I.

May

It's hard not to stare with so much sunlight in the room and with spring tipping over into summer—with just a few more weeks left until this strange, lurching school year concludes, and everything will either be different or it won't be.

It's hard not to stare when Santana wants everything so much but just can't find the words to say.

Santana sits on the edge of Brittany's bed, feet dangling over the carpet. She holds her hands in her lap and tries to mind her eyes as Brittany bops around the room, singing along to the Ke$ha song playing from her iPod speakers, haphazardly packing for their upcoming trip to New York for Show Choir Nationals.

Dust motes float on the afternoon light, riding waves of it like little surfboarders on a big swell. The glossy posters and photographs on Brittany's walls glint with streaks of sheen. Brittany's hair is starting to bleach to its fairest summer blonde, and the bridge of her nose has already begun to freckle though it's not yet June.

Santana's starting to think all about summer and ask herself too many questions.

"Maybe one of our songs will be on iTunes someday," Brittany muses, counting out several balled socks from her dresser drawer and tossing them one by one, basketball style, into the open suitcase sitting on the bed beside Santana. Brittany switches back to singing, "Oh, oh, oh. We're falling in love..."

When Brittany misses the suitcase on her last toss, Santana immediately stoops to retrieve the socks and put them where they belong.

"Thanks," Brittany says, dancing over to her closet, where she starts shuffling through her shoes, searching for suitable pairs to wear in the Big Apple. "I mean, 'My Headband' could totally be a Top Twenty hit, right, Santana?"

Santana smiles at Brittany and nods but doesn't say anything.

Brittany carries on. "Do you think people in New York are taller than they are here?" she asks, eyeing a pair of four inch heeled boots.

Santana shrugs, gripping tighter to her own hands.

She doesn't know how tall the people in New York are, but she does know that it's kind of amazing that Brittany even wants to be around her right now, considering everything that's happened between them over the last few months. Anyone else on the face of the planet probably never would have forgiven Santana for being so crazy for so long, but Brittany acts like Santana doesn't even need forgiving—like everything is already cool between them.

It just goes to show that Brittany is perfect.

Santana knows that she should just go with it—that she should just be grateful that everything is so cool and not second-guess it all so much.

But being cool isn't actually in Santana's nature and especially not when it comes to Brittany—or at least not recently.

Over the years, Santana has probably been in Brittany's bedroom about forty-thousand times and then some. Hell, she's even been here since Brittany broke up with Artie—and more than once, too. Still, Santana can't help but feel jittery, being in Brittany's space like this.

She doesn't want to screw it up.

"You're doing that thing again," Brittany complains, looking up from her boots to Santana. She wears a smirk, but her eyes are kind.

Santana starts.

She's doing what thing again? Staring? Should she make an excuse? Or should she say something flirty? Is it okay to flirt right now? What could she even say? Why does she suck so much at flirting when she really wants to flirt? Her grip turns to lead on her own hands, and she stiffens as Brittany rises from the floor, walking over to her on the bed.

She doesn't mean to stare. It's just now that she's said that she's in love with Brittany out loud, it's like she can't help herself anymore.

She never could help herself anyway, really.

"You're doing that thing where you feel loud on the inside so you're quiet on the outside. It makes it so you don't talk, and you just look sort of guilty about something," Brittany clarifies, answering the questions Santana didn't ask out loud.

Brittany sits beside Santana and reaches for Santana's hands, unknotting them from each other with gentle thumbs, holding them still. She rubs the soft spot between Santana's bones, massaging into the muscle.

"It's okay to talk to me, you know," Brittany says playfully, nudging her knees against Santana's. "I mean, I'm still your best friend, right? You didn't replace me with an alien or Margaret Thatcher or something, did you?"

She gives Santana an expectant look.

Santana only just barely remembers to roll her eyes as she smiles. "No," she mumbles. "I didn't replace you, Britt."

Brittany nods but then pushes. "So you'll talk now?"

"Yeah," Santana peeps, melting at Brittany's proximity to her.

Brittany hums, pleased. "Good," she says, "because I like talking to you. And we have to talk if we're going to make this work."

She gives Santana's hands a squeeze before releasing them, rising, and turning back to her closet, oblivious that she just set off a whole chain of questions in Santana's mind like a lit line of firecrackers.

Make what work? Their friendship? Or their maybe-something-more-than-friendship? Because Santana isn't really sure where she and Brittany stand at the moment. Brittany broke up with Artie, and then she and Santana slept together once after Coach Sylvester's sister's funeral, but Santana doesn't know whether any of that means that she and Brittany are more than friendsor not.

They used to sleep together once upon a time, back before Santana confessed her love to Brittany, and they were "just friends" back then, so they could just as easily be "just friends" right now, too—and especially considering that Santana still isn't out yet.

Of course, Brittany hasn't said anything about Santana coming out since the prom, really. But, then again, Brittany also hasn't said anything about her and Santana dating anytime soon, either.

The bad news is that Brittany hasn't really said much of anything about all the stuff that happened between her and Santana leading up to the prom. The good news is that she and Santana have been hanging out a lot lately and that things have been really great whenever they're together.

Like, they've kissed a couple of times and that's been more than great,and sometimes Brittany gets this look in her eyes when she smiles at Santana that's actually like the best thing in the entire free world.

Santana would straight up pay someone to tell her what it all means if she weren't so sure it would jinx everything if she were to ask.

"What do you think?" Brittany says, picking up the heeled boots again.

"I think that you should take them," Santana says, sounding more certain than she feels.

Brittany looks her up and down. "Are you going to wear heels?"

"Totally," Santana says. She knows she should add something else. She tries for a joke. "I can't let you be that much taller than me."

Brittany fake pouts. "But I like being taller than you," she says. "You're just like a little jellybean or something."

"A jellybean?" Santana repeats, melting even though it's silly.

"Mhm," Brittany confirms, pursing her lips together. She looks like she wants to say something else, but she doesn't. Instead, she brings the boots over to the suitcase, cramming them inside atop all her other clothes and belongings. "Help me shut this?" she asks, tugging the flap into place and holding it so that Santana can work the zipper.

"Anything for you," Santana blurts out.

Brittany just smiles at her. "See?" she says. "I like it when you talk."