A/N: this deals with anxiety and anxiety attacks, so please take care of yourself and do not read this if that triggers you.

She doesn't want to be here. There are way too many people, she doesn't have any space to herself and, worst of all, she absolutely cannot breathe. Why are the seats so close to each other? God, this is exactly the reason she doesn't ever go to see sports games live. Not football, not baseball, and certainly not basketball. Because, on top of everything, they're inside, and the air is all sticky, and–

She can't breathe. Surely on the edge of an anxiety attack, she stares right ahead. Not at the court, not at the people on the other side of it. Just stares. Blankly. Doesn't register anything. She can't process anything. She needs to focus on her breathing, or she'll end up making a fool of herself, hyperventilating in the middle of a goddamn basketball game. It's going to be all over the newspaper tomorrow if she isn't careful.

Not that she's famous or anything... but the press has its ways. And she's going to be all over the local section if she doesn't stop the attack.

So she closes her eyes and tries to remember something her therapists have told her. Tries to remember anything. She's almost crying now. Her brain seems to be empty. But– fuck, she's got think of something. The pressure she's putting on herself isn't exactly what she needs but–

Counting.

She needs to count down. Starting with one hundred. And just– it goes like this: she takes a breath, counts down for ten seconds, and exhales. Repeats until she's reached zero.

She can do that.

Right?

Yeah. She has to.

Eyes still closed, finally managing to drown out the game and cheers and her friends chattering, she takes a deep breath. Starts counting. One hundred. Ninety-nine. Ninety-eight. Ninety-seven. Ninety-six. Ninety-five. Ninety-four. Ninety-three. Ninety-two. Ninety-one.

Ninety.

She opens her eyes, looks up at the ceiling, breathes out. Closes her eyes again, inhales. Back to the counting.

When she reaches seventy, after a while, she feels that she's a lot calmer already. Good. She continues on, though, counts down to forty.

Then she opens her eyes for good.

And she's hit with some other reason she hates this. This—as in, sports events. Basketball games, specifically.

The kiss cams.

Of course she's lucky enough to have one directed at her right now.

Her and Jessica.

Shit.

She blinks rapidly, her breathing erratic again. This was not supposed to happen. None of this. She can't even get out of this. Can't just leave. If she does, she'll make it to the papers after all.

If only her friends had listened to her. Why don't the other Bellas ever listen to her? Okay, maybe that's not the best thing to go into, especially not right now that her thoughts are already all over the place. There's so much about the whole Bellas thing to analyze that she'd probably need ten days.

"It's okay," she distantly hears Jessica say. It sounds like they're underwater; she can barely make out the words in the first place.

And—no, it's not okay. Not okay at all. But she still turns toward the girl, gives her a forced smile and agrees, "Yeah."

Jessica, always receptive, puts a hand on Ashley's cheek in a comforting manner. She proceeds, "I know this isn't easy, but I'm here. I'm here for you. Let's– if you don't want to do this, tell me. We don't have to, okay? I understand. We'll run away, and–"

It all happens so fast. Ashley doesn't hear everything. She can read lips, sort of, but even now it doesn't help. Because it happens in a rush, and she doesn't understand half of what Jessica's saying. She's sure the girl means well. She always does. It's part of why she's so in love with her.

Ashley turns her head away from Jessica, just to see the cameras still on them.

She bites her lip and glances down at her sweaty hands. Then back at a concerned Jessica who's trying to talk her through a—maybe, at this point, inevitable—anxiety attack. This is an opportunity like no other, she decides. It might cost her her sanity for good but– the anxiety attacks already fuck her up enough. So, then, without thinking about it again, what consequences it might bring to her relationship with Jessica—and the others—she leans toward her and connects their lips.

If she seems surprised, Jessica doesn't show it. Instead—much to Ashley's surprise—she reciprocates. Moves her lips along with hers.

They embrace each other; their lips find each other again and again. They fit perfectly. And, God, Jessica tastes like strawberries, how does she taste like strawberries?

The kiss is everything Ashley's ever wanted and more. It's certainly not her first kiss, and Jessica is very certainly not the only one she's ever kissed, but...

This kiss, this very kiss, this one kiss makes her want to kiss Jessica again and again. nobody else. Just Jessica. Forever. Always.

They keep kissing until the cameras are long gone. Their hands are still buried in one another's hair—Ashley has no idea when or how they even got there—and their mouths are still connected when suddenly–

"I knew it. Y'all owe me twenty dollars."

It's unmistakably Fat Amy's voice, and once the words have reached Ashley's brain, her eyes are wide open, and she jumps back. As far as her small space allows this, anyway. She's about to apologize, but Jessica interrupts her– her not even spoken yet words? Her thoughts, getting ready to burst out?

"I love you."

Ashley's eyes grow wider. Is she– she didn't drink before this, did she? She's completely sober. And she– this isn't a dream, either, right?

No, Fat Amy is definitely this blunt in real life. So this also means that Jessica is–

"Like– I'm in love with you."

Okay, Ashley is about to have a huge panic attack. And not because of all the people around her. She barely manages to choke out, "I don't– I need to–"

Jessica understands, apparently. Because she grabs her hand, excuses the two of them—not without earning a thumbs up from Chloe, a raised eyebrow yet a satisfied smile from Aubrey and a smug look from Beca, however—and leads them right through the crowd and out the door.

Ashley doesn't process what's happening. Cannot.

Next thing she knows, she's standing in front of whatever building they were in, facing Jessica. Almost hyperventilating, still.

"Sh, Ash." Jessica hugs her, but not too tightly—intent on giving her the space she needs, intent on letting Ashley decide if she wants this hug. "I'm right here. I'll always be right here."

Ashley exhales. She can tell, she knows Jessica is telling the truth. And can relax. Slowly.

They hold each other for a while. Then, Ashley finally says, "Thank you." She's on the verge of tears. It's frustrating, why does she cry all the time?

"It's okay, baby. You know I care deeply for you." Jessica's hand strokes her back. It's so comforting that Ashley suddenly blurts out–

"I'm in love with you, too." The second she's said it, she starts panicking. But then again– Jessica's said it already. So she's not crossing any lines. Or is she? God, this is– "Sorry, I shouldn't–" Apologizing is a good way to start. It also makes her relive the past few minutes and she– God, she really doesn't feel good right now–

Jessica chuckles into her neck. Before Ashley has the time to analyze what it means, however, she says, "I hate the others for doing this to you, for putting you in this position, but I'm glad we finally sorted this– um– this thing between us out."

The words are calming. Ashley can regulate her breathing on her own now. She actually smiles, too. "Yeah, me– me too. I, um– do you–"

"Let's go on a date," Jessica interrupts her.

Still clinging to the girl desperately—maybe even more so now that she knows this is real—she whimpers, "Really?"

"Yeah," Jessica says confidently.

The hug ends with Jessica pulling back. But only to kiss Ashley again.

Ashley lets it happen. She likes hugs, a lot, but Jessica kissing her is a good enough reason to not hug, she decides.

They smile into the kiss. Deepen it.

Basketball games still suck but, admittedly, there is magic to them. Ashley can't deny that now.