The Five Times Aubrey Posen Was Mortified to See Chloe Beale Naked
(and the One Time—or Maybe Two or Three Times—She Won't Admit That She Wasn't)
AN: Pitch Perfect does not belong to me, and all that legalese. I just had to do one of these things. Blame Chloe. She's "really confident about all this." Rated M to stay on the safe side of the Posen family's sensibilities.
1.
The first time Aubrey Posen sees Chloe Beale naked, she is on her way to her 9:00AM class and her roommate is running late for her 8:00AM one. The blonde is just about to turn the knob of their dorm room door when it flies open and the redhead races in, wearing nothing but an open bathrobe. She's come running from the showers down the hall.
"'Scuse me, Aubrey!" Chloe yells as she flings open her closet and rummages through what Aubrey has previously described as a pile reminiscent of a flea market dump. "I forgot my clothes because I'm late for class!"
And just like that, Chloe drops her robe then begins hopping around on one leg, putting on underwear.
Aubrey is mortified. Chloe—exhaustingly bubbly, potentially hippie, persistently friendly—has been her roommate for barely three weeks. Aubrey and her female cousins never even bathed or dressed together when they were kids, even after swimming trips. None of the other girls on her high school varsity teams were ever this indecent in the locker room. Aubrey doesn't even go to the communal showers in only a bathrobe. (For that matter, Aubrey doesn't "forget her clothes because she is late for class"—what kind of an explanation is that?— because she is never late for class.)
"Oh, Aubrey, could you hand me that please?" Chloe stops pulling up a pants leg long enough to indicate where and what that is: a bra, draped over her desk chair. Aubrey has been trying to ignore that all morning. She is trying to ignore Chloe's bra-less-ness now.
"Aubrey? Shit." Chloe accidentally drops the shirt she has just pulled out. "Please? God, I am so dead, this is the third time I'll show up past 8:30—"
How did she ever end up with such an insufferably disorganized, utterly shameless roommate?
Aubrey tears her eyes from where she's had them trained on the opposite wall. "You can get it yourself, Chloe." She can imagine that the redhead might actually need an explanation as to why. There are, in fact, a multitude of reasons—Aubrey can list them—but instead she says, "I'm late for class."
She strides out the door half-expecting Chloe to call out "No, I am!"
By the end of the day, word has gotten around about a ginger streaker in the freshman dorms. Aubrey is aghast that even if there could be any number of ginger streakers on campus, a lot of those in their common 3:00PM World History class seem to have an idea of who it is. (Technically, Chloe wasn't even streaking in the dorms—just, oh God, their room.) She is even more aghast at the side comments and snickering. From the little she lets herself hear, she gathers Chloe had gotten just a bit too drunk at the freshman orientation party a few weeks back.
It doesn't get better when Chloe walks into the lecture hall, thankfully fully clothed and at 2:57PM, to a string of catcalls and hoots. Aubrey thought she would still be a bit pissed or flustered upon seeing Chloe, but now, sensing the other girl's discomfort from across the room, she suddenly feels embarrassed for her roommate, no longer because of her.
Not to mention a bit sorry, as well as sorry for her own behavior earlier.
When a couple of douchebags pipe up about how Chloe could run disrobing or disrobed to their room anytime too, Aubrey is quite a bit more than indignant. If there's one thing she disapproves of more than women who can't seem to respect themselves, it is men who do not even try to respect them.
She shoots up from her seat, straight and taut as a knife, and hurls at them the first of many lashing insults her year would remember her for. Even Chloe gapes at her in surprise.
Aubrey clears the seat next to her of books and waves at the redhead to come over. Nobody cracks any more jokes when she scoots down.
"I was just really in a hurry this morning," Chloe mumbles, not meeting Aubrey's eyes. "I just ran out of the shower. I didn't think—I'm really sorry, Aubrey… about the bra thing, everything."
That evening, Aubrey demands that Chloe give her a copy of her schedule and synchronizes their alarm clocks. She announces that it will be her mission to ensure Chloe will never have to rush to class again. She also holds Chloe's cellphone and iPod hostage until Chloe makes her closet more orderly and lays out her clothes for the next day where she will not miss them.
"You're worse than my mother," Chloe mutters, more than once, as she refolds the contents of her wardrobe. Yet amusement and gratitude are laced into her tone. She adds: "Probably because you're a motherfucker."
For a moment, Chloe is afraid she's ruined it, totally ruined it, and whatever hope for friendship she'd had with her bossy roommate has gone with another one of her boo-boos with boundaries. It shows in her face, now bright red as her hair, as it should have been that morning, when, as far as Aubrey is concerned, Chloe was the biggest motherfucker of them all.
Then, suddenly, one of her own bras hits her face. Chloe has barely sputtered out a "Wh-at?!" when she sees Aubrey picking up more of her clothes off the floor, smirking.
"Oh, yes, I am, Chloe Beale," she states with a curt nod and the slightest hint of a smile. Aubrey can barely contain it, not with that mortified look now on the redhead's face. "And you better get used to it. Because I am." For the first time since she's arrived at Barden, she laughs. "I definitely am."
(They will laugh again about this evening, later on, when they realize they became friends because Aubrey was so desperate to never have to see Chloe naked again and Chloe called her a fucker because of it.)