Chapter Text
The bar is the kind Beca Mitchell usually avoids.
It’s too loud. Too crowded. Too many people pretending not to watch each other.
But tonight Stacie dragged her out after a long week in the studio, and Beca is three drinks deep, which means the bass shaking the walls feels less like noise and more like something she can sink into. The lights are low and red, bleeding over the room like spilled wine. Bodies move in slow, loose rhythm around the floor, conversations swallowed by music.
Stacie vanished twenty minutes ago with someone wearing glitter eyeliner. So Beca is alone at the bar, elbow propped against the sticky wood, turning a glass of something amber between her fingers.
She’s not looking for anything.
That’s what she tells herself, at least.
Still, when someone slides onto the stool beside her, she notices. The girl smells faintly like citrus and something floral. Her hair catches the dim bar lights—strawberry blonde, maybe. Though in the darkness it almost reads red.
Beca glances sideways. The girl smiles. “Is this seat taken?”
Beca huffs a quiet laugh. “I mean…you’re sitting in it.”
“True.” The girl extends a hand across the bar. “I’m Claire.”
Beca looks at the hand for a beat before shaking it. “Beca.”
Claire’s grip is warm. Confident without being pushy. “Do you come here a lot, Beca?”
“God, no.”
Claire laughs, a quick, bright sound. “Good. I was worried I’d have to pretend this place was charming.”
“It smells like spilled vodka and regret.”
“Exactly.”
They fall into conversation easily after that.
Claire is quick-witted, the kind of person who tilts her head when she listens, like she’s genuinely interested. She leans in close to be heard over the music, shoulder brushing Beca’s every few minutes.
Beca finds herself noticing small things. The light freckles across Claire’s nose. The way her hair falls forward when she laughs. The warmth of her knee against Beca’s under the bar.
Another drink appears. Then another. The music shifts to something slower, heavier.
Claire leans closer.
“So,” she says, voice near Beca’s ear now. “What does someone like you do for fun, Beca Mitchell?”
“Produce music.”
Claire pulls back slightly, amused. “No, I mean fun.”
“That is fun.”
Claire studies her for a moment. “You’re serious.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Well,” Claire says, turning her stool a little so they’re facing each other now, “I think you deserve a night off.”
Beca arches a brow. “Is that a professional opinion?”
“It’s a personal one.”
Their knees are touching now. Neither of them moves. The moment hangs there for a second too long to be accidental.
Claire’s gaze drops briefly to Beca’s mouth. Beca notices. She’s a little drunk, sure, but she’s not oblivious.
“Dance with me,” Claire says.
Beca groans immediately. “Oh, come on.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Everyone dances.”
“I produce music. Very different skill set.”
Claire slides off the stool anyway, grabbing Beca’s wrist. “Just one song.”
Beca lets herself be pulled to the floor. The crowd is thick, bodies packed together under pulsing lights. The bass thrums through the floor and up Beca’s legs. Claire turns toward her. Closer than necessary. Beca feels the heat of her almost immediately.
Claire’s hands settle lightly at Beca’s hips. Not possessive. Just…there. Beca exhales slowly.
“You’re very persuasive,” she says.
“I’ve been told.”
They move together in a loose, lazy rhythm. Nothing choreographed. Just proximity. Claire’s hair falls forward when she leans closer, brushing Beca’s cheek for half a second. It smells like strawberries. Or maybe that’s just the alcohol.
“You’re quieter than I expected,” Claire says.
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know.” Claire smiles. “Someone a little meaner.”
“Oh, I’m mean.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
The music changes again. Something slower. Claire’s hands slide a little higher along her sides. It’s uncomfortable but Beca doesn’t stop her. The space between them shrinks until it’s almost nothing. Beca becomes very aware of Claire’s breathing.
The warmth of her. The curve of her mouth when she smiles. Claire tilts her head.
“Can I kiss you?”
Beca blinks once. Then shrugs lightly. “Yeah.”
Claire doesn’t hesitate. The kiss is soft at first. Testing. Beca expected something bolder, maybe, but instead it’s slow and warm and curious. Claire’s hand slips up to Beca’s jaw. Beca kisses back. It deepens naturally after that. The way these things do when two people stop thinking about it.
Claire tastes like lime and vodka. Beca’s fingers curl lightly into the fabric of Claire’s jacket, pulling her closer without meaning to.
Claire hums softly into the kiss. It sends a strange warmth down Beca’s spine. When they pull apart, Claire’s smiling.
“Well,” she says quietly.
“Uh huh?” Beca mutters.
Claire brushes a strand of hair behind Beca’s ear. “You wanna get out of here?”
The question is casual. But the implication is obvious. Beca hesitates for exactly half a second. Then nods.
Claire’s apartment is only a few blocks away. They walk there together, the night air cool against Beca’s face, clearing some of the haze from her head.
The city is quieter out here. Streetlights cast soft orange pools along the sidewalk. Claire bumps Beca’s shoulder lightly.
“You’re very mysterious.”
“I’m not mysterious.”
“You definitely are.”
“I just don’t overshare with strangers.”
“Ah.” Claire grins. “So I’m still a stranger.”
“Technically.”
Claire unlocks the door to her building. “Well,” she says, glancing back at Beca. “We could work on that.”
Her apartment is small but warm. Books stacked on a coffee table. A guitar leaning against the wall. Beca notices that immediately. “You play?”
Claire follows her gaze. “A little.”
“Define little.”
“Enough to impress people at parties.”
Beca smirks faintly. “I’ll reserve judgment.”
Claire tosses her jacket over a chair. “So critical.”
“You have no idea.”
They stand there for a moment. The tension from the bar is still there. Maybe stronger now. Claire steps closer. “Hi,” she says softly.
“Um—”
Then Claire kisses her again. This time it’s less tentative. Beca leans into it almost instantly, her hands finding Claire’s waist, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between them.
Claire laughs quietly into the kiss. “Eager.”
“Don’t ruin it.”
“Sorry.”
But she kisses Beca again anyway. They drift toward the couch without really deciding to. Claire sits first, pulling Beca down with her. Beca ends up half in her lap, one knee pressed into the cushion beside Claire’s hip.
The kiss deepens. Claire’s fingers slide into Beca’s hair. Beca exhales softly against her mouth. Claire’s hair falls forward again, brushing Beca’s cheek. In the dim light of the apartment it looks red. Not blonde. Red. Beca’s brain catches on that detail for some reason. The way the light turns it warmer. The way it frames Claire’s face.
Claire kisses the corner of Beca’s mouth, then her jaw. “You okay?” she murmurs.
“Uh huh.”
Beca’s hand slides up Claire’s shoulder, fingers curling lightly against her collar. Claire leans back slightly, studying her.
“You’re quieter than you were at the bar.”
“Just concentrating.”
“On?”
Beca leans down, kissing her again. “Shut up.”
Claire laughs softly against her lips. “Bossy.”
Beca presses another kiss to her mouth. Claire tilts her head back slightly, eyes half-lidded now. “God,” she murmurs.
Claire lifts her shirt over her head and Beca does the same. She brushes a kiss along her cheek, toward her ear. Beca’s breath catches. Beca feels a tingly rush when Claire attaches her lips to her pulse point. Claire’s fingers find their place on the swell of her breast, kneading softly.
“Shit, Chloe—”
The word slips out before Beca even registers it. Soft. Automatic. Like muscle memory.
Claire freezes for half a second. Then she laughs lightly. “Wow,” she says, breathless. “We’re already forgetting names?”
Beca’s entire body goes still. The alcohol drains out of her system so fast it feels violent. Claire brushes it off easily, still smiling.
“One night stand etiquette, Mitchell,” she teases. “At least pretend you remember—”
But Beca isn’t listening anymore. Her brain is stuck on the word she just said. Chloe. Claire’s hair. Red in the dark. The way she laughs. The warmth of someone sitting this close. For a second the room feels wrong. Like she’s looking at the scene from outside her body.
Claire nudges her lightly. “You okay?”
Beca pulls back completely now. The air between them feels colder suddenly. “I—”
Her voice falters. Claire studies her more carefully now. “Oh.” The teasing fades from her expression. “That wasn’t just a drunk mistake, was it?”
Beca rubs a hand over the back of her neck. “I’m sorry—fuck.”
Claire tilts her head. “So Chloe is…?”
Beca lets out a long breath. “My best friend.”
Claire raises an eyebrow. “Mm.”
“Not like—” Beca gestures vaguely. “I mean. She’s just—”
She stops. Because suddenly she’s not sure how to finish that sentence. Claire watches the realization cross her face in real time. And to her credit, she doesn’t look annoyed. Mostly amused.
“Well,” Claire says gently, “that explains the face.”
“What face?”
“You look like someone just turned on a really bright light in your brain.”
Beca exhales a shaky laugh. “Yeah.”
They sit there in silence for a moment. Claire leans back into the couch cushions. “So,” she says. “Let me guess.”
Beca groans. “You don’t have to guess.”
“Oh, I definitely do.” Claire gestures lazily. “You’re hooking up with a stranger.”
“Yes.”
“You say your best friend’s name.”
“…yes.”
“And now you look like you just discovered gravity.”
Beca presses her palms over her eyes. “This is a nightmare, I’m so sorry.”
Claire laughs softly. “It’s really not.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Oh, I think I do.” Claire tucks one leg under herself on the couch. “You’re in love with her.”
Beca immediately shakes her head. “No.”
Claire just waits. Beca opens her mouth to argue again. Then closes it. Because suddenly the memory reel in her head is playing way too clearly.
Chloe laughing in the kitchen. Chloe leaning over her shoulder in the studio. Chloe’s red hair in the morning sun. The way Beca always notices when Chloe walks into a room. The way every relationship Beca has tried to have somehow…fizzles. Claire watches the whole realization unfold.
“Yep,” she says quietly.
Beca groans again, dragging her hands down her face. “Oh my god, fuck dude.”
Claire pats her knee sympathetically. “Congratulations.”
“This is terrible.”
“It’s actually very romantic.”
“It’s extremely inconvenient.”
Claire snorts. Beca stares at the floor. “I literally came home with someone else.”
“People do that,” Claire says. “It happens. It's called denial.”
Beca gives her a look. “You’re very chill about this.”
Claire shrugs. “Hey, I got a good kiss out of it.”
Beca huffs a quiet laugh despite herself. “I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Claire smiles gently. “Honestly, this is a way better story than a normal hookup.”
Beca leans back into the couch now, staring at the ceiling. Her heart is still racing. But not from kissing. From the realization that’s settling in her chest.
Claire nudges her shoulder. “So what are you gonna do?”
Beca swallows. Across the room, the guitar leans against the wall. Red hair. Soft laughter. The name that came out without thinking.
She exhales slowly. “…I think I need to talk to her.”
Claire grins. “Yeah. You definitely do.”