Chapter Text
Death can be beautiful too.
While seasonal depression looms over some with its phantasmic aura, Chloe Beale finds solace and comfort in the fading colors of leaves and whispering winds of autumn.
She finds happiness in change and the new beginnings that come with.
New York moves at a pace unique to its culture. A constant current of its own design that she’d grown accustomed to over the past few months yet somehow still managed to be a novice. Everyday was a new discovery and today was no different.
An unexpected leak had closed down the office but, for Chloe, there was still work that could be done. So she ventures from her condo and takes a cab to a quaint cafe just a short walk from Central Park.
It’s the first official day of autumn but the essence of it feels ancient and familiar all at once, carved into the brick and oak architecture. Scents of pumpkin and cinnamon tickle her nose as she waits in line. There’s a display case with elegant rows of cakes and muffins, breads and scones; all brandishing their seasonal flavors proudly.
There’s a vanilla chai loaf with a layer of maple cream frosting slathered on top that she’s helpless to do anything other than purchase two. And of course, a signature pumpkin spice cold brew because it was her own tradition and Aubrey wasn’t there to critique what she seemed to be her own poor coffee choices.
There’s a light overcast that rolls along the city skies, a drizzle of rain sprinkling the streets and sidewalks. A perfectly empty seat tucked away in the front corner gives her ample view of it all. In a city this busy, Chloe indulges every moment she can to slow down.
A luxury she doesn’t take for granted.
She tugs her laptop free from her tote and takes the first sip of fall as she signs in. Her calendar is always full but is stacked in deliberate bars and columns of varying colors that help her stay on track.
Today’s actually one of her lighter days with most of it centered around office meetings that were now canceled. There’s an initial brief with a new client around three and the first set of mockups to showcase with another client around four.
With the in-person assignments canceled, the morning is hers to enjoy.
She takes a generous bite of her snack, directing her attention to clearing some emails when the bell above the door rings. A woman enters, small and beautiful in spite of the scowl she wears with such intensity.
A pair of headphones larger than the woman herself sit over her ears, broken apart by thick curtains of brunette hair. Her lips move in sync with whatever music she’s listening to but she breaks character just long enough to place her order with a cordial smile.
She grabs her drink and moves to the opposite side of the cafe, claiming a seat by the window and adjusting her headphones over her ears. She pulls out a small notebook of some sort and begins scribbling away at its insides.
Chloe retrieves a pencil and her miniature drawing pad from her bag and gets to work sketching. It’s admittedly a questionable hobby of hers—drawing strangers out in public—but one she enjoys all the same.
She found that it was best if she didn’t ask, not due to a lack of respect for the privacy of others, but for the preservation of the art itself. Poses and staged scenes bored her but something like this, the beauty of the mundane and unscripted always inspired her.
Her fingers move in tandem with her eyes—quick yet somehow still steady. Fortunately, this woman is far too engrossed in her own work to notice the way Chloe commits her likeness with pencil upon paper.
Ever so often, the brunette will take a sip of her drink or direct her attention out the window to her right, brow furrowed in thought. In those moments, Chloe ceases her drawing, biting her lip to contain a smile at how childlike the other woman looks.
The cycle repeats itself.
A sip of coffee here.
A glance there.
An inward smile all throughout.
Fortunately, the woman lingers about none the wiser as Chloe concludes her drawing. Even in the entirely monochromatic drawing on this plain paper, she’s as remarkable as ever. As much as she would love to keep it, she toys with the urge to give it to her unsuspecting muse.
Perhaps she’d find it interesting at best and give Chloe the same toothless smile she’s given to the barista. Perhaps she’d call her a freak and threaten to call the cops. At best, she’d wait until Chloe was out of earshot and use it to wipe the wet ring from her iced drink from the table before tossing it in the trash.
The thought prompts her to practically inhale her own drink which had since become a muddled watered-down mixture that only vaguely tasted of fall.
She wars with herself for several minutes, finally working up the courage when the bell above the door rings again.
Another woman, raven-haired and undeniably pretty in her own right enters. Her phone is in hand and her eyes scan over the space with remarkable clarity. She’s on a mission and her focus is unwavering.
The subject of her focus? The quiet brunette tucked away in her own world by the window.
The newcomer sits across from her and in a matter of seconds, that childlike innocence and peace is disrupted. Chloe can’t make out their words but it’s clear there’s an argument of some kind. The newcomer tries to place her hand atop the other woman’s but she hastily snatches it back and that scowl returns in full force.
To say she looks uncomfortable is an understatement and a feeling begins to gnaw at Chloe until there’s only one clear answer on what she should do.
She rises from her seat and returns to the register. “The girl over there,” she motions with a nod of her head, “Do you remember what drink she ordered?”
The barista ponders for a moment before nodding, “Oh! I’m pretty sure it was our seasonal pumpkin and brown sugar iced latte. Did you want to order one?”
“Not for me, no. Would you be able to write something on the cup for me and give it to her, please? And make sure the person with her can’t see it?”
The woman looks perplexed but nods all the same. Chloe relays her instructions to be written on the cup, pays for the drink and returns to her seat, watching from the corner of her eye as the plan unfolds.
She feigns interest in a new email that arrives in her inbox, studying the brunette carefully for any sign that her help was warranted. There’s nothing for a while but the troubled look on her face continues to grow.
Finally, she sees it.
The woman toys with her ear spike twice and takes two quick sips of her drink. Chloe’s on the move in a matter of seconds. She strides over to their table, already brandishing her signature smile as she dives full force into her character.
“There you are! If I realized you were here, I would’ve come over a long time ago. Chloe, with 5th Avenue Studios.” Her eyes are quick and she manages to catch the badge tethered to the brunette’s bag. “You’re Beca, right?”
“Hey, y-yeah! My bad, sorry to keep you waiting,” Beca rushes out, shaking Chloe’s hand in turn.”
“Oh no worries, I was just working on some sketches while I waited. If you’re ready we can—“
“Excuse me but we’re in the middle of something.”
Chloe maintains her smile, turning to the other woman with piercing green eyes and a disapproving look. “And you’re absolutely welcome to continue once we’re done but we have a proposal to discuss and I’m on a very tight schedule. Beca, are you ready?”
The brunette nods, collecting her things and Chloe motions her over to the table she’d been musing at on her own just a short while ago. She ignores the daggers the spurned woman shoots at her from behind, settling back into her seat and giving Beca that same amicable smile.
The door to the cafe is flung open a moment later as the other woman storms out and Chloe exhales in an effort to expel the tension from her body.
“Sorry,” is the first word Chloe can think to say, “I hope I didn’t put you on the spot just now. You just looked uncomfortable and I…I’m sorry.”
Beca blinks at her, that childlike curiosity returning. Her eyes are an enigmatic titanium blue and it takes every ounce of strength from sketching them out over the off-white planes of her art pad.
And then, Beca smiles at her.
Her smile is soft, not over-exaggerated and not quite reaching her eyes. But it’s there and it’s warm and honest and Chloe exhales again, fingers running through her own loosely wound red curls.
“Chloe, is that your real name?”
She nods.
“Thank you, Chloe,” Beca says, maintaining that smile as she tucks her hair behind her ear, “Don’t apologize. You just saved my life, literally.”
Truthfully speaking, it wasn’t really all that cold out but the scarf Chloe dons was serving well as a way to hide the red creeping along her neck. “Oh, yeah—of course.” Her own smile feels like too much in the presence of Beca’s softer one but it doesn’t appear to bother the other woman in any way.
“You’re pretty quick on your feet, aren’t you?”
Beca’s fingers toy with the badge clipped to her bag and Chloe’s own fantastical daze is disrupted. Rubbing at her neck, she grins innocently, “Call it luck really but I’ve been in my share of uncomfortable situations so I’ve had to adapt pretty quickly.”
“Uncomfortable,” Beca muses, casting her eyes out the window as her smile begins to break apart, “That’s a word for it, I guess.”
She wants to ask Beca what she means but the sound of her phone ringing never quite gives her the chance. She gives Beca an apologetic look as she steps away to which Beca acknowledges with a reassuring nod.
A client of hers, who was notoriously difficult to work with, demands to meet now. They’re a high value client which brings in plenty of money for the company. Of course Chloe was the only one whose designs were ever remotely good enough for them which also meant a larger commission.
An easy choice albeit an inconvenient one.
She returns to the table, shoving her laptop into her bag and grabbing her watered down drink. “I’m so sorry but I really have to go. It was really nice to meet you, Beca. Maybe we’ll run into each other again soon?”
Beca looks up from her phone and nods, “Yeah. Yeah—okay.”
Chloe tugs on her bottom lip, not loving the change in Beca’s voice but she can’t really ponder on that now. Gone was her gentle morning as she found herself once again thrown into the chaotic tide of the city and her work.
She feels the cool press of Beca’s eyes long after she’s passed through the door of the cafe, making a mental note to come back again soon. She hails another cab to the home of her eccentric client and puts on her best smile as she waits outside their door.
A brief wind snakes around her legs and she tugs her cardigan tighter around her chest. She dips into her tote, feeling around for her small drawing pad. Of course she’d transfer her more detailed drawings onto her digital pad at home but her client talked fast and being able to jot down quick outlines and notes was a must.
But it’s not there.
Her sketch pad was still sitting back at the cafe where she’d reluctantly left Beca.
And even as the door is thrown open and she’s finally thrust back into the cradle of central heating, her mind is still back in that small shop of autumnal warmth. Still lingering, still smiling and wondering if Beca’s seen her sketch.
Wondering if that silly little drawing had put a smile on her face.
Wondering if she’d ever see her again.