Um, I'll just leave this here.

In her right state of mind, nothing would have attracted Beca to the haughty, almost-aristocratic Aubrey Danielle Posen. Sure, the girl was beautiful. She was popular even outside Barden, not to mention highly intelligent. She'd look good both in color and black-and-white – Beca's own warped scale of how attractive women usually are. With Aubrey, it wasn't at all hard to imagine her in high-fashion glossy magazines wearing Giorgio Armani power suits and five-inch Louboutin pumps.

But Beca went out of her way to avoid shiny beautiful people. Except for Chloe Beale, who pouted and sweet-talked her way into Beca's life, and Stacie Conrad, who simply used boobs, Beca had been mostly successful in fending them off during her time at Barden. They often brought unwanted attention and trouble (more often than not). Beca had one goal – to leave for LA by the end of the year – which she certainly wasn't going to achieve by getting into romantic entanglements.

And a romantic entanglement with Aubrey was something that never, ever crossed her mind. She understood having chemistry with Chloe, maybe even Jesse (with one catch: he was a guy). But Aubrey was bossy and frustrating and every encounter with her left Beca with a migraine. The blonde's attitude towards Beca was downright condescending, and her own indifference of it during a capella practice only served to make Aubrey extra vindictive. They argued over everything. Aubrey took it upon herself to make the three-hour rehearsals stressful for everyone, particularly Beca, and it took all of Beca's patience sometimes not to simply walk up and slap her in the face.

The two of them had nothing in common. It simply wasn't going to happen.

Or so Beca thought until one Friday six years ago, when Aubrey Posen, to her, ceased to be that overbearing captain with that constantly-forced smile on her face and simply became the girl.

It was three days before a capella finals. The Bellas' set was perfect. Still, Aubrey insisted on one last meeting with her co-captains at Chloe and Aubrey's off-campus apartment. And here was Beca on the aforementioned meeting, seated on the couch, watching Aubrey pace back and forth ranting trivialities for the last ten minutes. Chloe – who was often very good at assuring Aubrey there was nothing to worry about – was nowhere in sight, having rushed off to the hospital because her boyfriend Tom twisted his ankle at soccer.

The air was heavy and humid. Beca took off her jacket and glanced at the window. The skies were too dark for six in the evening, and there was that musky scent in the breeze that usually preceded rain. Beca felt the headache beginning at the back of her head; she closed her eyes and leaned back.

"Well?" Aubrey demanded sharply, jolting Beca out of her daze. "What do you think?"

"Does it actually matter?"

Aubrey's jaw went rigid, but she kept quiet. Beca immediately felt guilty for her snide remark, especially because the blonde obviously made an effort to be civil towards her in the past few days. "Sorry. I just think the Bellas are already nailing this, okay? All we have to do is get on that stage and deliver. And my head hurts. Can I please just –"

She was suddenly cut off by a muted ringing sound. Aubrey, with an unreadable expression, held up one perfectly-manicured hand and picked up her phone from the coffee table with the other. "Sir."

Beca, not wanting to seem like she was eavesdropping, instead found herself studying the other person. Even while on the phone Aubrey's posture was ramrod straight. Not one curl of her blonde hair was out of its tight bun. Her blue blouse and gray pencil skirt fit her like a glove. Her feet were planted firmly on the ground, positioned like she was about to address a crowd. Aubrey listened intently to the voice on the other side, eyes trained on the view outside the window, her patrician features not revealing anything.

Finally Aubrey spoke, her enunciation not even slipping one bit.

"Stop. I understand that you cannot come to the finals. I would also understand if you cannot come to my graduation. I understand that being my father is the least of your priorities. And it's about time you relinquish this priority altogether. I do not wish to see you any longer."

And just like that, Aubrey ended the call, set the phone back on the coffee table, and cut off her father.

Beca sat still, shocked at the magnitude of the situation, shocked that Aubrey came to such a momentous decision with just her around, shocked that the blonde was still standing like she didn't just close the door on someone so significant.

"Dude, did you just..."

But the blonde was eerily calm. She looked down at Beca and only her hazel-green eyes, so severe ten minutes ago and now so beaten, betrayed her inner turmoil. "You can leave."

Beca nodded, her throat dry. She stood up and started for the hallway, but, at the last minute, turned towards the kitchen. Beca was not heartless. Most of the time she defused situations with a sarcastic joke, but she knew when to show compassion. Bella movie marathons and Chloe's birthday party at the apartment had taught her where the liquor was kept; sure enough, she struck gold at the top shelf nearest the fridge, finding an assortment of cans and bottles.

She'd never seen Aubrey drink beer. She'd never seen Aubrey drink any alcohol, in fact. She finally decided on a tall bottle of red wine at the very back, retrieved two glasses, and returned to the living room. Aubrey was still facing the window, her back on Beca, not having moved an inch.

"I asked you to leave."

Beca wordlessly uncorked the bottle. Aubrey finally looked around at the sound. She accepted the glass of wine Beca offered with no change in her empty expression, swirled and inhaled the crimson contents, and took a sip.

"Thought I lost this bottle when we moved here. It's a 2007 Taylor Fladgate – good port."

"And you're speaking gibberish, as usual."

Aubrey put on the smallest of smiles, but quickly composed herself. "You're right. It's just wine." She drained the rest, gestured at Beca to sit on one end the couch, and settled on the other end. Beca filled their glasses again; Aubrey did not object. The second glass went down as fast as the first, and soon enough, Aubrey was pouring the wine herself. Beca did not dare disturb the still atmosphere with words. It was the first time the two of them had nothing to say to each other. But Beca wanted so much to say something, anything, which might make the other person stop systematically emptying the bottle.

"Would you like me to call anyone?" she finally offered, clearing her throat awkwardly. "Chloe's –"

"No."

The short reply made Beca raise one eyebrow, but she didn't push it. If Aubrey Posen wanted to spend her bloody Friday evening getting drunk, then so be it; the woman always had her priorities straight, and Beca let her worries rest with the thought that Aubrey probably knew what she was doing. Time stretched out in silence. Beca held her own untouched glass and made no effort to drink. She never liked wine, although she was relieved to have chosen right for Aubrey.

After her fifth glass, Aubrey pulled off her stilettos with the same approach she applied to planning her daily schedule: quiet and precise, not wasting any more time or movement than she has to. The pearl earrings and gold watch followed, Aubrey setting them on the coffee table with a quiet clink. Pins and a black hair tie later joined the assortment on the table. Beca looked up in time to see Aubrey running a hand through her blonde hair, letting the curls cascade down. And then Aubrey picked up the bottle of wine and went for her sixth glass.

Aubrey was beautiful. She always had been, but not until now, with that far-off look in her green eyes and the loose halo of blonde hair carelessly strewn to her shoulders, did Beca become painfully aware of that fact. With nothing better to do Beca stared, absorbing the other's presence – until she realized Aubrey's now-luminous eyes were gazing back, dusk had fallen, and, despite the smell of wet grass and dry earth that permeated the dark apartment, the rain never came.

The bottle of wine sat empty on the table. Time slipped by so fast.

Beca made to stand up, intending to turn on the lights. But Aubrey reached out, grasped Beca's wrist – her hand was cold – and shook her head no. So Beca sat back down, and Aubrey never took off her hand, although there was still a three-foot gap between the two of them that Beca suddenly longed to close.

"Beca?" Aubrey said, out of the blue, sounding like an afterthought. Beca glanced in her direction. Her eyes having already adjusted to the dark, she could see Aubrey looking expectantly at her.

"Yeah?"

"I might be drunk," Aubrey said in a soft voice, and Beca noticed she was starting to slur her words. "It's too quiet. Can you do something about it?"

"Sure," Beca immediately conceded, taking out her iPod and welcoming the distraction. She was starting to feel nervous, and no way was she going to be nervous around one Aubrey Posen. She decided to humor the blonde until Chloe got back. After all, Aubrey singlehandedly polished off a huge bottle of wine and probably wouldn't remember any of this in the morning. "What would the lady like?"

"Something apt," Aubrey replied, almost a sigh, sounding so vulnerable and tired. Beca wanted so badly to do something about it. At the same time her mind screamed to just leave Aubrey alone, because all the telltale signs of trouble were there: the shiny beautiful woman, the darkness, the proximity, and now the music. At the last moment Beca's good heart won out. She keyed in the first song that came to mind, pressed play, and tossed the gadget on the coffee table.

Aubrey loosened her hand on Beca's wrist, seemingly absorbed in the guitar strains resounding in the entire living room. Beca breathed out a sigh of relief – maybe even regret – at the loss of contact.

"What is this song?"

"Nice Dream by Radiohead. You like it?"

"Yes."

Beca thought she saw Aubrey smile, and the brief moment made her feel like she did something right. But that didn't prepare her for what Aubrey did next: she slipped her hand in Beca's, stood up, and yanked the brunette to an upright position so swiftly and fluidly that Beca couldn't help but marvel at Aubrey's upper body strength.

"Okay, you're surprisingly strong for a drunk –"

"I'm surprised you actually have a song in your phone not produced by robots. We might as well dance."

Beca couldn't see the correlation between the two statements, but attributed it to the blonde being drunk. Beca wanted to say no; she was too scared Aubrey might think, once she was sober, that she had been taken advantage of. But when Aubrey slipped her arms around her neck, buried her face in Beca's brown hair, and started to sob as she steered both of them to the music, Beca knew the time for saying no was long past. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, she thought, as she gingerly rubbed Aubrey's back. The action offered neither of them comfort and Beca knew it.

But she kept on, dutifully moving her feet, running her hand gently through the blonde curls. She had always been too chivalrous for her own good. She encircled Aubrey's waist with her other arm and let everything melt away: waiting for Chloe, making mixes, dropping by her father's office, leaving for LA. There was only a dark living room. A dance with a girl who never missed a step even as her tears dampened Beca's neck. The sharp smell of rain now mingled with Aubrey's lavender perfume.

After what seemed to be an eternity, Aubrey finally lifted her head and wiped the wet streaks on her face with the back of one hand. Beca wondered if she should rub off the few mascara smudges, but decided against it. To do that, she would have to touch Aubrey's face. And she was too beautiful.

"Sorry," Aubrey mumbled with a sniff. They were still pressed against each other, swaying to a lulling rhythm. "You can go. I've already taken so much of your time –"

"It's okay," Beca quickly assured her, amazed that the blonde can still form whole sentences. If she had drunk a bottle of wine she would have been out cold by now. "Besides, I got you drunk. The least I can do is..."

"...put me to bed?" Aubrey supplied helpfully, saying the words Beca didn't want to say in fear that it would be too close for comfort. "I've had enough of today, Beca. Just help me find my bedroom –" she stifled a smile – "and I'll be out of your hair."

So Beca took Aubrey's hand and lead her to her room, despite the darkness and the blonde not being able to walk straight. It was the first time Beca had ever been there. She quickly opened the bedside lamp, refusing to look around. Bedroom was another telltale sign of trouble, and bedroom with hot drunk girl even worse. Aubrey collapsed on the bed, fully clothed, pulling the covers to her chest. Beca hovered at the foot of the bed awkwardly.

"Now go." Aubrey's voice came out in a muffled gurgle.

"But you're still crying."

"It's...it's not something you can fix."

Beca sighed. "Right. Um...see you around."

Aubrey only nodded, and Beca could hear quiet sobs. Alarms were going off in her head. Damn it, she thought, I should leave. Now.

"I'm staying."

Damn it, what happened to I should leave? By the orange glow of the night light, Aubrey's eyes were shiny dark orbs fixed on Beca.

"I'm staying. And if it's okay with you, I'm going to climb into bed and hold you and touch your hair because..." Beca thought it sounded lame, but she continued. "If Chloe was here, she'd do the same thing."

Aubrey looked at her for a long time. Long enough, at least, for Beca to seriously consider just running off. Just when Beca forced her feet towards the door, the blonde finally moved to lift the covers.

"Okay."

So Beca climbed into bed and did just as she said – spooned Aubrey and stroked the pale locks of hair with her free hand. Aubrey's muscles felt tense, but it was nothing compared to Beca's heart banging on her ribs. Why she was so nervous, she couldn't understand. She's held a few girl friends before. She'd seen people cry. She knew people who cried themselves to sleep. But Aubrey felt different, like she was made to fit in her arms. The girl smelled so nice and her skin was hot against hers and –

And they hated each other. That was it. They never really got along well and tomorrow everything would be back to normal.

But for now, she just continued what she was doing until Aubrey gradually relaxed. Even after the blonde's sobs turned to gentle breathing, Beca, with a dull, odd ache in her heart, couldn't stop running her fingers through her hair.

A sharp click somewhere above her woke Beca from a dreamless sleep. She lifted her head. It was morning, maybe six or seven, and Chloe Beale was hovering over them with her phone and a grin.

"What the hell?" Beca whispered, before noticing that Aubrey had, at some point last night, turned around and wrapped herself around Beca. The blonde slept peacefully. "Don't you dare post this shit online, Beale."

"But it's too cute." Chloe pouted and did the usual Disney eyes routine. "Oooh, this is exactly where my imagination went when Aubrey wasn't answering her phone last night –"

Beca shook her head. "Her dad called, and she practically told him she never wanted to see him again."

Chloe's eyes went round. "What?!"

"Yeah, and Aubrey didn't want me to call anyone, so we basically did the sad times montage movie trope while I fervently prayed that you come home." The last part wasn't entirely true, but Chloe didn't need to know that.

"Aww, poor Bree." Chloe looked worried, as she reached out and cupped the blonde's face. "Though personally, I think it's good for her. Her dad is constantly dragging her down...wait. Did you kiss?"

"No! Beale, seriously?" Beca didn't want to leave the cozy bed just yet, but Chloe's mischievous smirk was starting to be too much for her to handle. She moved Aubrey's arms gently off her and got up, careful not to make any sudden movements. "How's Tom?"

Chloe smiled wearily. "He'll be fine. Some dick from the opposing team tackled him and he pulled a tendon. He didn't want to be confined overnight even though the doctor advised it, but I managed to change his mind."

"Good for him." Beca finished lacing up her boots and stood. "Well, the captain's all yours."

"Not if you kissed her." Chloe winked and Beca rolled her eyes. But the next moment, the redhead pulled her into a hug. "Thanks for staying with her, Becs."

Beca only smiled and took one last look at the girl on the bed.

Very few people knew how Beca and Stacie became such good friends (maybe just Chloe and Cynthia Rose, in fact). It began when Stacie approached Beca one day after practice with a "Would you like to sleep with me?" and a clever thrust of her barely-covered breasts right in Beca's face. Chloe and Cynthia Rose were seated on the bleachers nearest them; Chloe's jaw dropped and Cynthia Rose actually choked on her water. But Beca took one look at Stacie's boobs, coolly replied, "Not even if you bathe in detergent", and the two of them had been fast friends since.

So it wasn't at all strange when, later that day, Beca found herself beneath the window of Stacie's dorm. After Beca threw a handful of pebbles, the tall girl finally looked out.

"Ah, if it isn't my lezza lover!" Stacie hollered. "Come on up, my little va-genius."

Beca entered the dorm, trying to ignore the passing college kids who heard Stacie laughing behind her. Stacie grabbed her as soon as she appeared at the doorway of her room.

"They all come to Stacie Conrad in the end," she greeted in a faux-seductive voice.

Beca wriggled out of her arms with a snort. "You have to stop calling me a va-genius or whatever. You don't even know if that's true."

"If I ambush you naked, I'll know."

"Chloe already did that, and she doesn't know either." Beca was wearing a frown instead of her usual smirk, and Stacie quickly noticed. She took out a couple of plastic tumblers from her fridge and handed one to Beca.

"Dude, it's 2 pm."

"If anyone asks, it's cranberry juice." Stacie sipped, and then grimaced. "Mmm. Color is dubious, bouquet is repulsing. Acidity can melt off your face. Finish is like a fake orgasm. Consider yourself warned."

The DJ, despite her overcast mood, couldn't help but chuckle a little at that.

"So, you slept with Aubrey?"

Beca managed to swallow a couple gulps of cheap vodka and juice before Stacie's question had her choking. "No! Jeez, did Chloe post that damn photo after all?"

"How can you not sleep with a hot blonde who's canoodling dreamily with your tits? That was Aubrey! She's destined for greatness, for fuck's sake. Great looks. Great boobs. And great tongue action." Stacie flicked her tongue quickly and lewdly while gesturing to her lower parts, and Beca froze.

"YOU SLEPT WITH HER?!"

"Yeah, sure. She's lonely as fuck, dude. It was easy."

"You..." Beca growled, still dazed with the fact that Aubrey and Stacie had actually slept together and that Stacie actually found the most puzzling girl in the world easy. "Again, you slept with her?! When? Where? How?"

"I used the most effective line in the world –"

" 'Would you like to sleep with me'?! Fucking hell!"

"Why are you so angry? You like her, don't you?"

"No, I don't! Stacie, I just think you –" At a loss for words, Beca chugged the remains of her vile drink and, fueled by the liquor burning her throat, hurled the tumbler towards the floor in fury. "You slut!"

"Well, ouch!" Stacie stood up and crossed her arms disapprovingly at Beca. "You're the first person to ever call me that!" Then she grinned impishly. "To my face, at least. Okay, psycho, calm down. I lied."

Beca dropped the tumbler lid she also intended to throw. "What?"

"Yeah, I lied. I fed Aubrey the 'would you like to sleep with me' line and she slapped me."

Beca stared at Stacie for a second, and then laughed in relief. "Does that line ever work on anyone?"

"With the right amount of alcohol, sure. So, you like Aubrey?"

"No."

Stacie raised an eyebrow. "So why did you passionately call me a slut a while ago?"

"Sorry," Beca sincerely apologized. "I was mad earlier because..." She seriously didn't think she liked Aubrey, although she really did visit Stacie to talk about her. How she would have started that conversation, though, she had no idea. "I thought you don't do friends," she finished. Terrible lie, but it was the best she can come up with.

"You don't do friends. Me, I like to know my friends better." Stacie grinned wolfishly and evaded Beca's kick. "Look, there's nothing wrong with admitting you like The Captain. This is college. We're supposed to bang every hot person out there. Besides, the sexual tension between you two can set the auditorium on fire."

"Eww. Just, eww." Beca frowned, partly at the bitter taste on her mouth. "Please don't use 'sexual tension' to describe me and Aubrey ever again. Sure, we have chemistry. But I have it with everybody. It doesn't mean I like her."

"A little arrogant, aren't we? Is that why you're here?" Stacie walked over and sat on Beca's lap, grinding her hips suggestively. "Are you finally acknowledging this chemistry that we have?"

"Get your filthy boobs out of my face!" Beca laughed, trying to push her off.

Stacie stubbornly hung on until she fell on the floor, giggling. "Aww, you never let me have any fun."

"Seriously, though, I'm sorry for insulting you. I honestly don't think you're a slut. You're just a girl who really likes sex and isn't afraid to take what she wants."

"You certainly know how to charm women, don't you?" Stacie tousled Beca's hair and the smaller woman danced away. "It's cool, as long as you pick up that tumbler you dramatically chucked like there was no tomorrow. Now, about Aubrey..."

"Don't."

"I'll bet you my best bra this will come up again soon –"

"I'm going nowhere near your dirty bra, because you'll lose."

Stacie rolled her eyes, but didn't push it.