There's something about meeting new people that has never really sat well with you. It's not that you're shy, not really, because let's face it; you have no problem telling people to fuck off when the mood suits you. No, you're not shy, you're picky. And yet picky doesn't even seem appropriate. You're careful. Always careful. You've been that way as long as you can remember, since before your parents split and even more so after. It's not like you think everyone is always going to leave you. You know for a fact they won't, it's just that there are different kinds of people out there and most of the ones you meet you won't ever see again.
The ones you ignore, outright refuse to acknowledge, those are your, so eloquently classified, "never kinds of people". They're the ones that you know you'll never share more than a couple sentences with in your lifetime, the people you bump into on the street or at a party, the friend of a friend you just happen to meet at dinner one night. They don't hold your interest and the look in their eyes mirrors your own. It's not that they're bad people, who knows, maybe the guy you just gave a death glare to will cure cancer one day, they're just not the people for you.
The ones you like, the ones you can actually tolerate for more than five minutes, you call them your "good for nows". You like them enough to make conversation, whether friendly or professional, and it suits you fine. It's not awkward or forced and the mood seems genuine enough. Still, the people that are good for now are not the ones you let in. You don't let your guard down and you certainly don't share any personal details, but they're company and they're convenient and with them around you really do feel less lonely.
The "long runs" are few and far between. It's not like you're not looking for them, it's just that sometimes it's so hard to tell the difference between them and someone who's good just for now, you miss them altogether. The long runs are people like Amy and Stacie, Cynthia Rose and Lily, people you thought barely qualified as just for now people not all that long ago. They're the people who you start to let in, not all the way, but just enough. You let them see you, hear you. You let them crowd into your tiny room and tease you about getting arrested with a grin on your face. You let them hear your music, show them your true passion, and when they lay it all down for you, put their trust in you completely and ask you for help you agree without a moment's hesitation. These are the people you know will be there ten years from now if you need them, the ones who'll be saying "I knew her when…" when you finally get your break. They're in it for the long run, and so are you, but there's one thing "long runs" aren't. They aren't forever.
"Forever kinds of people" can start as anyone. They can start as a stranger you come across at the activities fair, or a boy who thinks he's serenading you with air guitar; they can start as a lot of things, but it's not how they start that matters. Forever kinds of people, however they begin, never stop being there. From the moment you meet they become a presence in your life, even if you don't notice it at first. You may not notice it right away, but they're there in subtle ways, though in your case maybe not so subtle. They're always there, exactly what you need when you need it and all without trying. At some point, early on or sometimes later in life, they make themselves known and you realize they've been there all along, supporting you, encouraging you, in ways you'd never thought of before. And the best part is, it's completely unexpected.
Jesse had been there from the beginning, he'd supported you, albeit obnoxiously so, and he'd tried, really tried to give you everything he thought you wanted, but it had never felt right. You thought you'd ruined it for good at one point, somewhere between bitching him out for the umpteenth time and him calling you emotionally stunted. But when everything finally came together and you found yourself running into the stands to kiss him, you thought maybe he was a forever kind of guy. You still do really, just not yours. Because that kiss, as cliché and perfect as it should have been, left a lot to be desired. From his side there was passion and excitement, from yours obligation and necessity. That's what his movies had taught you, that in the end the guy gets the girl and they kiss in an epic display of their mutual love, but that's not what that kiss had been. Not for you.
Later, after you told him you'd rather just stay friends, after you spent hours partying with the Bellas, you found yourself on the grass under the stars, happy and nostalgic. Chloe had caught your eye from a few feet away and proceeded to come crashing to the ground next to you, giggling drunkenly and curling up to your side. You wondered when you'd become so comfortable with her, when you stopped worrying about the boundaries you'd set and how quickly she'd broken them down.
When you first met Chloe, you knew she was a never kind of person, well you thought you knew anyway, until you saw the hope in her eyes. She was genuine and kind and compared to Aubrey, a godsend, so you decided maybe she was good for now because there was no way you'd classify those two in the same group. When she barged into your shower a few weeks later and forced you to sing with her you couldn't help but acknowledge how awesome you sounded together. Chloe had been your first long run at Barden, the first person you realized intrigued you enough that you actually wanted to get to know them. Even when you butted heads with Aubrey, who you admit is now one of your long runs too, she had your back in a comforting, unobtrusive way.
She was always there, exactly what you needed when you needed it, and it took you 'til now to notice. Yes, the Bellas are your long runs; the friends you know will be with you for years to come, but not Chloe. Chloe is a forever kind of girl and for the first time in your life you think maybe, just maybe, you could be hers.