celebrations
(or: the four times Chloe doesn't get it right and the one time she does.)
Disclaimer: I have not seen PP2 yet (because I foolishly honor my promises), so quite a bit is canon non-compliant despite being set in the canon universe.
1.
And she kisses him.
Chloe watches, and nothing happens – nothing as cliché as her stomach dropping or her throat closing up or her eyes welling with unshed tears or her chest aching or-
The point is, simply: Beca kisses Jesse – in celebration – and Chloe watches.
Maybe there's fireworks going off in their heads or pure adrenaline running in their veins or a warmth spreading from their lips to their toes or applause from the depths of their guts-
The point is, simply: this is a celebration, a victory, a moment of grand triumph.
And very appropriately, Beca kisses Jesse for the first time (and Chloe pretends not to notice.)
2.
Chloe flies in from San Diego to attend the graduation of Ashley, Beca, Benji, Cynthia Rose, Denise, Fat Amy, Jesse, Jessica, Lilly, and Stacie – which Aubrey had helpfully alphabetized for her. There's streamers, alcoholic punch, graduation robes and caps, cameramen, canvas tents, and party busses lined down the street.
Three hours in, Beca's had maybe a few too many, leaning easily into Chloe's side. The sounds of her thick laughter fill Chloe's right ear pleasantly, and the smooth of Beca's palm against her arm is steadying and dizzying all at once. Her chest swells with the comforting motion, brimming and heavy like she's finally had her fill.
"I miss this," Beca admits in her endearing honest-when-drunk way.
"I miss it, too," Chloe says, all sappy grins and roaming hands. "Just having everyone together like this."
"Oh, that's whatever," Beca says. "I meant you and me. Together. Having fun. You know."
No, her heart doesn't soar, doesn't jump, doesn't skip, but-
"I miss it too! Like, so much. You're pretty much my best friend, you know?"
Beca smiles, and Chloe watches.
It's been over four years since Chloe first caught sight of the tiny alt girl with her air of awkwardly feigned disinterest. She'd caught sight and hadn't let go. Still hasn't let go. Can't seem to convince herself to let go, fingers all curled and digging in – (not) knowing (if) she wants the indents to fade (or gain permanence.)
"Well, we'll be a lot closer to each other now," Beca says, reaching over for another shot of cheaply bought vodka. Chloe stifles an inhale (and works to forget the deep and earthy scent of Beca. Works to forget how it reminds her of soft soil spilling into the cracks of the pavement – how easy it is to feel at home at this proximity.) Hair curtaining Chloe's face gently, Beca continues, "You should come down and visit Jesse and me some time."
(That is as effective as any mental attempt, and) Chloe snaps back to attention – (back to the reality of the word 'one-sided').
Taking a shaky breath, Chloe asks, "So, you decided then? The two of you are gonna move in together?"
"Yep."
Chloe whistles lowly.
(It takes all of her energy but she does it.)
"I know," Beca says. "Big decision. I mean we've been together forever. It's time, right? Like it'd be ridiculous not to."
"Totes."
"Totes," Beca echoes.
(And then Chloe does something awful.)
"Actually," she says, "not totes. The opposite of totes. Don't do anything you don't want to. There's no timeline on love or relationships."
(It's low and underhanded – and she twists the words until) it's about concern and empowering Beca's individuality.
(Feeling faintly sick), Chloe continues, "Look at me."
"I'm looking."
That pulls a laugh from her throat, (cracked and full of feeling).
"I'm nowhere. I mean, I'm dating three different guys right now," Chloe says. "Have been for several months now. There's no timeline. Do what feels right to you."
"Three? We need to catch up," Beca chuckles.
"Ah, they aren't serious. Really. Nothing to write home about."
"Hm." Beca downs her shot. Grimacing against the harsh taste, she just manages, "Why is that?"
"Because they aren't-"
(Chloe bites the inside of her cheek.)
"They aren't…?" Beca prompts, head returning to its place on Chloe's shoulder. In return, Chloe rests her temple atop Beca's head.
"They just aren't."
"What, serious?"
"Sure," Chloe says. "It's just harmless fun. They're not… fixtures."
"Fixtures," Beca repeats, eyebrows furrowing.
"I don't look at them and think about the future."
"Because they're not serious. Or fixtures."
Chloe laughs.
"Right. They're not (you)."
Miraculously they're able to find their way back to the main hall of the party where things are in full swing. Beca's incredibly touchy still, hands curling around Chloe's arm, then her back, then her waist.
Chloe doesn't (let herself) feel any which way about it.
"Becaw!"
And just like that she's gone, transferred to Jesse's arm.
Beca and Jesse share a tender moment, drawing exasperated but somehow admiring aw's from several nearby onlookers. They kiss – a brief peck, no more than a second long.
Chloe looks (away) and smiles (for her own sanity).
3.
"Chloe," Beca greets with a slow smile – the one where the right corner of her lips lift and her eyes soften and crinkle. (The one that makes Chloe's heart slow with it until the world's rotation slows too – there's no movement, only an eternity of Beca smiling and Chloe watching.)
Closing the physical distance, Chloe wraps Beca into her arms tightly and thinks that maybe all other distances are bridged in that moment too.
"Where's Jesse? I brought him a congratulations gift," Chloe says with a (forced) cheeriness that no one can rival. She offers up a small box, light (but burdening) in her hand.
"You really didn't have to," Beca says. "Honestly, getting you to attend this dumb party is a gift enough."
"Dumb? I thought Jesse got nominated for his score or-"
"Yeah, yeah," Beca waves it off. "But we're on the rocks so it's all dumb."
"Oh," Chloe says, (trying for) clearly disappointed (but her success doesn't sweeten the moment). "Wanna grab a couple of martinis and talk about it somewhere quieter?"
"Dude. Read my mind," Beca says, casually jostling Chloe's arm as she leads her away. "But maybe something a lot stronger."
"So," Chloe starts, sitting against Beca's desk, careful not to bump any of her music equipment. "Tell me what I've missed out on."
It's what she's supposed to be. The support – a fading brick wall to lean on, a strong shoulder to rest on, two hands anchoring them both down. And she can do that (but for how much longer?)
"Nah," Beca says. "Depressing as shit stuff. I want to hear about your crazy world-trekking life first. And your latest arm candy – Killian, was it?"
Chloe throws a self-deprecating grin at Beca and says, "I just flew in from Quebec yesterday. Before that, let's see, I was in Morocco, Venice, Tibet, and uh- Lisbon. And as for Killian – good memory – he's been replaced with Karli."
"You've really been everywhere lately," Beca says, admiringly.
"Absolutely," Chloe says, "and loving it."
"Tell me about this Karli," Beca says, leaning forward in exaggerated interest.
"She's hot. Obviously."
"Obviously."
"She's a choreographer, late twenties, moves like the world is her stage, honestly."
"So is she the one who's going to tame the infamous Chloe Beale?" Beca teases.
"Probably not," Chloe says with a good-humored laugh. "No one's taming this girl (but maybe you could)."
"Love's got no timeline," Beca says, echoing Chloe's sentiments from three years earlier. "And you've got places to be and articles to write."
"Enough deflecting. What's going on with you and Jesse?"
Beca sighs, deflating.
(It's all wrong but Chloe feels her repressed hope surge. Pushing it down feels like drowning, like she's no longer capable of staying afloat.)
"We just argue over everything. Every little fucking thing," Beca says, knuckles white as she grips her scotch glass tightly. "I'm so tired of it all. So, we're on a break now. But I think…"
Chloe waits as Beca downs her drink, wincing as it rushes through her system. Picking at the corner of the teak desk, Chloe swallows (her hot impatience and focuses on stilling her shaking fingers).
"I think I'm only still with him because it's been so long," Beca finally says quietly. "I can't imagine having to rebuild this kind of relationship. Just can't quit when we've labored over this trust, this… intimacy for so long."
(Words bubble underneath Chloe's tongue, boiling and scorching, but she lets them sear. What can she tell Beca? That she's had the planks and nails and toolbox all set aside, wanting to add a new wing to the cozy house they already have? That she's no carpenter, never has been, but she's willing to learn the craft? No, those are words better left in the safety of silence.)
"You know?" Beca says, mouth twisting forlornly.
She turns to Chloe and all of a sudden they are (too) close. And Chloe takes in the moment, (wholly and greedily).
Beca – pale and exhausted, frail and posture slightly hunched, cheeks colored. (Still, Chloe's throat constricts and there is not enough oxygen in the world to help her.)
Then, Beca whispers, "Hey."
A curving smile – sloped with affection – slides into place, and Chloe matches it, (caught up in the way it makes her feel).
And then Beca leans- or Chloe leans- or they lean-
Their lips brush so lightly that maybe it doesn't happen at all.
But it does.
Beca inhales sharply, and it's over, Chloe's breath escaping and finding solace in Beca.
"Sorry," Beca mumbles. "Guess this stuff is stronger than I thought."
"I-" Chloe's voice halts and dies. "It's okay. I just-"
All her parenthesis and edits can't save her now.
"It's fine," Beca chuckles, "we've both had too much tonight."
This isn't something Chloe can let go – can brush off like Beca is doing. Seven years she's watched, shrugging it off, trapping her words and thoughts in strikethroughs.
"Is that what that was?"
"I didn't mean to. Sorry if it's weirded you out. This Jesse stuff just has me all mixed up."
"So, there's nothing here then?" Chloe presses further.
Surprised, Beca raises her eyebrows, eyes widening with the motion, and says, "I never thought about us that way. Did… did you?"
"You and Aubrey are my best friends," Chloe says and the truth hammers hard in her throat. "But… you've always been different for me, Beca."
"Oh."
It's a single exhale – quiet and tender like she doesn't want the realization to break anything here.
"I never said anything because all I want is for you to be happy," Chloe says, nails piercing the wood a little harder. "And I thought you were happy with Jesse."
"Sometimes," Beca says. "Honestly, I don't know what there is between us, Chloe. I'm still all tangled up with Jesse, I can't even think about looking for something new."
"You don't have to explain," Chloe says, hand settling over Beca's. "I understand."
"Let's rejoin the stuffy music people in the parlor," Beca says, standing abruptly. "You can entertain them with your stories of interviewing the upper echelons of society while you scaled a mountain or went sky-diving without a parachute or whatever crazy thing it is you decided to do this time."
Chloe laughs.
(And laughs and laughs.)
Later, much later, the party begins to wind down. Guests file to gather their coats and leave behind a handshake and a farewell. Chloe is among the last remaining, having had the misfortune of being caught in an intensely uncomfortable conversation with a rabbi and a police officer – which unfortunately had not been a set-up for any sort of joke – for an hour longer than she'd wanted.
Ducking her head to retrieve her overcoat, Chloe catches sight of Beca and Jesse through her eyelashes, huddled in the corner, exchanging words. Though Beca's posture is defensive, arms crossed and distance maintained, her expression is soft and open. She nods once, really listening to Jesse's hushed assurances, and he lays his palm on her shoulder.
Finally, the line of Beca's mouth splits into a smile Chloe's never seen, (never catalogued). It's imperfect, all crooked with the tips of her teeth showing, but Chloe bears witness and feels nothing. Nothing at all.
Jesse presses an apology in the form of a delicate kiss to her forehead, and Beca's arms wrap around his back, nestled and secure. It's a private moment, and Chloe feels like a thief, dirty with the desire for this to have been hers.
He bestows another kiss, this time to her lips – the same ones that were pressed against Chloe's not two hours ago.
Heart hewn in half, Chloe exits without so much as a glance backwards.
(Maybe she can't help one last glimpse. Maybe she sees happiness leak from their eyes. Maybe she moves on.)
(Maybe she doesn't.)
4.
Pen tip digging into the paper, Chloe strikes the words, deep rifts marking the pages beneath. The phrases are all off – too long, too short, too awkward, too clunky.
"Who would've thought you'd be the workaholic out of the two of us?" Aubrey jokes, skin tanned a beautiful golden to contrast the sheer blonde hair that hangs over her shoulders freely.
The past decade has been kind to her, gifting her with an ethereal glow to be paired with her long-standing beauty. Her presence brings a peace to Chloe's core. (If not for Aubrey's attendance, it's questionable if Chloe would've dropped the Brazil piece for this event.)
"Magazines don't release themselves," Chloe says, tongue clicking in a teasing reprimand.
"And you only get a ten-year reunion once in your lifetime," Aubrey reminds her.
"Fine, fine," Chloe says and relinquishes command of her notepad and laptop.
"Why're you hiding back here anyway? And don't feed me crap about your deadline."
"Hiding? Do you even know me?" Chloe laughs as she packs up.
The two women enter the simple lobby where the rest of the 2012 Bellas are fooling around. Denise beans Ashley with a purse – playfully, Chloe assumes – as Lilly whispers freaky things to an unperturbed Stacie.
"Too well," Aubrey answers, gaze fixated on a particular brunette across the room.
Chloe follows her line of sight and tries to keep the hollowness in her chest hidden.
"I've never seen you so stuck on anything in your life," Aubrey says coolly but not unkindly.
"There hasn't been a single day where I haven't tried to move on," Chloe says a little defensively.
"I was right. All she did was bring us trouble."
"Aubrey," Chloe says, faux stern, "she's your friend too."
"Supposedly," Aubrey dismisses lightly.
"If it isn't our fearless leaders," Cynthia-Rose interjects, pulling the two of them into a loose hug.
"It's been way too long," Chloe gushes, fingers running affectionately through Cynthia-Rose's short purple hair.
Cynthia-Rose jerks her head towards the stage where a band is setting up. "You guys know what that's about?"
"Oh, I hope it's not another one of Fat Amy's stand-up routines," Aubrey says.
"It's not." Jessica bounces up and leans in to whisper conspiratorially, "I saw Jesse in the back!"
(Chloe's heart bottoms out.)
"I forgot, I have to call-" Chloe begins, delving into her list of excuses.
But she's too slow.
Jesse walks onto the platform, boyish grin adorning his face, and grabs the microphone as the music starts up. As the bassist strums a steady beat, Jesse croons a sappy 80's pop song, Benji and Unicycle to the side providing back-up. He dances up and down the stage, his feet never still, and Beca watches, embarrassedly amused.
Aubrey's hand rests against Chloe's lower back, (and it might just be the only thing holding her up).
The whining guitar riff wanes, and Benji passes Jesse a small velvet box. Jesse kneels, and the Bellas squeal.
Mouth quirked up – sincere and smitten – he proposes.
"Grow old with me? There's nothing I would like more. And no one who I could better share my life with."
Beca's answer has never been a mystery. Chloe thinks back to their ICCA win – back to their first kiss – and she can finally see the inevitable trajectory. Point A was only ever going to lead to Point B. Point C was never even a side-trip.
"Fine. Whatever. You're so dumb," Beca laughs and lets him slip the ring on her finger.
"Chloe?" Aubrey prompts hesitantly.
"I'm fine," Chloe responds, her words muted and mind cold.
There's nothing beautiful in her heartbreak; nothing poetic about how her chest cracks open and her breaths come shallowly; nothing romantic in the way she strains the back of her hand against her mouth; nothing melodic or lyrical about how she can't seem to manage to keep her anguish at bay.
These ten years haven't been glamorous.
And she feels stupid for it.
She's marveled at the unending stone of the Great Wall, felt the cool spray of Niagara Falls on her burnt skin, drank fine Merlot atop the Eiffel Tower as the sun set. And still, she'd wanted to come home to Beca.
But Chloe's lived. And it'll be enough one day.
5.
Chloe sips her milk tea, savoring the tapioca pearls yielding under her teeth. She spreads the cheap Taiwanese knockoff magazine open on the table in front of her – flattening the pages.
Jesse Swanson and long-time girlfriend Rebecca Mitchell finally tie the knot in a gorgeous private ceremony! Not a dry eye could be found in the entirety of the outdoor grounds as the talented couple read their vows aloud. We wish them great happiness and fortune in their marriage.
Standing, Chloe leaves the tea stand, magazine forgotten and flapping on the table.
Aubrey Posen calling…
Briefly, Chloe considers not answering, but three rings in and she decides it's not worth the hassle of the harshly worded texts that are no doubt to follow. Swiping right, she holds the phone up to her ear and waits for the reprimand or demand.
Instead, a long-suffering sigh echoes over the call.
"You're up late," Chloe notes.
"It's the first time I've had to breathe all week," Aubrey says. "The wedding last weekend and then quarterly reports this week.
"You work too hard."
"Looks who's talking. Missing your best friend's wedding to do an extensive piece on Yifa? At least that's the bullshit Beca regurgitated."
"You're my best friend, Aubrey," Chloe says facetiously. "And unless you're not telling me something-"
"Cute. But no amount of distracting will deter me."
"Deter you from what?"
"Really, Chloe? Where the hell were you? And why the fuck didn't Beca skin you alive?"
Picking at her nails, Chloe thinks of the wedding invitation on her coffee table, still unopened. She remembers the golden flowing script on the envelope, elegant and celebratory.
"You know why," she finally replies.
"Right. I guess we all just assumed you'd be there."
"I e-mailed her before declining," Chloe says. "She was disappointed and hurt. But she said she understood."
"I won't blame her if she never forgives you."
"A girl can only be so much of a masochist before she wonders if there's better alternatives," Chloe says tiredly. "And this is my alternative."
"Running away?"
"She's happy, Aubrey," Chloe says. "Now it's time for me to be as well."
And it's the only truth Chloe can be sure of: that her house with Beca was never a home.
So now she'll have to make her own.
A/N: I am no longer as young as I once was, so this go around I won't be writing for every single prompt. Thank you so much for reading - I always appreciate it beyond words. Leave a comment if you so desire to.
And I promise the following one-shots will feature a lot less angst. I was persuaded (bullied) into this. See you in two days~