You wore white, your hair back from your face, and maybe that meant something, because it was like there was nothing between me and how you felt. There wasn’t anything keeping you away from anyone at all, no one in the room, no one at all. Even though you never looked at anyone but me, not even Miss Holiday. It was like a shell was dissolving around you and you were just Santana, shining.
And you were still shining when you folded your arms around my neck and put your soft cheek against mine, hiding your face from everyone. With my arms around your waist, it was like I was holding strands of silk, all trembling.
And then Rachel said that thing about Sapphic charm, and I don’t remember if I knew what that meant before, but your back went so stiff under my arm I won’t ever not know now. And she might have meant it in a good way, but for a second, I just wanted to shake her. I heard you say just because I sang a song with Brittany doesn’t mean—we were standing so close we were touching. Then you disowned me and left me alone in the middle of the room.
But songs mean something, Santana. Especially to us. Especially to you. You chose the song but we were both meant to sing it, somehow, reflections in snow, everything not true crashing down and sweeping away. Parts of both of us sweeping away. You stayed there and I watched some part of you falling apart. And you looked at just me and you were singing to me, and you let me sing to you. You let everyone see us. And you didn’t look away.
And I have built my life around you. There isn’t anywhere I don’t see your face, snow or not, and your voice is honey and smoke and nightflowers, nothing I can escape, or want to.