Jesse's POV after the Trebles win Regionals.

Disclaimer: Pitch Perfect is still not mine this is a travesty~~

It was like the glass shattered in slow motion—as if he could see each individual shard fall to the earth. That was Beca's world, crashing down around her as the policeman met her eyes. He watched as she clutched what was left of the trophy, her eyes round with terror. Distantly, he could hear Fat Amy screaming as she fled.

Jesse watched silently as the policeman approached. There was no kindness in his eyes. Spectators fled in waves, and the Trebles were gone before Jesse could stop them. Beca told the Bellas to leave, and they did so without arguing; Beca was going to take the fall for the incident without complaint. Fat Amy, the Tonehangers, Donald, and Bumper were not included in her story.

The man questioned him about the incident, and Beca's eyes drilled him the entire time. She had taken full responsibility, and she was now demanding that he play along. So he did. He agreed that Beca had been angry that the Bellas didn't come in first, and she had thrown the trophy at the window in a fit of rage.

So the policeman led her out to the cruiser in handcuffs, and Beca looked back at him as she walked away, mouthing a "thank you" as she ducked into the back of the car. He was frozen for a moment, his mind reeling with thoughts of what would happen next. But he nodded quickly, offering a reassuring smile as the car pulled away.

"I'll get you out of this," he said quietly, though he was positive that she wouldn't be able to distinguish what he had said.

He stood dumbly in the wreckage of the accident, looking around with a thin smile. Of course no one had stayed behind. Of course they had all left. He shook his head, silent as he pondered how to get Beca out of jail.

His phone was in his hand before he knew what he was doing. It was the only way, right? He knew he wouldn't be able to bail her out; he was a first-year college student who was already in debt. He couldn't afford it—at least, not on his own.

"Who else was I gonna call, okay?" Why are you yelling at me?" he asked desperately, throwing his hands wide to make his point, "I'm the only one here."

"I didn't ask you to be," she responded rapidly, defensively.

He paused, blinking furiously in an attempt to understand her reasoning and provide an explanation of his own. It was clear to him that she had never really had help from anyone before. His words came out almost pleadingly as he tried to help her understand his logic. "I was just trying to help you."

"I don't need your help," she said stubbornly, "You're not my boyfriend."

Jesse's heart sank.

Of course he didn't think he was her boyfriend. They were friends. And sure, he wanted more—hoped for more—but he knew better than to flat-out assume they were in a relationship. He cared about her. He cared about her in the way a person would care about their girlfriend or boyfriend, yes, but that didn't make him her boyfriend. He wanted to help; he was trying to help.

She turned towards her father, and he nodded as he looked at the ground, sounding more okay than he really was. "Got it."