The Spark
Brittany S Pierce leaned back in her chair, letting the warm hum of the Los Angeles night slip over her. The city had a way of making everything feel a little brighter, a little more electric, especially when you were sitting in Santana Lopez’s apartment, feet up, and just living.
It had started innocently enough, these late-night jam sessions. A few chords strummed out on the guitar, a few notes hummed into a mic, a bit of playful competition over who could come up with the most ridiculous lyrics. Yet, somewhere along the way, the music had become secondary. It was the quiet moments that held their attention now. The space between words. The look that passed between them when a song ended, lingering in the air like an unspoken thought.
Santana laughed, her voice cutting through the comfortable silence. "Oh, so now you’re the wine critic?"
Brittany smirked and shifted her gaze, pretending to be interested in the patterns in the carpet, though she was keenly aware of how close they were. The space between them had always been a certain kind of comfortable. But tonight, it felt different. Her pulse quickened, her thoughts drifting in and out like waves on the shore.
"Not a critic," Brittany replied casually, lifting her glass to her lips. "Just... observant."
Santana raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So, what have you observed, then?"
Brittany hesitated for a split second; just long enough to notice how intensely Santana was looking at her, as though she could read her thoughts. The air between them was thick, almost electric. And for the briefest of moments, Brittany thought maybe she could do something reckless, something that might shatter this fragile equilibrium they had built over the years.
But she didn’t.
"Nothing," Brittany finally said with a nonchalant shrug, reaching for her phone. "Just that I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink that much wine in one sitting."
Santana rolled her eyes, but there was a softness to the gesture, the kind that made Brittany’s heart flutter without her fully understanding why.
The conversation drifted, as it usually did, to work; the latest tracks they were collaborating on, the ever-present deadlines that seemed to loom over their heads like a dark cloud. Their partnership at the music studio was as strong as ever, and everyone who knew them could see it. They had a way of pushing each other creatively, challenging each other in a way that no one else could. It was that synergy that had made them such a formidable team, despite their constant bickering.
But lately, the studio sessions felt more like an excuse to see each other than anything else. Their competitive rivalry had begun to blur into something more. Something… complicated.
"So, uh," Santana said, breaking the silence with a chuckle. "Any plans for the weekend?"
Brittany looked up at her, suddenly aware of the question hanging in the air. She knew what Santana was asking, what they were both asking, even if neither of them would admit it.
The thought of spending more time with Santana, away from the studio, was undeniably appealing. And yet, Brittany felt a strange sense of hesitation.
"I dunno," Brittany replied, trying to sound casual, though she could feel the weight of Santana’s gaze on her. "Maybe catch up on some stuff, you know? A quiet weekend. No big plans."
Santana raised an eyebrow. "A quiet weekend? With you? I don’t believe it."
"Yeah, well," Brittany said with a playful grin. "Maybe you should come with me. Get a little dose of quiet for yourself."
Santana’s laugh was low, a soft, almost purring sound that sent an unexpected shiver down Brittany’s spine. The way her eyes sparkled in the dim light made her realise just how little space was left between them. It was like they were on the edge of something, teetering on the brink of what was both inevitable and terrifying.
"Alright, alright," Santana said, leaning back in her chair, still grinning. "We’ll see about that."
They fell into an easy silence again, but this time it was different. No more music, no more distractions. Just the weight of unspoken words, of something that neither of them wanted to acknowledge. It wasn’t quite tension, not in the way one might expect when two people were trying to work out some unresolved feelings. It was more like an understanding that wasn’t quite verbalised yet, a knowledge that lingered like the scent of perfume long after the person had left the room.
Brittany found herself watching Santana more closely now, noting the way her lips curved when she smiled, the way her hand instinctively brushed the stray lock of hair behind her ear. It was all so familiar, so normal, and yet not.
"You’re staring again," Santana said, without looking up from her phone.
Brittany blinked, caught off guard. "Am not."
"Yeah, you are."
"Sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable," Brittany replied, the words coming out too quickly. She immediately regretted them.
Santana met her eyes then, and for a moment, the air seemed to thicken. "You don’t make me uncomfortable." She paused. "You never have."
Brittany’s heart beat a little faster, but she didn’t say anything. She just leaned back, trying to keep her composure, as though nothing had shifted in the atmosphere between them. But everything had. It was in the way Santana’s voice had dropped lower when she spoke, the way their gazes seemed to linger just a little too long.
Santana cleared her throat and broke the silence, her voice suddenly bright and teasing. "I’m telling you, though, if you leave that bottle there, I’ll have to stage an intervention. I mean, who doesn’t put the cork back in, Pierce?"
Brittany chuckled, grateful for the return to their usual banter. "Fine, fine. I’ll put it away. But only if you promise to stop distracting me with that ridiculous smile."
Santana rolled her eyes, though the faintest trace of a blush coloured her cheeks. It was quick, but Brittany saw it, and she felt something stir within her.
"I’m not distracting you," Santana shot back, voice playfully defensive. "I’m just existing."
"Right," Brittany said, unable to keep the grin from spreading across her face. "Just existing, huh?"
"Yep," Santana replied, taking a sip from her own glass, her lips curving up at the corners. "And you’re welcome for it."
Brittany knew there was something more in the words, something layered between the lines, but she couldn’t put her finger on it just yet. The evening had slipped into a comfortable, almost lazy rhythm, their interactions like an old song they had memorised so well they could sing it without thinking.
But there was a shift, a subtle, imperceptible change in the air. And for the first time, Brittany couldn’t ignore it. The first spark. Something that might just ignite everything between them.
The only question now was: Would they let it?