know my way around pretty well. Lately I've been going on early morning runs just to clear my head, and the muffled buzz of the city is quite relaxing. It was always so eerily silent in Lima, and I don't think I've ever hated anything more than the deafening hum of nothing that encompassed the whole town.
I love it here. I love the lights, the music, the traffic, even the smell has grown on me. I finally got out of Lima, no matter the circumstance, and New York is everything I wished it would be. Well, mostly. But everyone gets homesick at some point. I've been keeping closer tabs on my family now than I had been at first, especially with my mom(not that she gave me much of a choice), but I still wish I had my friends with me.
Rachel's been too busy making lists of pros and cons for the eleven colleges she was accepted into to talk to lately, Brittany and Mike are starting a dance club together or something, Quinn's in fucking Germany for a month, Puck's been having some shit with Shelby Cocorwhateverthefuck, 'Cedes has been MIA for three weeks, like, nobody even knows where she went, and Sam and Artie work at some superhero-themed summer camp.
Whatever. That only leaves a handfull of people that I don't particularly want to talk to, and that's pretty shitty. I don't even care. Courses are starting in the fall anyway, I'll have tons of new friends and I'm sure they'll be just as great, if not better, than the Lima Losers I'm used to. It's fine. Everything's fine.
Who the fuck is Alison?
"Hi, can I help you?" The guy who answers the door clearly isn't Emily.
"Um, yeah, hi. Is Emily here?"
"Emily's at work."
I sigh, shaking my head at myself. How could I forget that she worked two shifts today, when she called me to tell me just that? Oh yeah, because I'm an idiot. "Right. Thanks."
As I'm turning to leave, the guy taps my shoulder to get me to turn back around. "I could tell her you came by?" he says, looking at me with this weird cross between a stoney and blank expression.
I shrug nonchalantly, "Nah, it's fine. Wasn't important. Thanks, though."
He smirks (it isn't nearly as sexy as Emily's), and nods, "Obviously it wasn't. That's why you walked here to talk to her, right?"
Who the fuck? "Whatever. You don't even know how close I may have been already. I could live in this building, so. Whatever."
He laughs, which, okay, rude. But then he nods again, "Santana. Yeah, nice to meet you. I'm Caleb."