Beca was never really a tactile person, but you'd been working on that with her; albeit without her explicit knowledge. She'd learned, over time, how to let you watch her construct arrangements with your shoulder pressed to hers, sometimes even with your arms wrapped around her from behind, your head on your shoulder. If she complained, you'd remind her that she'd invited you over and it was late and that you could let go of her if she was fine with you falling off the bed because you fell asleep with no anchor. She accepted the way you would tell her, a little sternly, that it was time for bed, then steal a sweatshirt or band hoodie to sleep in and curl up behind her. She became used to the way your hands would rest on her torso as you slept behind her; some morning her palms would rest over your knuckles and you would have to excuse yourself before she woke, Kimmy staring at you suspiciously as you disentangled yourself from her gangly legs (how can someone that short be so gangly?) and bedsheets. She became used to the way your hand would slip into hers for encouragement during rehearsal, or onstage.
It took a long time for her to stop giving you weird looks. It took even longer for the day you felt her hand slip hesitantly into your own. When you looked up she peeked out from behind the curtain of her hair and you squeezed her hand, brushed her hair back from her face, tucked it behind her ear.
After that, you found her steadying herself with her hands on your shoulders, slipping her hands over your lower back as she brushed past. Just things women do when they're friends, but something Beca never did with anyone else.
Then she started dating Jesse and she stopped touching you.
It bothered you, that the palms of her hands never rested on you anymore. She let you touch her; she let you touch her anywhere, she'd probably let you touch her with a bear. But she froze a little every time, and she never touched you back, never acknowledged it and if you lingered she'd shrug you off with maybe a word about how weird you were. Sometimes, if it was dark enough, her eyes would flicker shut first.
You really did wish you experimented more at college. That was part of the reason you put off graduating for so long. 7 years and you still hadn't kissed a girl. Not even one. Sometime near the first ICCA, you thought that if you won you'd plant one on Beca, but she found Jesse straight away and your plans dissipated. You had some offers; you're very attractive. But the idea of experimenting with anyone but Beca felt unsettling. You knew what you wanted and wouldn't settle for less. And when you told her, you'd tried to set the mood as much as you could in a tent full of women but she shrugged you off, the way she'd been shrugging you off all year.
Kommissar wasn't anything special; to you at least. But once she came on the scene Beca was suddenly full of compliments she'd never spilled over you and a sexual confusion that you hadn't been the cause of.
You thought, for a while, that it meant something. That the way she didn't touch you meant something; you didn't know what it could mean, but it was a hopeful sign. Like maybe touching you was a temptation she could no longer handle if she wanted to remain loyal to her boyfriend. Seeing her act that way to a woman she was admittedly attracted to made you realize how wrong you were. She wasn't scared to touch her, she didn't flinch when Kommissar touched her. Maybe Beca didn't even like you any more. She barely speaks to you unless you physically bar her way out. It's almost like she's running away from you.
You thought when she came at you to share your umbrella things would be back to normal. She'd told you what had been bugging her all year and you can see why she didn't tell you. You couldn't tell her you were sorry so you told her you would graduate and you sang her song; the second song she sang for you, nervous and a little awkward but fully clothed and somehow confident with that cup that you keep in your room, on your bookshelf and stare at when you can't sleep.
You staggered backward a little as she barreled into you but as soon as she was balanced she withdrew again with a quiet thanks for your sharing of shelter. You have a hard time forgetting the way her arms felt around your waist. She retreats back into herself again, and as much as you remind yourself that she said she was a girl who didn't have friends who were girls, you can't help but think of all the time she used to grab at you when she lost her balance, and the way her hand now hovers near your elbow, then reaches around, but never actually touches you.
You wish she'd just talk to you. The internship was bad enough. Her withdrawal hurts more than it should.
You think about Jesse for a moment, and the timing matches up. Did he say something to her to make her self-conscious, or is she just so unused to physical affection that she can only give it to one person at a time?
When you see her with the German you actually flush with jealousy. You're standing next to Jesse, whose mouth drops open. He half turns to you, and you nod. This is something he cannot do. But you can. This is something you can do for Jesse, and also Beca, and also you. You can rescue her, and you can claim her, albeit briefly.
You approach the two of them, joined at the hip and mouth. You tug Beca gently away with a glare at Kommissar, then run your hands over her. You try to keep your touch appropriate but the German is boring holes into you with her eyes, so you at least skim your hands over her chest (she's so soft and you've thought about this so much and she's not protesting, just watching you with hooded eyes about three shades darker than normal) before gently pressing a few kisses to her face, and then her mouth, your own heart beating pitifully above the pounding bass.
Her mouth is as soft as you'd imagined, and you'd imagined it a lot. You've done her makeup before, but the sensation of her lips against yours eclipses the memory of you fingers against her mouth. Her lips part for you, almost automatically, at the same time as her knees buckle. Her tongue – oh god, her tongue – it brushes yours and this, this is the most monumental moment you've had as a Bella. Forget Flashlight, forget World's, forget graduation. This is everything you wanted from the last seven years. She's melted against you, and you're melting too. You're vaguely aware of all the Germans storming off and you realize, from where Jesse's standing, there's no further need for this supposed charade. You keep her upright, hold her against you and her lips slip on your bare shoulder for a second and you hear her say something about damning the rules.
She's so floppy that you end up picking her up and carrying her like an infant to her boyfriend's waiting arms. For a moment you don't want to give her back to him; you want to keep walking, to take her back to the hotel and teach her to touch you all over again, teach her how to bear your touch like she used to. And maybe kiss her some more. But you deposit her in his arms, because you are no part of this. Jesse nods his thanks, then helps Beca stand.
You would have carried her all night.
It doesn't matter. You've graduated, and you kissed a girl. You kissed the girl. Your night is done. You leave the afterparty and send a message to Beca, asking simply 'What rules'?
Author's note: was planning on a one-shot but a review asked for Chloe's POV so here it is.