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“Grab your drinks and get in a circle, bitches!” Stacie calls out, her voice loud and promising no good.
Beca has no idea what kind of party game she’s going to be subject to this time, but she is drunk and newly single, so who is she to question it?
Amy made sure of that first fact, supplying Beca with some surprisingly palatable concoction every time her drink threatened to go below half empty. That’s where the danger lies, she thinks. The drinks are edible, which means the alcohol to mixer ratio isn’t outrageous, but if she drinks enough of anything…
She follows some of the partygoers into the living room of the Bellas’ house, consisting of all the girls, and a good amount of the Trebles. They aren’t celebrating anything in particular tonight – they stopped needing a reason about a year and a half ago. A Friday night in early fall is incentive enough.
Beca sits down on the couch, wedged between the arm and Stacie. If she were any more sober, she might recognize that this is potentially the most dangerous place to be sitting. She goes to take stock of where everyone else is situated, but she really only cares where one person is.
Her eyes search for the easy target of red hair, and she finds her subject quickly, spotting Chloe on the floor across the way, giggling at something Benji said to her left. Beca imagines it probably wasn’t very funny, but he found the nicest person to aim his lame jokes at. Her eyes have yet to move on, and she knows if anyone has the wherewithal to study her, it would be classified as staring, but she’s pretty sure no one does, and the combination of minor dissociation and the vision of Chloe Beale brings her a pleasure that she isn’t willing to forgo.
She and Jesse broke up a month ago, their romantic relationship reaching an amicable finish line that it should have reached six months ago. They agreed to stay friends, which is for the best, considering their close proximity and shared pastime, and all of it is a relief. Beca feels a little guilty for thinking this way, but she’s finally freed of the slightly impulsive decision that she made as an overeager freshman who had a community for the first time.
She loved Jesse, but they were always meant to be friends. There was no harm in their relationship, unless she thinks about the cost of time itself, but their general friendship made it mostly worthwhile.
She remembers where she is and why she’s there and spares a brain cell to wonder what game they’re playing. Truth or dare? Never have I ever? Something else equally invasive and humiliating?
“Seven minutes in heaven!” Stacie squeals.
For maybe the first time in her fucking life, Beca wishes they were playing truth or dare. She has gotten used to sucking it up and performing whatever ridiculousness someone throws her way as a dare, or skirting around a truth question with raunchy intent. She hasn’t, however, gotten comfortable with the potential of being physical with her friends. Both ones she considers family, and the acquaintances of the Trebles.
She knows her expression shares her distaste, except she thinks anyone around her might read it as her default; resting and bitchy.
She’ll blame her false hope on her inebriation, looking around the room hoping to find similar reactions – people who think this is a ridiculously bad idea – but all she sees are smiles and giggles and knowing glances thrown here and there. It was a silly attempt, everyone else here loves this shit.
There’s one particular person who might love it more than everyone else combined. Her gaze follows her line of thought and settles back on Chloe, and she’s surprised to meet her eyes directly, Chloe already staring back at her.
Her pupils are bigger than usual, courtesy of cheap vodka, but her irises are blue as ever. Her face is impressively thoughtful for the atmosphere and alcohol, as she seems to study Beca. Her lips are relaxed in a contented smile, and she tilts her head just the tiniest bit in question.
Beca can’t hold her gaze any longer but she offers one stiff and short nod, indicating that she presumes she’s okay with this. When she flicks her eyes back up, Chloe’s are crinkled at the corner and she shoots her a wink before tuning into a conversation that someone else is trying to have with her.
Beca wishes her eyes were back on her. She doesn’t want her to talk to anybody else. She doesn’t want anyone else to want to talk to Chloe. But then again, that’s the hefty price she pays for falling for the most beautiful girl in every room she’s ever been in.
Just because she doesn’t share her feelings doesn’t mean she doesn’t have them and intellectualizes them to a fault.
After hood night, her affinity for searching for Chloe the moment she entered any room was undeniable. For months, she attributed it to needing a familiar face out of discomfort. It never stopped, though, even when the only spaces she entered were filled with people she knew remarkably well.
Then she reasoned that it was just their strong friendship; anyone who knew Beca knew Chloe, and knew that the two were caught in each other’s orbit. If they were both in the same vicinity, it was only a matter of time before they gravitated toward each other.
It wasn’t until ICCA finals last season when Beca recognized it for what it really was.
She was thinking about her grand gesture for Jesse; the song, the apology, the movie-worthy kiss at the end, and it all felt wrong. It felt disingenuous. The publicity and the person. Beca wouldn’t say she regretted it, but she certainly wished she could do it again. Do it the right way. Involving a semi-private, intimate moment on stage with a certain redhead.
She stayed in her room for weeks after that, only leaving for rehearsal, class, and the occasional dinner. It was a time she was grateful for her reputative reclusivity. No one questioned her too hard, except for the subject of her thoughts, the person who knows her better than anyone. The person she wants to know her better.
The flash of a glass bowl with paper slips accosts her line of vision. Right, this fucking game.
Stacie shakes the bowl next to her and turns her head to look at Beca.
“You want first pick, DJ?”
Stacie knows the answer to that, but in case she doesn’t, “Not a chance in hell.”
Stacie shakes her head and laughs. “We’ll see how long you can avoid this one. You know how games of chance work, right?”
Beca mumbles her discontent in response, not drunk enough to override her factory settings. She’s still conscious, after all.
Beca knows Stacie is all bark and no bite with her. So she isn’t actually worried that she’d make her go first. She guesses that’s the only thing she can control.
“Who’s up?” Stacie asks the wider group.
To the surprise of no one, a boy surrounded by pretty girls raises his hand, far too eager to come across as anything other than new.
Beca recognizes him, some sophomore that auditioned this year. He has floppy dirty blonde hair that’s parted in the middle, a boyish smile, and decently developed biceps. She thinks his name is…
“Jake! You look like you’ll combust if I pick someone else, so.”
Jake, that’s right.
He grabs the bowl from Stacie, and before digging his hand in, takes a look around the group, eyeing up his potential options. Like literally anybody else who might be in his position, his eyes land and linger on one Chloe Beale.
Beca’s heart drops. She hadn’t thought of that. She was so caught up in being selfishly concerned that someone else would draw her name, that she didn’t think of a much, much worse option. Someone else drawing Chloe’s name.
At least if someone picked Beca, she could stand in that closet, closed off, as far away as the space would allow to ensure that no one put their fucking hands on her. She can’t control what happens if someone picks Chloe, though.
In fact, she imagines that this game is right up Chloe’s alley. She is the embodiment of openness and sensuality, operating with an air of casualness surrounding all matters of touch and intimacy.
She knows it doesn’t always have to mean something for Chloe to be involved. Sometimes it just has to be spontaneous and hot and fun.
The thought makes Beca sick to her stomach.
Sure, she has seen Chloe make out with more men than she can count, but that was before Beca was an option. Beca was always with Jesse. Beca’s name wasn’t mixed in a bowl with everyone else’s.
Right here and now, single and with her literal hat in the ring, the thought of it not working out for her kills her. What is she supposed to do instead, tell Chloe how she feels? Fat fucking chance.
Her intoxicated imagination takes her to a place where Chloe draws her name, or vise versa, possibly as a coping mechanism. As much as that’s her best case scenario, she isn’t even sure what she would do. She is awkward in a normal interaction. Her being locked in a closet with the girl who takes up much of her mental capacity is a balancing act of nightmare fuel and the best thing that would ever happen to her.
She’s envisioning it, trying to figure out her script and her mark, when someone else saying Chloe’s name jolts her out of her daydream. This has rapidly escalated from nightmare fuel to a hellish reality.
She can feel her face slip, her eyes going wide and unfocused, trying to put two and two together.
Jake. Chloe.
Goddamnit.
She glares daggers at him, as if he did this on purpose, and is horrified to be met with his profile as he’s already eyeing Chloe. He looks like he just won the lottery.
Beca can’t disagree with that.
She follows his gaze to Chloe, who is shaking her head as she smiles and looks down at her lap. When she looks up again, she finds Beca, probably out of convenience and not purpose, but doesn’t move on right away.
Her eyes narrow a little bit as she seemingly tries to read Beca. She does her best to school her expression back to neutral, and she thinks she’s successful. Judging by the way Chloe’s brow furrows slightly, she may have been a moment too late.
It doesn’t matter for long, as Jake’s hand is reaching over Chloe’s shoulder to help her up. Chloe takes the assistance and gets to her feet. The rest of the group hoots and hollers as Jake leads the charge to the closet between the living room and the kitchen.
“Take it easy on him, Chloe,” comes from an unidentifiable Treble.
She turns around and winks.
Beca is going to be sick.
“I think Jake can handle himself,” Jesse’s voice supplies.
Perfect, an easy target.
Beca’s hard eyes find him, reprimanding him for his words. To her surprise, he meets her there, his face shifting from humor to confusion. When Beca realizes what she’s doing, she blinks twice to break herself out of whatever spell she’s under, and it’s then that Jesse’s eyes soften and a breath escapes his barely parted lips. Beca thinks it might be understanding.
This keeps getting worse.
She can hear Stacie chuckling next to her. “Damn, do you think this is why he auditioned?”
The group laughs and Beca’s fists clench at her thighs. She needs everyone to stop talking.
She looks at the timer on Stacie’s phone. 6:19 left. Beca thinks that’s enough time for her to figure out how to disappear, perhaps.
Apparently registering her silence, or maybe feeling the palpable waves of tension rolling off of every square inch of Beca’s body, Stacie shifts next to her.
“Bec–”
Her sentence dies as she catches sight of Beca; eyes fixed on her lap, shoulders by her ears, her breath measured but strained.
She lowers her voice. “Bec, are you alright?”
Beca doesn’t move. She knows she’s being weird but she can’t move. If Stacie is the only one who notices, that’s fine. She can deal with that. It’s better than being present and aware of whatever the fuck is going on in that closet.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Beca responds.
Stacie brings a hand up to her shoulder and Beca flinches, both not expecting and not wanting the touch. To her credit, Stacie keeps her hand to herself. The only way she gets to keep that credit is if she doesn’t push this any further.
Stacie looks around the circle, making sure that everyone else is occupied before returning her attention to Beca. Damn.
“You look like you’re waiting on the results of a test for terminal illness,” she whispers.
“I fucking feel like it, too,” Beca grumbles out.
Stacie’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, and before Beca can backtrack or regret what she said or stop Stacie from speaking another word, a thud against the closet door makes her jump.
Visions of Jake with Chloe pushed up against the door, having his way with her, inundate her mind. Of Chloe’s hands and mouth on him. His rough hands on Chloe’s soft skin, touching her in ways that he doesn’t deserve. She closes her eyes, willing the thought to be fleeting.
The wider group claps and laughs at their hidden shenanigans.
Beca feels nauseous.
She notes Stacie does not join in with their cheering, her attention fully on Beca.
She can’t do this anymore.
Beca wordlessly stands up from the couch and heads toward the stairs, unsure if she’s going to be sick or barricade herself in her room for the foreseeable future. Maybe both. She ascends them two at a time, her vision blurring as emotion that she doesn’t want to feel comes rushing in.
Alcohol is great for letting go, but Beca only appreciates that when it’s the fun kind. It’s a pain in the ass when it applies to tears.
She tosses the door shut behind her and it slams a bit harder than she intended. She can’t bring herself to care, though, as everything spirals out of control.
No matter what happens, she knows she’s done being down there for the night. Without much thought, she takes her jeans and tank top off, changing into sweats and a hoodie to drown in, before grabbing her laptop and her headphones and sitting on her bed.
What she wants to do is sit here and cry and think about all of the things Chloe and that son of a bitch are doing in that closet. She’ll call the fact that she reaches for her coping mechanism maturity. Realistically, it is desperation. She is a little bit afraid of what will happen if she allows herself to sit here and ruminate. She has been known to do some damage.
She opens a new project in her software and immediately loads Black Friday by Tom Odell into the trackline and hits play.
She means to manipulate it, to build upon and create something cohesive, but instead she sits there and listens to it.
I wanna go party, I wanna have fun
I wanna be happy, could you show me how it's done?
You look so pretty, pretty like the sun
I could watch forever while you shine on everyone
Her face is expressionless but the tears are falling incessantly, hot and fast down her cheeks.
It's Black Friday, we're in a black taxi
You take my hand and hold it gently on the middle seat
It's all in my head, it's all in my mind
I'm so selfish, you're so kind
It's all in my head, baby, I can't breathe
I look in the mirror, what has happened to me?
Beca knows she has no right to feel this way, this strongly, about something so out of this realm. But sometimes feelings aren’t logical.
I wanna better body, I want better skin
I wanna be perfect like all your other friends
You look so pretty, pretty like the wind
Every time you touch me, I feel adrenaline
Beca screws her eyes shut as a sob leaves her for the first time, crossing the line from numb to unbearable pain. Whatever the depressed version of adrenaline is, has evidently worn off, and Beca feels a pit in her stomach and a hole in her heart.
She thinks about Chloe’s hand entwined with hers. Her perfectly blue eyes, open and curious. Her bright smile, for some reason, always aimed at Beca.
She claps a hand over her mouth as a choked sound attempts to make its way out of her. Her shoulders shake as waves of anguish pass through her.
She can’t shake this feeling of unwantedness, of being less than. She knows it isn’t fair, it’s just a fucking game. It isn’t fair to blame Jake or Chloe or Stacie. The only one being outrageous here, is Beca.
Jealousy isn’t a foreign emotion, but the way it’s taking shape, is. Beca is used to seeing red, her temper and face going hot. What’s new is the overwhelming sadness that has taken its place. She almost wishes she would have just blown up. It would’ve been easier to deal with, easier to explain as classic Beca. She wishes it was flammable, burning bright, but hot and fast. Instead it finds a place to burrow, a careful creature making itself at home.
She feels pathetic.
Just as the song goes to loop again, she catches the motion of her door opening out of the corner of her eye. Don’t people fucking knock anymore?
She goes to open her mouth to spew something that she would probably regret in that general direction, but her anger dies on her lips as Chloe fully enters the room, closing the door behind her.
Beca quickly swipes at her cheeks, an action she knows is futile, as she pulls her headphones down around her neck.
She takes in Chloe’s appearance; her shirt looks like it did the last time she saw her, not backwards or haphazard after a fit of passion. Her red waves cascade over her shoulders in loose curls, just as she styled them earlier.
Her investigation for evidence quickly turns into appreciation, taking in just how fucking beautiful Chloe is for the millionth time that night. Her eyes find her face to see irrefutable concern painted across her features. That makes Beca recall how she must look right now.
“Hi,” Beca says, her voice hoarse from crying.
“Hi,” Chloe echoes, sounding small and careful. She walks toward Beca’s bed, kicking her shoes off as she does. “Stacie told me you came up here.” Chloe sits down at the foot of her bed, bringing her legs up to sit cross cross.
Beca would tell literally anybody else to fuck off, but this space is Chloe’s, too. What Chloe doesn’t know is that so is Beca.
Beca nods and brings her eyes down to her computer, pausing the track to give herself something to do. She feels a hand on her knee and looks at Chloe’s point of connection instead of her face. Two more tears fall over her lashline.
“Are you okay, Bec?”
She sounds so gentle, so worried, that it just makes things worse. Here Chloe is to console her, and Beca can’t think of a single way to express what she’s feeling. All of this because she basically lost a game. The odds simply weren’t in her favor.
She knows that isn’t it, because the odds weren’t in anyone else’s favor, either. It’s the Chloe shaped piece of her heart that’s to blame.
Beca shrugs. She certainly isn’t okay, but she really can’t talk about it. Shutting people out is kind of her thing, except that hasn’t extended to Chloe for the better part of three years.
Chloe squeezes her knee and takes a deep breath, apparently recognizing that she needs to do the heavy lifting. Beca feels bad about that.
“What happened?”
The genuine care in her voice cracks Beca wide open. She hiccups out a sob and holds her face in her hands, trying to not humiliate herself more than she already has.
She has the secondary realization, too, that she’s keeping Chloe from the fun. She hates herself.
She tries to collect herself to speak. “I–it’s okay, Chloe.” She hiccups in a breath and moves her hands back down, meeting Chloe’s gaze. “I don’t want to keep you.”
“Keep me from what? That party?”
Beca nods.
“Beca once I came out and saw that you were gone I didn’t even sit back down. Stacie told me where you were and I came up.”
The only part of that Beca registers is once I came out. A cool reminder of what got her into this mess in the first place. She sees Jake’s hands on Chloe’s cheeks, angling her head for a kiss. She tries to physically shake the image away.
“Beca,” Chloe’s voice is quiet, potentially passing caring and dipping into anxious. “Please talk to me?”
She loves how much Chloe cares, how much she tries to get to know Beca despite her best attempts at stopping her. Because of that, she knows that short of saying something to irreparably damage their friendship, she won’t let this go.
She might damage it anyway, depending on how this all plays out.
She tries to find a place to start. Maybe explaining that she’s sad or insecure. Instead, “Did you kiss him?” falls off of her lips. She’s fucking mortified.
She knows she has no right to ask or care, but it’s all her affected brain can think about, so it’s all she’s able to verbalize.
Chloe doesn’t yell at her or slap her or react in some other way that Beca tried to prepare herself for. Instead, her eyes narrow, her brow dips, and her head tilts to the side, trying to make sense of Beca’s words. Trying to make more of them than what they are.
“Um, a little bit, yeah,” Chloe responds.
The floor gives out from underneath Beca. She wants to be put out of her misery. She nods her head slowly as she stares to Chloe’s left, a spot on her comforter her focal point of dissociation. She wipes the most recent set of tears off of her face and sniffles.
She hears Chloe gasp. Beca prepares herself to be berated.
“Oh my god, Beca, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you liked him. I never would’ve…”
The laugh that bubbles out of Beca stops Chloe in her tracks. As if she couldn’t make this more uncomfortable and concerning for Chloe. She sounds fucking deranged.
“I don’t give a fuck about Jake.” Her laughter tapers off after she says it, realizing that now she has to come up with another explanation. Or Chloe will continue her guessing game.
“I don’t think I’m following then, Bec. Is it the game? I’ll tell Stacie we aren’t ever going to play again. Do you want the Trebles gone?” Chloe rattles off her questions and different possible scenarios, unfortunately missing the mark each time.
Beca shakes her head. “No, it’s–” she sighs. “Yes, the game is stupid, but that isn’t the problem. The Trebles are stupid, too, but it isn’t–”
“I’m running out of ideas, Bec,” Chloe begs, desperate to understand.
If this were anyone else, Beca would tell them that she didn’t ask for them to supply any. But this is Chloe, and part of Beca is wired to give her anything she wants.
She takes a deep breath to ready herself.
“I just– I already barely wanted to play the fucking game, which, like, isn’t a big deal because it just isn’t my thing. But when he pulled your name out of the bowl– when he looked so excited that he pulled your name out of the bowl, I couldn’t—” Beca cuts herself off. She doesn’t know where to go from here. Her heart is hammering in her chest, begging her to stop. Begging her to do the easy thing.
"Couldn't what, Bec?”
“It was just hard.”
Chloe’s thumb is sweeping over her knee, in comfort or idle habit.
“But you just said you don’t like Ja–”
The way Chloe abruptly stops talking tells Beca everything she needs to know. Chloe got four in a row.
She closes her eyes and mourns the relationship they had, preparing herself for it to be over this very moment.
Beca feels Chloe’s hand on hers, squeezing around her pinkie and her palm. “Bec, please look at me?”
Doing as she’s asked, her heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes meet Chloe’s crystal blue ones.
“Is it— is it me?”
Her tone is so tender, Beca can do nothing but be honest.
“Yeah,” she breathes out.
Two things happen in the wake of her acquiescence; the tangible weight on her heart has lifted, but it’s replaced with immediate grief for her best friendship.
Her hand tightens around Beca’s. “If I had known, Beca, I wouldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have even played the stupid game.”
Confusion floods through Beca. Why would Chloe keep herself from the party? To stop Beca from being uncomfortable because she can’t control her own feelings?
“You wouldn’t have to do that for me, Chloe.”
“Of course I do. If we were together I wouldn’t kiss anybody else?” She says it like it’s obvious.
If we were together. What the hell is Chloe talking about?
“I mean, I guess that’s admirable loyalty, Chloe, but we aren’t together.”
There is nothing but clarity on Chloe’s face.
“No, we aren’t. But, like, is that what you meant?” Chloe asks.
“Meant by…”
“When you said it was me? The reason you were upset that we played the game?”
“Um–”
Beca isn’t sure she has the bravery to say it again.
“No, Bec, don’t back out now,” Chloe pleads, desperation tinging her tone.
“Back out?”
“We’re so close,” she whispers, tears threatening to spill over her lashline. The last thing Beca wanted to do was make her cry.
“I don’t want to upset you,” Beca explains.
A tear breaks free, running down Chloe’s perfect cheek. Beca doesn’t think before reaching a hand up to wipe it away. Chloe turns into her touch.
Chloe keeps her voice low, afraid of breaking the moment. “You’re not upsetting me.”
Beca draws her hand back to her lap. “I have… I think I have feelings for you.” No matter how this goes, Beca mentally applauds herself for getting the words out. Even if she had to do it afraid, there’s something to be said for doing it at all.
“You think?” Chloe prods.
“I know,” Beca confirms resolutely. She meets Chloe’s gaze, both girls regarding each other with wide eyes and a new perspective.
Apparently it’s Chloe’s turn for a giggle to make its way out of her. It comes out watery and a little strangled and perhaps disbelieving. “When did you know?”
This is the conversation they’re going to have?
“Um, I don’t know.” She knows exactly when, but she can’t sound too eager. “Seven months, maybe?” Definitely. What’s she going to do, tack on the days and hours to the end of that?
“You were still with Jesse,” Chloe works out.
“Yeah, uh, that’s probably when we should have broken up.”
Chloe nods, taking all of the information in.
She squeezes Beca’s knee again. “Beca, I’ve had this suffocating crush on you for, like, two years now.”
“Wha–”
“God, Stacie told me that you felt the same but I didn’t believe her and you had a boyfriend and, I don’t know, aren’t we, like, both straight?”
Beca has been out as bisexual since she was 16, she just doesn’t advertise it. Verbally at least. She supposes the whole getting-a-boyfriend-your-first-year-of-college didn’t do her any favors, either. “Chloe, have you looked at me?”
Chloe takes a moment to do so, even though she definitely has before. Her eyes flit up and down before settling back on her face and laughing. “Stacie said that, too.”
“What, that I’m gay?”
“Something along the lines of, ‘you’re the most bisexual person she’s ever seen in her life.’”
“And you disagree?”
“I didn’t want to get my hopes up,” Chloe fires back immediately.
Beca takes a deep breath at her words. This is the third time in so many minutes that Chloe has alluded to, or explicitly said, that she likes Beca. Like likes Beca.
“You like me?” Beca asks, not wanting to misinterpret anything.
“Yeah, Bec. I really like you.” She offers a bright smile to pair with her watery eyes.
She hates to see her cry, but of all the ways Beca has seen Chloe – exhausted over an assignment, frustrated with the Bellas, carefree and open in any scenario – this is by far her favorite.
Before she can think of something to say, Chloe speaks again.
“And Bec, I am so sorry about tonight. If I had any reason to believe that something would happen between you and me, I never would have done it.” Chloe sounds so earnest, so sincerely apologetic, that no part of Beca can consider her deceptive.
“It’s okay, Chloe, you don’t have to apologize. You didn’t know.”
“No, but it hurt you. I hurt you, and I feel horrible about that.”
Beca nods her head. “It’s okay.”
Chloe moves to sit next to Beca by the headboard, leaning against it before moving her arm around her body to pull Beca close. Chloe’s hand finds the back of Beca’s head, settling her in the hollow space between her shoulder and breast.
Beca inhales Chloe’s scent and their situation, both warm and sweet. The combination of the two overwhelms her, throwing her over the edge of emotion again. The opposite side, this time. Her shoulders shake, which she’s sure Chloe can feel as her hand starts scratching soothingly through her scalp.
“Shhh, you’re okay.” Chloe whispers.
A hiccup leaves Beca.
“I didn’t know, Bec,” she mumbles into her hair as she holds her close. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” For the first time that night, Beca lets herself sob openly into Chloe’s shoulder.
Beca’s expulsion of emotion comes down to a few things. Yes, she is a bit sore after hearing that Chloe kissed what’s-his-face, but she’s also raw from doing something she never thought she would do. Her feelings for Chloe were something that she was convinced she was taking to her grave. To be curled up next to her after admitting, albeit in a roundabout way, her truth, is surreal.
She lets herself melt into Chloe’s body, her knees curling up to rest against her hip, and her hand coming to rest on her sternum, scratching lightly where it lays. They sit there in silence and Beca’s breathing eventually reaches equilibrium. She closes her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to simply exist. To feel.
Beca speaks into the quiet. “Would you ever have said something?”
She feels Chloe shift beneath her.
“I wanted to. I wanted to so many times. It just– it didn’t make sense.”
“What didn’t make sense?” Beca asks.
Chloe sighs. “Bec, I don’t think it’s news to you to hear how much you mean to me.” She pauses and Beca nods into her chest, she does know. “I was so afraid to scare you off, to lose you by saying something. So I was content with just being your friend. Anything you offered me would have been enough.”
Beca considers that. Chloe is one of the most honest and forthcoming people she has ever met; with her kindness, her smile, and her heart. For her to keep something like this close to her chest, it must have taken a lot.
“Did you ever think about telling me?” Chloe reciprocates the question.
“I thought about it almost every day,” Beca says candidly. “But I didn’t think I would ever actually do it.” Her hand is picking at the fabric on Chloe’s chest, lazy motions to keep herself grounded.
“Why not?”
Beca lets out a humorless laugh. “I–I didn’t want to embarrass myself. It felt impossible that someone as bright and passionate and beautiful as you would want to be with me.”
Chloe shifts Beca over so she can look at her properly, her brow dipped as her eyes dart between Beca’s.
“Bec, don’t say that.”
“No, it’s okay. I don’t mean it in the, like, woe-is-me way. It’s just true. I’m so not any of those things. In my head it didn’t make sense,” Beca explains.
“You might be a little… cloudy sometimes,” she winks, “but the Beca that I get, the Beca reserved for me, is what made it so easy.” Chloe’s eyes turn thoughtful. “And please don’t insinuate that you aren’t passionate or beautiful, Beca. That’s just not true.”
“Oh, so you agree that I’m not bright?” Beca raises an eyebrow.
“I just said you can be cloudy!” Chloe defends herself.
A laugh escapes Beca’s lips, finding Chloe impossibly endearing. “Whatever,” she adds lamely.
Chloe plants a kiss on her forehead, and Beca closes her eyes to revel in the feeling.
“You know you’re beautiful, right?” Chloe asks, lips brushing her skin as she does.
Beca doesn’t know how to respond to that. Does she sometimes think she’s above average? Sure, but she is nowhere near a Chloe or a Stacie or an Aubrey. Someone who stops strangers in their tracks by simply existing. And she’s accepted that fact.
“That’s really nice of you to say, Chlo,” she responds, because it is.
Chloe pulls Beca’s face off of her chest so she can look at her squarely. Her hand remains on her cheek. Beca’s face is neutral, and not the schooled kind. Truly neutral. She has no extreme feelings on the matter, it’s just what is. Chloe is studying her face like she’s hiding something.
Chloe’s thumb sweeps over her cheek, traveling under her eye repeatedly. Beca leans into the touch, and to close her eyes is automatic.
The next time she feels Chloe’s touch, it’s on her lips, ever so softly skimming over her bottom one, causing them to part. She opens her eyes, then, to find Chloe’s on her mouth, watching her intently. Without thought, she runs her tongue over her lips, and the way that Chloe’s part in reaction is addictive.
In this moment, she can’t find it in her to believe that Chloe didn’t mean what she said.
Beca gives her a second to make a move, but Chloe seems hypnotized. Before she can get too caught up in the way Chloe’s breath is coming faster or her eyes get darker, Beca brings a hand to the back of Chloe’s head to manually close the distance.
Beca’s lips mold themselves to Chloe’s for the first time, fitting perfectly between each other. Chloe’s lips are soft and plush and glossy, everything that Beca loves about kissing girls. The distinctly Chloe part, is how it melts Beca from the inside out. Chloe escalates them from a simple touch to moving against each other as she parts her lips further and angles her head, her tongue sweeping over Beca’s bottom lip; not pushing inside quite yet, just familiarizing herself. It’s exciting to learn something new about someone she knows so much about. Someone she loves.
Beca copies her, her tongue attempting to do the same, but finding the gap that Chloe created to enter her mouth. Chloe lets out a quiet whimper when their tongues tangle against each other, languid and sweet. Deciding that she wants a turn, Chloe adds pressure and chases Beca’s tongue back into her mouth before licking the back of her teeth. Beca’s hand tightens against the back of her head in retaliation as she moans into her mouth.
Chloe separates them, then, looking halfway to wrecked. Her eyes are half-lidded and she’s panting, her breath ghosting over Beca’s skin.
“You know,” Chloe starts, her breath airy. Beca buckles up. “I’ve always loved your voice. Every time you sing, it’s like I’m under a spell.”
Okay, that’s simple enough.
She brings her lips next to Beca’s ear, apparently not done with her thought.
“It doesn’t compare to hearing you moan for me.”
Beca shivers from her words and she knows Chloe catches it. Beca thinks they should do way more than kiss, now.
Much to her dismay, Chloe climbs under the covers to lay down.
“What are you–”
“Going to sleep, Bec. We’re not having sex for the first time drunk,” she explains.
Beca furrows her brow. “What makes you think—”
“Is that not what you were thinking about?”
Beca blushes. She doesn’t need to use her words.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Chloe smiles as she holds the comforter up for Beca to get under.
Chloe puts an arm over her waist and tugs her close.
“Me, too, Bec. But you deserve more than that. We’re going to do this right. I’m going to do this right,” Chloe says into her back.
“Where do we start?”
“Are you free tomorrow night?”
Beca can’t help the smile that plays on her lips. Even though Chloe can’t see her face, she wouldn’t doubt it if she could feel giddiness radiating off of her.
“Yeah, yeah I’m free.”
Chloe leaves a kiss behind her ear. “Good, we’re leaving at 8.”
Beca turns around in her arms and kisses Chloe once more. God, it feels good to be able to do that.
Instead of turning back around, she rests her head in the crook of Chloe’s neck, her breath evening out to fall in rhythm with Chloe’s. Just like every night for the last seven months, Beca falls asleep with Chloe on her mind. For the first time, though, the image is different; it’s real.