Author's note: I love Arite. I really do. But like. Brittany needs to be with Santana. Everyone knows it.

One.

She often didn't understand things, but he couldn't always explain them to her. She would get confused easily, wondering about things such as how the square root of four was two when clearly it was rainbows (at least, that's what her unicorn friend had told her, and unicorns never lie).

He told her that rainbows weren't numbers, and that the answer had to be a number because it was math class. Again, she didn't understand because math sometimes used letters like X and Z, or weird symbols that sort of looked like fish.

Santana explained that because two times two equals four, the square root of four has to be two. Brittany wrinkled her nose, asking if that meant the square root of nine was three instead of sunshine, and Santana smiled.

Two.

She was a dancer, always moving around, but the most he could do was wave his arms in the air. Though she didn't quite understand why, she was never bothered by the fact that he couldn't move his legs. She just settled for dancing around him, swaying her hips and kicking up her feet while he moved his head and waved his arms.

Once, she tried to get him to slow dance with her, until he reminded her that he couldn't get up from his chair. She was okay with that, claiming that "fast dancing is like, way better anyway." He thought it was okay, too, until he remembered that they could never slow dance at prom.

Santana was definitely the second best dancer out of the girls in glee club. She could move her hips and legs almost exactly like Brittany, and the two used to always dance and twirl and jump with each other during glee. Santana could keep her hands on Brittany's swaying hips, their legs moving in unison. Whenever a slow song was sung, usually by Rachel, Brittany couldn't help but think about school dances.

Three.

She sometimes got lost and needed someone to keep her close by and on track, but they could never really travel side-by-side. Whenever they did, going down the hallways of McKinley High, his hands were occupied with pushing the wheels of his chair. Her hands would then either grasp firmly onto her glitter-covered notebooks, or hang by her side, lonely.

He couldn't hold her hands unless they were both sitting. She only brought up that fact once, but was seemingly content with just pushing him around, pretending he was a really big baby in a stroller. When she would get lost in the halls, on her way to class, he thought it was because the classroom numbers confused her; he never really thought that it was because he couldn't keep her close by and guide her through school.

Santana used to always hold her pinky, never forgetting to entwine their smallest fingers. Sometimes, when Brittany would get confused and turn the wrong corner towards her history class instead of her math class, Santana (and her pinky) was always there with a gentle tug, reminding the blonde that she had to learn about fractions and not the Civil War. Santana held onto her while they stood or talked, and Brittany always went the right way to math class.

Four.

She was rather tall for a girl, but she had to bend over anytime she wanted to talk to him more closely. Really, anytime they wanted to be close, she had to bend awkwardly over his wheelchair, straining the muscles in her back.

She never complained about it, or anything, and he never saw it as a problem. But every so often she would mention her back hurting or her neck being stiff. He assumed that it was from Cheerios, but once she had quit, the thought that her pain could due to his cumbersome wheelchair.

Santana was only a few of inches shorter than Brittany, at best. They were, for the most, at eye-level, and there was no awkward bending and inconvenient chairs in the way anytime they wanted whisper closely or hug. All Santana had to was place her weight on the tips of her toes, her heels hovering over the ground, and her lips could easily be on Brittany's.