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It’s New York City that’s bearing the brunt of the infections. There’s daily press briefings with Governor Cuomo and outcries from Mayor De Blasio about equipment and mandatory lockdowns to save as many lives as possible.
Chloe feels the anxiety creeping up her spine with every breaking news alert that has her phone vibrating. And yeah, she has a feeling this is how most New Yorkers are living their day to day lives - confined in a 750 square foot one bedroom apartment trying to fend off the fear and isolation - but it doesn’t make it any easier.
Her mind wanders more and more to memories of a certain ex-girlfriend, thoughts of how a record company might handle this kind of thing, and if Beca is still living alone or if someone is living through the quarantine with her. It’s hard not to feel the dull ache when she remembers all the nights they’d spent holed up in bed like they’d already been under strict city orders. Chloe knows it was easy back then to selfishly want all of Beca’s time, and how much of a commodity that became as her job responsibilities grew.
It’s been a year since they called it quits, and about three months since their last exchanged text. It took time to figure out how to stop checking in periodically, to figure out how to stop caring so much. It’s never been an easy task - to try to stop feeling connected to Beca; Chloe felt it the minute they locked eyes eight years ago, and it’s hard to sever even with the breakup and all the rational reasons that she knows it had to happen.
It doesn’t mean that it doesn’t still hurt. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t still think about the way Beca used to doze off in the middle of every movie, startling awake at random sounds of the city, her bleary eyes flicking over to Chloe in apologies.
But, it also means she reflects back on screaming matches, broken glasses, and slammed doors. Strong attitudes followed by harsh words and silent tears. There are many reasons they parted ways, and on any given ‘normal’ day they all make sense.
The lack of time.
The lack of communication.
The lack of affection and intimacy they once shared.
Sure, that wasn’t all one sided. It’s actually not that hard to let a relationship fall apart when both parties start taking it for granted.
There’s blame there. There couldn’t not be, and after a year, Chloe has accepted her part in their defeat too.
Maybe they just weren’t meant to be - maybe they weren’t ‘forever’ - it took time to come to terms with that, especially when it was all they’d wanted. There’d been months of discussions about a future that saw them both living their dreams, happily, together.
“And when we finally buy that house in the suburbs -“
“The suburbs?”
“Yeah, Bec, the suburbs,” and it’d been obvious to everyone but them that life was going to take them in different directions.
Chloe wanted it all: the house, the kids, the dog, the white picket fence and sunny afternoons at the park. She hadn’t known that Beca wanted it all too, she’d just defined ‘it all’ so much differently, and communication was never really their strong suit.
“I left the key on the counter, and I’ll venmo you the rest of the money for rent for March... I’ll miss -”
“No, you don’t get to do that, Beca. This was your call. This was you leaving.”
“We don’t -“
“We did. I loved .. I love you.”
“What if that’s just not enough?” Beca sounds heartbroken and lost.
Chloe forced herself to look past it, wiping at the mascara under her eyes before she’d put the nail in the coffin. “For someone who hated her father for leaving you really never learned to stay.”
It was too much, there was a line they’d always carefully avoided, but fights grew more caustic as months of distance pulled at frayed edges. Beca kept her eyes on the floor, shoulders slumped at the realization. “I should go.”
It broke her, and for months Chloe avoided every coffee shop and convenience store they’d spent time in. It was hard enough living in an apartment full of ghosts.
It hurt every single day.
And then; it didn’t. And it hasn’t. And it doesn’t.
If this were any other Wednesday, she’d be preparing dinner and a DVR’d episode of This Is Us would be part of the routine. But this, this is Wednesday in a global pandemic, so she finds herself on her third glass of wine, wrapped in a fleece blanket with MSNBC on in the background. Chris Hayes is mid introduction into Rachel Maddow’s hour when the breaking news headline jumps appears at the bottom of the screen.
“We’re bringing this breaking news to you now that my producer is just getting to me,” Rachel pauses and Chloe hones her full attention toward the tv. “Starting tonight at midnight Governor Cuomo and President Trump will be enacting a mandatory quarantine for all of New York City - there will be no movement unless you are a healthcare worker or other essential employee. Fines will be imposed across the city for violators of the quarantine -“
Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s that she’s mostly been alone for the last two weeks. It goes beyond all reason, but Chloe finds she’s pulling up a text thread from 3 months earlier, the last message tugs at all the feelings she’d disposed of long before that.
Beca
happy new yrs! hope you’re with aubrey n that you guys got the fancy prosecco this yr!
Chloe
thanks bec. hope you got some time off work to celebrate too!! :)
Beca
of course. celebrating tonight .. back to work tmrw. be careful tonight.
It’d been their first new years apart in about eight years. It hadn’t been particularly different in Chloe’s world - there was still Aubrey, Stacie, Fat Amy, and CR in attendance. It was the same New Year’s Eve they’d had as all the years before, except Beca wasn’t there anymore.
After their split Beca chose to pull away, chose to separate herself - in essence, she gave Chloe the Bellas, and Chloe’s thankful everyday for the ability to keep her friends, even though she would’ve made every effort to be around Beca if that’d been the case. It makes her feel bad that Beca disappeared, she wonders what her days are like now and who she spends the big events with.
So, okay, there’s curiosity there too when she finally sends the text.
Chloe
hey there.. wondering how quarantine is treating you?
Minutes go by without the little bubbles of a reply appearing, Chloe throws the phone on the couch and sighs. It was a stupid move. Beca’s probably quarantined with some big wig from the company, and they’re probably all drinking expensive wine (not the Barefoot brand they used to grab from the liquor store because it’s ten bucks). She’s probably not even thinking about -
Beca
didn’t expect to hear from you beale. you must’ve really gotten bored sitting in that apartment. i’m home, writing .. watching the news .. eating all my snacks .. you?
Chloe tries not to seem desperate, she lets a few minutes lapse with the phone in her hand, lets some commercials go by on MSNBC before she starts to reply.
Chloe
wine. snacks. you know .. the usual lol what would you say if i had a crazy question for you?
Beca
id say we’re not doing much else so you should ask it
Chloe
did you wanna come over and quarantine with me before midnight comes? im bored and the news is starting to depress me. and i just figure .. ya know if the world’s gonna basically end ..
Beca
hmmm if the world’s gonna end we should hang out huh?
Chloe
you can totally say no lol it was just a thought. honestly, this whole thing is making me a little anxious
Beca
hence the wine?
She blushes sitting on the couch, because Beca still knows. She can still call out every little thing Chloe does when she’s nervous or anxious. Her coping mechanisms have never been all that healthy, and this whole pandemic isn’t making it any easier.
Chloe
hence the wine :| .. if im being honest, i don’t really like being alone during this
Beca
you don’t think it’ll be weird? we haven’t seen each other since like summer
Chloe
if you think it’ll be weird then it’s no big deal .. i can always FaceTime Aubrey for a little bit
Now that Beca’s asked, the whole thing feels stupid, and really out of place. It’s been months since they spent any significant time together, and here Chloe is asking her ex-girlfriend to be her emotional support during a quarantine. What was she even thinking?
There’s no text back for about seven minutes - not that anyone’s counting - and when her phone finally vibrates Chloe is just expecting a really nice let down.
Beca
give me an hour to get my stuff together. you’re cool if i crash since we’re sort on lockdown? i'll take the couch obviously.
Chloe
yea of course! thank you bec.
Beca
np beale. see you soon.
Her heart’s racing, the apartment is a mess, and she’s a little tipsy off the moscato. What the fuck is going on?
There’s a knock at the door about an hour and twenty minutes later - at least Beca hasn’t changed. Always almost on time.
She pulls the door open and finds her ex-girlfriend with a Nike duffle bag over one shoulder, a laptop bag over the other, and very hesitant eyes. “Hey -“
“It’s good to see you,” Chloe blurts out, mouth twisting in a grimace at the awkward.
They were never awkward.
This was probably a mistake.
It’s been months.
Beca’s eyes flick around the hallway and over Chloe’s shoulder, she finally clears her throat and says, “This is - it’s weird, right?”
“It’s a little weird,” Chloe shrugs and agrees before taking the duffle bag and moving aside. She knows not to take the laptop bag, and Beca sort of nods, like Chloe still remembers all the little things about them. About her. “Thank you for coming though .. I just -“
“Hey, Chlo, it’s fine,” Beca finally smiles and takes a few steps forward. “This is fine. We used to hang out all the time. Like .. you know .. before.”
“Yeah, of course. We were friends.”
“We’re still friends, Beale.”
“We haven’t spoken since New Year’s, and we haven’t seen each other since like August with all the girls, you think we’re fr -“ Chloe stops herself quickly, looking almost shocked, before closing the door and moving toward the refrigerator.
There’s a smirk as Beca finally sets her laptop bag on the ground and walks toward the kitchen. “How much wine have you had exactly?”
“Apparently enough to say shit like that,” and Beca snorts a laugh at the answer. Chloe keeps her face hidden in the coolness of the air from the refrigerator.
This was definitely a mistake.
“You want wine?”
“One step ahead of you,” she’s handed a wine glass, clearly plucked from the cabinet where they’ve been stored since back when they first picked the apartment.
That’s - that feels a lot like something Chloe should’ve expected to happen. But Beca hasn’t been in the apartment since the day they broke up; she hasn’t been back since the day she left. It’s a stark reminder of the fact that she used to belong here. They picked the place together, the euphoria of their first real apartment in New York where they weren’t sharing a pull out bed placed haphazardly in the living room. It’s hard to forget all the moving boxes, the first bottle of wine they uncorked that night, the red solo cups they drank from because they forgot to actually purchase glasses and Fat Amy took their misfit collection from the old place.
Beca sniffs at the wine, smiling a little sadly at what she knows is Chloe’s wine of choice. “Haven’t had this in a while,” she finally murmurs on her way to the couch.
It’s like a knife to the heart.
Why is Beca even here?
What made her say yes?
Why after -
“I’ll just go. You don’t want me here anyway -“
“Don’t you get it? All I want is for you to be here. It’s like you never are anymore. You never have the time -“
“I don’t - time just isn’t a luxury I have at the moment. Eventually -“
“Eventually .. eventually is all I’ve been hearing for months now, Beca. For the last year, actually. I can’t keep waiting on it to eventually materialize.”
It’s hard not to cringe at the memory. Especially when Beca is standing over by the couch, not far from where she had been that night. Her back was turned, shoulders hunched in hurt when Chloe started telling her all the ways in which she’d failed.
She finally averts her eyes, taking another sip of wine to clear her head. Beca catches her eyes though, frowning before taking a seat at the end of the couch. “You gonna sit or are we just gonna stand here the whole quarantine?”
“Standing burns more calories,” Chloe’s bites back quickly, holding her wine glass up as evidence of all the empty calories she’s been consuming since this began.
Beca’s eyes dance in amusement as she lets out, “I missed you,” and it surprises them both. “I - um,” there’s a pause and a heaved sigh. “Jesus. I think I meant to just think that.”
Overall, their breakup was for the best. Chloe knows that, and she’s sure that Beca knows that too. Things were becoming rotten and toxic, and there was no way either of them could claim they were still happy. They’d faded, in a way that they’d both been so certain would never happen.
“That’ll never be us, right?”
“I think I love you too much for that to ever happen to us.”
But this? Sitting in what used to be their apartment, telling each other that they miss one another feels a lot like years before. It feels a lot like who they used to be when they were younger, before life got in the way.
Chloe recovers and finally takes her place on the couch, says, “You haven’t even had a full glass of wine to be saying that, Mitchell,” and smirks as she switches to CNN. Beca looks closed off and unsure, almost like a turtle that can’t figure out how to retreat to their own shell. “Bec,” she looks up at Chloe’s voice, a little timid, all the bravado from her entrance worn off. “It’s fine. Try to relax a little. Challenge you to a drinking game?”
It doesn’t inspire confidence when all she receives is a mumbled, “sure,” but at least she knows this Beca. Chloe knows the version of Beca that feels a little weird and out of place. It was the one that sauntered in her front door that she hasn’t been very well acquainted with.
“Okay, drink everytime Andrew Cuomo says ventilators. Anytime someone shits on Trump. Or anytime someone mentions PPE.”
Beca’s head turns quickly, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, are we trying to get hammered?”
“Welcome to my quarantine party,” Chloe says quickly with a wink and moves to turn up the volume.
Beca lets out a breath and retrieves the bottle of wine plus another off the counter. “I can’t see not needing this,” she explains as she places everything on the coffee table and sits cross legged on the floor, just in front of the couch. She turns her head back to make eye contact, quirks an eyebrow, and says, “You’re on, Beale. I’m not holding your hair back if you puke tonight.”
“I don’t even understand why you have to get the sweetest wine they sell, Chlo. It’s fucking disgusting after a few glasses. We need to change the channel. I’m gonna literally vomit if we keep this up.”
“It’s been forty minutes,” Chloe says with a laugh, but she turns the tv off anyway. She shifts on the couch, sticking a leg out to stretch, the other tucked underneath. She’s facing Beca, still on the floor, half a glass of wine next to her. “You didn’t even make a full hour.”
“Yeah, well - you know wine goes to my head.”
“I do,” she nods in agreement with a cheesy smile that finally makes Beca crack. She giggles, actually giggles, and they both know she’s probably had more to drink in the last hour than was really necessary.
But what else is there to do anyway?
“Do you at least have ibuprofen for tomorrow?” she takes another gulp and pours another glass, stands to top off Chloe’s and goes to put the bottle on the counter for recycling. “Wait - do you still -“
“Yeah, they go there still. Thanks. Meds are in the cabinet, still too. Any chance you wanna grab me a glass of water?”
Beca nods and moves around easily, and all Chloe’s managing to want to shout is ‘take me back to this, please’ and that just isn’t what tonight was supposed to be. Her water is placed on the coffee table and then Beca is across from her on the couch again, careful to keep her legs pulled in just enough so their feet don’t accidentally touch.
It’s sad, really, and she cracks easily under the circumstances, memories of that couch and the times they couldn’t stop touching. They could barely get in the front door, the nights they stumbled through and didn’t make it to the bed.. There’d been so much passion it felt like it could never die out, like the world could fall around them and they’d still be standing tall.
Well, the world feels like it’s on the verge of collapse and they fell apart months ago, but Beca’s here.
“Why’d you come over?”
Beca’s too drunk for this, Chloe knows it in the way she carefully places her glass on the end table behind her head. “I didn’t want you to be alone,” she finally answers, arms tightly crossed over her chest. “You - I still care about you, you know? We didn’t .. I didn’t leave because I ever stopped caring about you.”
It’s an admission and Chloe’s heart clenches, hard. It hadn’t felt that way. It hadn’t seemed that way when she watched the door close behind a wheeled suitcase. “Did we grow apart?”
There’s a beat, and then, “Maybe. But that feels like it was my fault.”
She wants to reach out, she wants to grab Beca’s hand and tell her that it wasn’t really anyone’s fault, that maybe she’d been too needy and impatient at the time and maybe Beca deserved more grace than she’d given. “It wasn’t all you - and I .. well I’m sorry I made you feel that way, back then, I mean.”
Beca nods, shifting uncomfortably, eyes fixated on a spot on the floor. A few minutes pass before she speaks again. “The minute they announced the lockdown I wanted to call you. Or text. Or whatever. I just couldn’t stop thinking about if you were okay.”
“I figured you’d be holed up in the studio -” Beca freezes at her words, a guilty look passing over her face. “What?”
It’s been a year since they were together, Chloe still knows it’s a lie when Beca says, “No, nothing, finish what you were saying.”
“It’s not nothing,” she says, nudging Beca’s foot with her outstretched one. “What just happened to your face?”
“I, uh, was at the studio - like when you text me. We were working on stuff, I’d been there for a few days, trying not to like go back and forth or be out too much. We’re supposed to be closed, but you know how that goes.”
Chloe eyes her carefully, wonders if it’d been like this a year ago if they would’ve broken up at all. If they’d both been able to give a little maybe they would’ve made forever work.
Did they try hard enough?
Or were they just not meant for the long haul?
“So you were done working when I text you?” she’s playing dumb, thinks they’re both aware that she’s fishing for what she wants Beca to just say.
Beca pushes up against the couch with her heels, pulling her foot away until she’s probably as far away as she can get on one piece of furniture. “No.”
“Bec, just -”
“I told them I had a family emergency and had to go. Obviously, in the middle of a pandemic, no one really asked too many questions,” she looks at Chloe, vulnerable as ever, silently pleading with her to let it go.
She does, and turns the tv back on.
Chloe opens her eyes first, searing pain shooting up her back at the position on the couch. That’s what she gets, falling asleep on the couch in her thirties. Beca’s still sleeping soundly across from her, she carefully untangles her legs before she goes to start some sort of breakfast for them both. She can’t really recall when they fell asleep, somewhere in the middle of a replay of 10 Things I Hate About You on TBS, they hadn’t said much more past that last conversation because she knows when Beca’s at her breaking point, when it’s too much at one time. But, she wonders where these conversations were when they were struggling. Why Beca couldn’t be this person before they ended, why she couldn’t allow Beca the space to just be before they fell apart - maybe there’s just less on the line now.
There’s pancakes in a frying pan to her right as she whisks a few eggs in a stainless steel mixing bowl. She hears Beca yawn from the couch, and grunt when she finally gets to her feet; Chloe glances back and sees a visible wince as she twists from side to side to work out the knots in her muscles.
“Can’t really sleep on the couch anymore, huh? We’re getting old,” she comments from the kitchen.
Beca snorts and approaches, says, “You’re old. I was just smushed in a small space. You think just cuz you’re taller you get the whole couch, even though you have a damn bed in here,” before she starts chopping a few peppers on the cutting board to the left of Chloe.
Time goes by, the sounds of the knife hitting the board and Chloe’s whisk take the place of idle words until Beca pauses her task, her palms pressed hard against the counter as she says, “Chloe, I -” Chloe holds her breath without meaning to, looking over to stare at Beca like her life sort of depends on this moment. “We still make a good team in the kitchen, don’t we?” her words are nothing, but her tone is saying things like ‘I’m sorry I left’ or ‘We both made mistakes but this still feels like it works, doesn’t it?’
It takes a massive amount of self control for her not to kiss Beca, for her not to just act on every impulse in her body because Beca’s eyes are speaking volumes more than anything she’s said since she walked into the apartment. Instead, she nods and nudges Beca with her hip, tells her to get back to chopping before the pancakes burn and swallows down the rest.
They manage to get through breakfast (which is really brunch since they woke up so late), and fumble through a few board games in which Beca accuses her of being a sore loser. They both already knew that so she doesn’t really know why Beca’s so amused when she pouts and swipes the whole thing off the table, effectively ending Yahtzee for them both.
“Yahtzee has no fucking strategy -”
“It’s not supposed to, you weirdo. It’s a game of luck, you roll what you roll.”
“Well, that’s just .. stupid!” and she stomps off toward the bathroom, leaving a laughing Beca to pick the dice up off the floor.
There’s more news and pizza (through contactless delivery), and they find an ease from back when they were just getting to really know each other the first time around. An ease that escaped them both somewhere along the way.
Beca inhales her fourth slice of pizza, pops open a beer and chucks the beer cap across the room to get Chloe’s attention as she chews. She holds up the bottle in one hand, points at it with her other hand in a silent offer. Chloe’s eyes widen as the bottle falls, cackles hysterically as the splatter covers Beca entirely. Beca falls to her knees laughing, half choking on the pizza slice -
And Chloe loves her still.
She’s sure of it.
She re-emerges from the bedroom, in an old Barden t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that are too long, hair still wet in a messy bun after a shower to wash off the Bud Light. Chloe hates the way it feels, like they’re back in that old house, the rest of the Bellas just down in the kitchen as they hid away in her bedroom, stolen kisses behind closed doors, the laughter of their friends echoing from the floor below.
Beca locks eyes with her from the doorway, looks down at her outfit and just says, “I know,” in acknowledgment before getting another beer, stopping short in the kitchen, voice coming from behind Chloe’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have - I just forgot pajamas. But I - I get it. I know what this .. I remember too, okay?”
Chloe’s suddenly thankful Beca’s behind her; thankful the loaded moment can be felt without the eye contact, without the added meaning. With the added cover, she gambles and breathes out, “I missed you too, Bec,” an answer to the day before. Her shoulders fall forward as her head hangs at the confession, she startles when Beca hugs her from behind, warm arms around her shoulders.
It’s what she needed.
And sometimes, Beca reads her so well.
Her voice is soft in Chloe’s ear, “I’m glad I’m here,” is mumbled before she moves away and takes her spot on back on the floor, like the distance makes this easier somehow. Chloe just nods, sipping at the lukewarm beer, until she can’t hold it anymore.
“This is dumb. I’m just going to acknowledge the elephant in the room,” Beca raises her eyebrows at Chloe’s bluntness. “I still - There’s still something here,” she pauses for a second, before she adds, “right?” softly.
Beca just looks like her chest caves in at the words, visibly exhales as her knuckles tighten around the bottle. She swears if they weren’t in quarantine right now that Beca would leave and they’d pretend this never happened.
But, as it stands, they’re stuck, and Beca just breathes through it, responds with, “I don’t know if we should be doing this.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right.”
Her other hand goes to her forehead, rubbing in frustration much like she used to when they’d fight. “Chloe, it’s not that I don’t - We’re better off, aren’t we? This is most fun we’ve had together in probably, like, years. And I don’t know if it’s going to be good for either of us to go there -” Beca’s eyes look darker as she finishes, and it’s clear to Chloe that she isn’t the only one that’s been fighting this.
“But maybe we didn’t try hard enough,” she knows that’s a lie the minute she says it because Beca pauses mid sip, lowering the bottle to look at Chloe in what seems like exasperation.
“You know that isn’t what happened.”
She’s right, but Chloe’s sort of grasping at straws at this point with, “Did I let us down?”
Beca’s on her feet in seconds, sitting right next to Chloe on the couch, then faces her and says seriously, “Take that back, okay? You’re not supposed to think that,” she puts the beer on the coffee table and reaches for a hand, “You fought for us in ways I didn’t know how. And I just - I made other things a priority at the end. But, we tried, Chlo, we did everything we could and maybe forever just wasn’t in the cards -”
“But it was supposed to be,” Chloe’s crying now, free hand reaching to swat at tears. “We said it was.”
“I know,” Beca finally answers, lowly. “I wanted that. Life just doesn’t always play out like we want .. you and I both know that.”
“I was fine, you know?” Chloe’s sort of babbling now, eyes focused on a spot on the dark blue couch they bought from a furniture store on the West Side. “I was fine before this. I let you go. I was ... I didn’t feel anything when I thought of you,” she looks up to see if her words are stirring any reaction, ashamed to feel happy that they do.
Beca smiles sadly. “I’m, um,” she breathes in, fingers tightening around Chloe’s, “It wasn’t like that for me. But I’m glad you - I’m happy you were moving on?”
“Clearly, I wasn’t,” she bites back, seriously. Beca loosens her grip, looking suddenly like her emotions are catching up as she covers her eyes with the heels of her hands.
In the end, she drops both hands and kisses Chloe, hard, like she’s driving through every bit of resistance she’d put up in the last year. Like they’re back in college, like this maybe all they have, and Chloe reasons that maybe it is.
She pulls back, hands still fisted in Beca’s t-shirt, “You’re okay?”
Beca ponders, biting her bottom lip that already looks swollen, cheeks red from exertion. “No,” she breathes out, but nods as she leans in, “and yes.”
“Bec, I’m not-”
“Just kiss me ... please.”
Two weeks play out, sort of like this. Deliveries of food, deliveries of some extra alcohol because they’d excitedly discovered an app that allowed that sort of thing. There’s hesitant attempts at affection and hesitant grabs in the middle of the night because Beca never really sleeps on the couch after that first night.
She claims discomfort.
Sure.
Except the nights always culminate in more, and they’re both at least pretty sure this isn’t going to end well.
“Can we do french toast this morning?” Beca looks hopeful and Chloe wants to kiss her but they’re not really doing that. Instead, she whips out a kitchen towel and flicks it out at Beca who looks more amused than outraged. “I swear to god -”
Chloe hits her again, “You never make me breakfast, you know.”
“And I never will if you keep that up.”
Thwack.
They end up in a clump on the floor as Beca tickles her sides, still fully aware of all her weaknesses. “Bec, please -”
“Say you’ll make me french toast,” she keeps tickling, “Say it!”
“Okay!” Chloe’s panting, grabbing at her wrists, “I’ll make the fucking french toast!”
“Sweet,” Beca plants a kiss on full lips, and Chloe hates how much this all feels like before, when it’s all just means to an end. “Thanks,” Beca helps her up from the floor and pulls her into a hug that lasts too long as she whispers, “Thank you,” again, and she knows it means more.
Governor Cuomo announces the lift of the lockdown on May 1st - the deaths and hospitalizations have stabilized, at least in New York, it seems. Beca sort of goes pale at the news, and Chloe leaves the couch to order from the pizza place they always use on Fridays.
“Bacon on your half?”
“Sure.”
And they eat more quietly than that first night because it feels a lot like the beginning of the end. Again.
But it doesn’t feel fair.
This time, especially.
Because things are still good. This didn’t feel hard, this felt like what it should’ve been.
Beca just collects her things and pulls a duffle bag out from under the bed, her phone starts ringing and she answers a few calls from the studio with, “Yeah, I’ll be back in tomorrow. Yeah, yep, my dad’s doing okay now, it got a little scary there, but we’re good now.”
Chloe winces at every lie.
It feels harder, to lose her again, and Beca tries to make light, saying, “Hey, at least we get the chance to do things right this time around. Right?” Chloe just leans forward, places her elbows on her knees, and leans her forehead on her palms, because she wasn’t supposed to get caught up in this.
But, they never knew how to resist each other, did they?
She feels the weight on the couch right next to her, a hand on her thigh, and a soft, “I’m sor -”
“Don’t, Bec. Please, just don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry again, don’t ruin what this was. Don't say you're sorry for this.”
Beca shifts. “Maybe we could ...” she trails off, unsure what it is that she’s even offering.
“Do you suddenly have time?” Chloe finally grunts out, lifting her head, brow furrowed. “Do we suddenly have all the fixes to what went wrong before? This really only works when reality isn’t closing in on us. You don’t and you can’t give me what I need from the person I’m with, Beca.”
“I want to,” she says, quietly, like the words are going to change anything about who they are to each other.
“Does that matter?”
And she supposes it doesn’t. So, she gathers her bags, hugs Chloe tightly and stops at the doorway once again. “You’ll call me?” Beca says, weigh on the door frame, eyes hopeful. “Next time the world’s falling apart?”
Chloe sniffles through a sad laugh. “Of course,. Quarantine Buddy number one on speed dial.” Beca nods, smiles sadly, and shuffles until she can maneuver her bags out. There’s an awkward wave goodbye just as the door finally closes.
Beca’s barely in the elevator when she rearranges her bags and pulls out her phone.
Beca
i love you beale. always have.
Beca
thank you for texting me that night.
Chloe doesn't have the heart to answer, to make it any more than what it was, but she thinks Beca knows.