Disclaimer: I don't own the show or any of these characters. It's just me and my computer.

A/N: This one-shot is based on Glee season 6 episode 2, where they sing "Home" by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. And frankly, it's based on Heather Morris, because, duh. How beautiful is she this season?

I do not claim that this is what has happened, or what should've happened in the show. I only like to make things seem more than what they are. (Like, HeYa, for example.)

Please ignore me, just read, review if you ever find you want to, and enjoy! Thank you.

PS. To those who have received false alerts from me, I apologize for them. I re-read this story a few times, I saw some errors and wanted to re-phrase some, but nothing major has been changed. Upon doing this, I accidentally added a new chapter instead of just replacing it. I've never really grasped how to use FF, as an uploader, since I only ever use it once in a while. Again, I'm sorry. I'll try to avoid this in the future.

It's bright out tonight, hundreds of stars visibly dotting the night sky. You're out on the field, relieved to finally just be sitting alone with Brittany in contented silence at the back of whomever's pick-up, just watching groups of people in red scattered around the field, waiting for the ceremony to start. It's been such a long day, what with all the recruiting, stalking, and threatening—just you—that you and your friends have done.

You're snapped out of your thoughts when you hear Brittany whistling the first notes of the song.

"They've picked the cheesiest song for tonight," you tell her. It's super cheesy yet kind of perfect. It makes your heart beat fast just thinking that you'd be singing this song, singing the lyrics out to Brittany, along with everyone else.

She looks at you with a knowing smile. "I like it, too."

You smile at her sheepishly, wondering when she'll ever not be able to tell what you really mean.

"I'm really tired, though," you say through a yawn, rubbing lightly at your eyes. "I just want it to be over with, so we could go home and cuddle."

"I know, today's exhausting, but," she pauses, her tone suddenly wistful that it makes you look at her. "I kinda don't want it to be over."

You watch her for a little while, carefully; she's looking down, biting her upper lip like she always does when she's trying not to be upset. You do miss high school, and your band of misfits (you do more than you let on). "I miss them, too," you say earnestly, leaning it to give her what you hope is a comforting kiss on the cheek.

It's been so fun these past days you spent with them; and you don't want it to be over because you're sick of them already, just that you've been around a lot of people ever since you came back to Lima a few days ago, and you're sort of in withdrawal from it being just the two of you. "There are just too many people," you say to try and lighten up the mood.

She lets out a short chuckle, her lips twitching the slightest bit, and then the two of you are silent again. You can tell that she's sad, or at least not as cheerful as she were minutes ago, and that makes your heart squeeze.

Brittany moving to New York with you is the best thing that's ever happened so far and it's been wonderful, but some part of you can't help but feel guilty that you've taken her so far from home despite her reassurance that one night you talked about it, her saying that it's what she absolutely wants and that she has 'no ragrets—not even one letter.'

"We'll see them more this year," you promise her. "We'll make time. We'll figure out something."

Then it's her turn to look at you. "San," she whispers, her tone already reassuring as though she just read your mind. You're forever in awe of how Brittany's so quick to pacify your worries, even when she's the one you're trying to comfort.

"I just think you deserve to visit more often, especially your parents because I know how close yo—"

She cups your cheek, making you really look at her before saying, "I want to be with you, Santana." She pauses and looks down briefly, like she's thinking of a better way to tell you what she wants to. "More than anything."

You're absolutely positive that you'll never get tired of hearing her say that to you. You really do want for her to be able to visit more often, but it seems that she knows that there's more to it than that-it being your guilt. You make a mental note to make sure you show her how much you appreciate her being ever so patient and sensitive with your feelings. "Yeah?" you ask, teasing her a little to hide the fact that you're abashed.

Brittany rolls her eyes playfully, but answers you anyway. "Yeah."

You just look at each other after that. You're glad that she's smiling again.

The moment gets broken when the song starts to play loudly across the open area. That's the cue. You start to get down from where you're seated but Brittany gently tugs on your arm; she's hasn't moved, like she wasn't ready for your small bubble to get burst so suddenly. You scoot close to her, disentangling your hands to wrap an arm around her waist. She wraps her arms around your neck and puts her lips to yours, almost impatiently.

The song is already on its third line when you finally break the kiss. You grab her hand, jump down the pick-up, and start skipping off to go near the center of the field.

"Man, oh, man, you're my best friend, I'll scream it to the nothingness," you sing to Brittany, and she's looking at you, smiling that beautiful, dorky smile you know you're also wearing.

She stops and pulls you closer by the hand, as if she can't go another step without having you closer at that moment, and you lean your forehead against hers. "There ain't nothing that I need," she joins in, and you feel your cheeks warm, grateful that it's somehow dark enough to be concealed.

You reach near the center of the field and stop at the bleachers. There's singing and dancing, touching and laughing, an incredibly chill, heartwarming vibe, and most importantly, you have Brittany at your side—all the things you love most in one space, in one moment. You can't ask for more. You can feel your cheeks already straining from smiling so big.

The meatheads in jackets run through their banner and stand in a formation around Sue like it actually means something, while she screams about having sex with Michael Bolton. A few lines later, at Sue's request to close the ceremony, you and Puck are holding up the sparklers, singing, "Daddy, (Mama,) I'm coming home!"

All the while, you see Brittany on the bleachers, watching you, bright-eyed. She's seated beside Sam. A month or two ago, you might've felt a jealous pang. But now—every day you wake up to blonde hair and light skin—you just thank whoever there is to thank for deciding you've done fuck-knows-what to deserve it. You were so, so close to losing Brittany so many times; it could've been Sam or some lucky idiot she's holding, kissing, singing to, looking with love-eyes at tonight. But they're not. So, you walk straight to Brittany and give her a light peck, just because, in front of a huge crowd that might've scared the living hell out of fifteen-year-old Santana.

People from the bleachers stand up and start to gather near the huge bonfire. You and Brittany find your friends and join them.

There's more dancing and the singing only gets louder; and for a while, it's just a blur of pure bliss.

You don't know how there's now space between you and Brittany in the middle of the crowd. Actually, you might have an idea: it's probably because it's just so natural for your girlfriend to become this ball of energy—a sexy, beautiful ball of energy—when there's singing and dancing involved. But, despite being lost in the middle of movement and sound, your eyes still manage to find each other.

"Home, let me come home," you sing to her, her singing it back. "Home is wherever I'm with you." You're suddenly afraid you'll get a heart attack from the feeling.

Brittany's been doing that so many times lately.

Fireworks start to set off and you point up at the sky instinctually for Brittany to look because you know how much she loves them. You look at the display for a short few seconds, but watch Brittany instead.

Your singing stops gradually, and you find that your eyes are glued to Brittany.

"Alabama, Arkansas," she sings out while being silly with Tina and Sam.

There's still space between the two of you and you want so bad to close that gap. But watching her from a distance, seeing her fully—all fluid movement and grace, and effortlessly perfect rhythm—is momentarily stronger than your desire to be near her. She's even more beautiful like this, silhouetted by orange warmth from the fire.

"I do love my Ma and Pa."

Somehow, you think Brittany lights up this vast, crowded space brighter than any bonfire ever could.

"Moats and boats, and waterfalls. Home is when I'm alone with you!"

A few notes after, the song ends. You're relieved and a bit sad at the same time.

There's a different song playing now and the energy dies down, the singing and dancing replaced with chattering and laughter.

Brittany finds you shortly after and greets you with an embrace. "Hi," she says, dropping a kiss to your temple, her breathing still quick from all that dancing and singing.

You chuckle."Hi." Your smile doesn't go away, and your eyes are kept closed as you bask in the feeling of having her this close. You rub up and down her back. "Have fun?"

"Yes. I really like that song."

"It was kind of perfect."

"It was," she agrees, then lets out a sigh. "It was totally our song."

You hum in agreement as your cheeks warm up, opting to stay nuzzled in her neck to hide a shy smile.

"I wish we did this in high school," she tells you as an afterthought.

It suddenly makes you wonder why you never did this kind of thing when you were still in high school. Seriously, your Homecomings were so unremarkable that you can't actually remember celebrating it once.

Then again, you think it's also a good thing because back then you probably wouldn't have been able to hold Brittany like this in public. You remember all too quickly your fear, and your mistakes, and you know it would've just been another thing to put on your long list of regrets.

You know it's in the past and you can't change any of it, so you'll just focus on not adding anything onto that list. Brittany's given you twenty-three million chances already.

You don't say anything for a little while and she pulls back to look at you.

"Everything okay, little mouse?"

You nod. "I want to say sorry for earlier."

Her eyes narrow, not exactly understanding what you're talking about.

"I don't want you to feel like you constantly have to reassure me, because I know we've talked about you-moving-to-New-York and my guilt," you elaborate, picking at the material of her shirt around the collar. "Earlier, you just seemed kind of sad and that's okay—seeing you with, and being around our friends and family... it just made me feel, y'know, guilty. And honestly a bit scared that if we-"

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. Being around them just kinda got to me, too. I didn't mean to make you feel guilty or anything."

You're about to tell her she doesn't need to apologize for being sad, when you hear her let out a sigh before she starts talking, "I admit, there are times I miss this small town, the choir room, and our friends, and my family so much that it makes me cry…"

You can only nod, hanging onto every word that she's saying.

"And I know New York's so big, scary, and so different, and that we're still trying to both find our place there..." she trails off. "But, I don't want you to think I'm having doubts about moving in with you or anything, 'cause that's so not it." She brushes a lock of hair behind your ear before she continues, "Whether it's New York or Lesbos or Hawaii or Chicago or Lima... I'll always choose you."

A pause, then she gazes deeply into your eyes. "You're my home, Santana," she says, her voice breaking at the end. It was said with so much sincerity that it leaves you no room for doubt.

Your eyes are quick to fill with unshed tears, and you see her bottom lip quiver.

"I'd be lost without you," she adds, as though her last words weren't enough.

Tears roll down your cheek, and you start to cry silent, happy tears. "Come here," you manage to croak out with the tightness of your throat.

She comes closer and you see that she's crying, too. Brittany's head tilts and she takes your bottom lip between hers, kissing you soft yet intense.

"I'd be lost without you, too," you whisper against the kiss.

That's all the assurance that both of you need.

ALSO, BRITTANA GETTING MARRIED HUHUHUHUHU R.I.P ME.

FINALLY!11!11