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Beca doesn’t want her.
It has been years now. Years of longing looks and lingering stares, of dainty fingers brushing against gently trembling hands in the sweltering heat of the summertime and the chilling evening breeze of winter. Years of Chloe wanting Beca, of desperate pining and of so painfully, so achingly just wanting her.
In hindsight, she knew it from that very first moment. Chloe, shielded behind a barrier of all of her naive optimism, knew when she first laid eyes on the mysterious freshman girl with the dark eyeliner and those quirky earrings, that she wasn’t just some girl. She knew that there was something. Perhaps, at the time, she didn’t know exactly what, but Chloe just… she just knew.
And here she is tonight, showcasing that something for everybody to see. Everybody is finally getting a glimpse of Beca Mitchell, the Beca Mitchell Chloe has known for all of these years; the talented, beautiful, frankly indescribable Beca Mitchell. She is finally getting everything she deserves.
As Chloe watches her through the crowd with glossy, tear-stung eyes, pride radiating through the airwaves, she cannot help but register something of a sad finality amidst the chaotic excitement. Beca is ready to take those next steps, the ones she truly, truly deserves more than anybody in this world, and Chloe knows that she has to take them without the Bellas… Without Chloe.
No matter how soul-destroying that realization may be, of course, Chloe is overcome by a bittersweet feeling, all in all. Chloe is so happy for Beca, she is so ridiculously happy, so overwhelmingly proud of her. But letting go of those years of hope, of those real and raw feelings with no chance for real closure, it is just...it’s really freaking hard.
And Chloe knows that it is unfair of her to retreat the way she is right now, to retreat to Chicago of all people. As she moves through the celebratory crowds with a specific purpose, neatly curled hair swaying and makeup somehow still intact, in search of the one person she knows will be able to take her mind off of everything even if only for a brief moment, she knows that it is so, so unfair. Because he wants her, she knows he wants her, and she doesn’t want him. She just wants… Well, she just wants the distraction.
She realizes, as she rounds the corner to the familiar sight of a smiling Chicago, that he will be all too happy to provide that for her. He’ll provide a distraction, and somewhere in his mind, he will know that that is all he is. And that is unfair, too.
Despite her sadness, despite that sense of loss plummeting into her swirling stomach, despite everything, Chloe’s own smile is a genuine one as she picks up the pace of her footsteps, straightening out the lapels of her leather jacket. Without thought nor further calculation, her hand outstretches to rest on the back of Chicago’s neck, palm curling against warm skin in an effort to pull him closer.
He doesn’t question her. Of course he doesn’t question her. Instead, he leans in just as easily as she does, and for half a second, Chloe gets to just… she just gets to forget.
Adrenaline. It is adrenaline that is keeping Beca going right now.
It was adrenaline up on that stage, as she belted out that song to a packed out stadium of gawking people. Of course, it wasn’t just adrenaline. Honestly, if her gaze hadn’t flickered to the sight of that one person, that one perfectly imperfect person who always somehow manages to both keep her grounded and have her soaring for the stars, she may have choked right there and then. It is adrenaline coursing through her body now, though, as she excuses herself from the Bellas’ squeals of excited celebration, knowing exactly where she wants to go.
Beca had seen it, she had seen that look of quiet sadness glistening in the most familiar eyes as their gazes had met so naturally through the crowd, the way they do in any crowded room. And Beca knows what all of this entails, she knows that signing with DJ Khaled’s label is going to mean a lot of huge, terrifying changes, and she knows that Chloe knows it, too.
But there is one thing Beca refuses to leave behind, one person she simply will not do this without.
Beca likes to think that Chloe knows that, too.
She just needs to tell her. She needs to find her, and she needs to tell her.
Of course, as Beca rounds the corner with fast footing to a quieter section, she doesn’t necessarily bank on exactly what she finds there.
To say that her heart doesn’t drop would be a lie. It is a natural reaction for her at this point, in fact. Beca has seen Chloe kissing people before, she has seen her with other people, wrapped up and happy in a momentary bubble, and she has seen the very distinct way Chicago has stared every time Chloe has entered a room throughout this entire trip, just wishing he could be in that bubble, too.
This time, however, that natural pang in her chest, the one that usually knocks her back and forces her to retreat into herself, seems to subside quickly. Somehow, it seems to be overtaken by a new rush of adrenaline, and as she stares blankly at the scene before her, notes the sight of Theo approaching in her peripheral vision, Beca decides to do something about it. She won’t let it pass her by this time. She can’t.
Theo doesn’t get the chance to speak, not really. He opens his mouth to do so (that dude is always talking), and maybe he even starts to say something, but Beca doesn’t let him proceed. Instead, she rides that same rush, the one that has kept her going all night, and presses her hand firmly to his abdomen to effectively push him away.
“I’ve gotta go show this guy how it’s done,” she murmurs, and whether it is to Theo or simply to herself, a brief pep talk of some kind, Beca doesn’t know.
All she knows is that her feet carry her forward with a confidence she barely even recognizes, until she can reach out and grasp Chloe gently by the arm.
And suddenly, she realizes, it truly is now or never.
It catches Chloe off guard at first, the feeling of a delicate hand tugging at her wrist. Fortunately, despite the level of passion she is attempting to display, she is absolutely not feeling this current kiss; she doesn’t care for the man whose lips are pressed firmly to her own. It proves easy for her to pull away, startled eyes widening slightly at the sight of Beca Mitchell, confident and beautiful, pulling her in.
It is like something from a dream—a dream Chloe has had many, many times before—the way Beca lifts her hands to steadily hold Chloe’s cheeks. Chloe doesn’t even get to question her, doesn’t get to ask her what she is doing, before she feels soft lips pushing against her own. She feels her lids fluttering shut and her body giving in to the sensation of Beca Mitchell kissing her, of something she has wanted for so, so long now.
Instinctively, Chloe’s hands rise to the back of Beca’s head, long fingers grasping at her neatly styled hair. And she cannot believe this is actually happening, cannot believe she is actually, finally kissing Beca Mitchell. No—Beca is kissing her.
Although she registers the sound of another voice (Theo’s, perhaps?), Chloe doesn’t take it in. She can’t really think of anything right now, nothing other than this very moment, this long overdue act of desperate passion, of years of pent up, eager longing. As much as she doesn’t want to ruin it, doesn’t want to stop it, she needs a second to really take it in.
“What are you…” Chloe begins in a soft, disbelieving voice as she pulls just slightly back. Her chest has begun to rise and fall much faster, almost like she has just run an entire marathon, and her hands refuse to move, they refuse to loosen their grip on the back of Beca’s hair, almost like she is afraid of her coming to her senses and making a hasty retreat. She expects the sight of Beca’s gentle gaze, less scared than she would’ve ever imagined, to be something of a reality check for her, but it isn’t. There is no terrified moment of realization, no fear nor apprehension. It is simply them, the two of them staring at one another in the most natural, most comfortable way. The other people around them no longer exist to Chloe, all she sees is Beca. Her voice softens, corners of her lips arching upward just slightly, and she whispers in a quiet, genuine tone meant only for Beca’s ears, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to do that?”
Although Beca licks her lips, almost like she is about to say something, it seems that she opts to hold back, to use her actions as her voice right now instead. She has always been better at that, at not necessarily using spoken words. A soft hand reaches around to tuck a loose auburn curl behind Chloe’s ear, and the gentle grin on Beca’s lips, the one Chloe’s gaze darts directly toward, speaks volumes. She has every answer she needs as Beca leans back in, and Chloe does nothing to stop her.
A hand drops to her side, before her palm is settling comfortably beneath Beca’s thigh. Chloe lifts it to move her impossibly closer, to rest Beca’s body against her own, and soon she is melting into this perfect, blissful moment with Beca Mitchell, a moment to far surpass any of her wildest fantasies.
It is Beca who pulls away this time. Like Chloe, though, she doesn’t move too far back—perhaps she is thinking the same thing, that Chloe might come to her senses. Neither quite realizes just how comfortable the other is, though; how natural this feels. Chloe notes that her expression is still not one of panic. If anything, it is lazy and it is serene. Beca is all of the brightest colors in the world, all rolled into one.
“This is okay, right?” Beca asks in a soft voice, arms now wrapped firmly around Chloe’s neck.
Chloe responds with a quiet giggle and a flushed face, head nodding gently. “Of course it’s okay,” she promises, fingertips stroking delicately against Beca’s thigh.
Beca just watches her for a moment, just takes in the quiet comfort that surrounds them. “You wanna get out of here?” she questions, gaze flickering briefly to the watching eyes around them, before she is drawn directly back in to Chloe. “I think we have some things to talk about.”
The words don’t scare Chloe, she knows there is nothing negative about them. She can tell in the way Beca holds her, the way she looks at her, that this isn’t an ending. It is a middle; a perfect, perfect middle. Softly, she nods her head, curls bouncing rhythmically. “Yeah,” she says with a gentle nudge of her nose to the tip of Beca’s, “I think we do.”
And Chloe realizes, in that moment, that she was wrong before; Beca does want her.
In fact, maybe on some level, Chloe has known it all along.