A/n: I had to write a short 2 page story for my creative writing class and figured I could make it involve brittana. I don't usually do second person but I actually like reading stories in that point of view and figured I'd give it a try myself. I like how second person puts the reader in the characters shoes and you can feel apart of the story. I don't think I'll make this a longer fic (I already have enough multichapter fics on going) but maybe in the future when I have less work to do I might come back to this if you guys like it.

The elevator never seemed so small. All the years of working here, using this elevator to go to and from your office, you couldn't recall a time where you felt claustrophobic. But that's what this box is doing to you now. The air around you feels hot. The mirrored walls that once made the tiny room appear larger, look as if they are closing in on you. Your palms are sweaty. It's getting harder to breathe.

It's not the elevator. You know you would have felt like this anywhere, if you were in the same situation you are now. It's him. He's the one who's making it hard for you to concentrate. It didn't use to be like this. When you first met him, it was nice. You'd talk briefly with him about last night's game or a new episode of Game of Thrones, before he walked off to his original destination. You were cordial. But all of that had to stop when you started screwing his wife.

"Santana, are you okay?" The man standing next to you asks.

You take in a shaky breath before speaking, "Yes, Sam. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You look kinda pale. I didn't think you could lose your natural color like that." He prods.

You want to tell him that it's impossible for ethnic people to look pale. That your bronzed skin may lack a little luster since you're not breathing, and blood isn't rushing to your face because you can't stop thinking about what you did to his wife in this elevator last night. You don't, of course. You touch his bicep, ignoring the guilt that floods your fingertips and tell him your fine.

Finally, the ding of the elevator reaches your ears. It took forever. You look towards Sam and he gestures for you to walk ahead of him, as the doors slide open. You hurry out the doors. Your Jimmy Choos clacking against the tile floor. You have to distance yourself. You know where he's going, and you know she's waiting for him. You can't walk with him to her office. You just can't.

You can't watch how his eyes light up when he sees her. Or the goofy smile that graces his lips before he leans in. It's a chaste kiss. It always is. But you can't be there to see it. You can't pretend that it doesn't bother you. Act like you're okay with this. This lie. You think it'd be easier to cope with lying to someone's face. You're a lawyer after all. But it isn't. Lying to him is getting harder. Lying to yourself doesn't help like it used to.

You almost make it to your office. It was only three steps away. You feel lighter knowing you won't have to see them together, but someone calls your name. You turn around and see John. He's the new mail clerk who always flirts with you before giving you your mail. He's cute, but you're not interested. He knows you're gay but he still tries his luck. He asks you out again and you decline like always.

This is easy. Comforting somehow. John made you completely forget about why you were rushing to your office. That is until you see her out the corner of your eye. You ignore the feeling in your chest and return your attention to John. He hands you your mail and you both exchange goodbyes. You are about to turn around and walk in your office when Sam walks over.

"Hey, Santana. I forgot to tell you but Brittany and I are having a party this Saturday. You're obviously invited. Will you be able to come?" He asks.

You want to say no. You want to tell him you're busy. Tell him there's no way you're going to his house, where his wife will be draped all over him. But Brittany's staring at you from her office door and you know you'll have to lie just a little bit longer.