A/N:
Okay, so it was never my intention to write a Part 2 for this, but I got such a positive response to it that I couldn't help but try and explore Chloe's side.
I can say now that this will be the last part to this, but thanks for all of your kind words asking me to continue. It's honestly so overwhelming.
I really hope you enjoy Chloe's POV as much as Beca's. Thank you.
You'd always believed in love at first sight. You know it's idealistic and something that Aubrey chastises you for constantly, but it doesn't stop you from believing in the possibility wholeheartedly.
It's odd that you both had such conflicting views on something that you viewed as incredibly important, especially as you agreed on most other things. For example, the importance of the Bella's.
You know that most people think it's totally lame, but ever since you were a little girl performing had been your passion. Both your parents were incredibly supportive of your love of music and actively encouraged you to pursue it. To pursue anything that made you happy.
Perhaps that's why you can come across a little... Strong, sometimes. You preferred tenacious, but either word suited you just fine. You saw what you wanted, what would make you happy and you went for it. And didn't let it go.
Moving on to your seventh year at Barden, you knew that a lot had changed, but that was one thing that had stuck with you.
When you saw Emily, heard her sing, you saw the potential she had and you knew the Bella's had to have her. And now, standing with your fellow Bella's at the first Treble party of your third senior year, you knew you had to have Beca.
It wasn't always like this between you two. In fact when you think about the first time you met, you would've laughed in your own face if you told yourself what you knew now. That you would fall in love with the tiny smirking alt girl at the activities fair. That she would become your happiness.
What you and Aubrey were doing when you first met Beca, was hardly what you'd call pursuing your happiness, but you knew it had to be done. If the Bella's were to return to their former glory, you both knew you had to put in the time and effort to make that happen. And unfortunately, that included standing at a stall on one of the busiest move in days for Freshmen, handing out flyers to people who were clearly disinterested.
You were a generally optimistic person, but even you had to admit that so far it had been a travesty. Almost everyone was walking straight past the stall as if you weren't even there, some even blanking you completely when you offered them a leaflet and a smile.
You were trying to let Aubrey's encouraging words calm you when you spotted Beca.
She looked so small and lost. So tiny and fragile, walking aimlessly through the throng of other freshmen and scanning random booths. That was the first thing you noticed about her. And then she looked towards your booth.
It was just a brief glance, not enough to gauge her thoughts or establish a connection with her, but it was long enough. Long enough for you to catch a glimpse of a dark and sultry gaze, for want of a better word.
She intrigued you.
"What about her?"
You nudged Aubrey who immediately stood a little taller and scoffed something about ear monstrosities.
Ignoring her comments, you'd walked around the stall and stood in front of the small girl, trying to smile as convincingly as you could.
She was sarcastic and guarded, it didn't take a genius to figure that one out. But if there was one thing you were good at, besides singing, it was working people out. You'd always prided yourself on your ability to see people, really see people. See past the barriers they put up and recognise the potential underneath.
Take Aubrey for example; when you first met her, most people avoided her, assumed her to be proud and snooty. But you saw that her pride wasn't a hindrance, it was a tool. A tool that you knew would inevitably lend itself to great leadership and fierce loyalty as a friend.
So when Beca stood in front of you, raising her eyebrows and smirking at Aubrey's remarks you saw something that you knew Aubrey didn't. What it was, you wouldn't realise until much later, when you were in too deep and it had gone too far.
After that first interaction with Beca, you knew you were hooked. There hadn't been fireworks, the world hadn't faded into sepia tones and fuzzy edges leaving only the two of you present and you didn't envision a life with mini Mitchell's and Beale's running around.
Truth be told, you didn't know what to make of Beca. Didn't know quite what it was that had her playing on your mind for that first week or so of your (first) senior year, what made her different from anyone else. And that was the first thing that should've warned you that she was going to be different.
So when you heard a voice singing from a few shower cubicles down from yours, interrupting your weekly de-stress with Tom, it hardly surprised you to find that the source of the beautiful voice belonged to Beca.
"You can sing!"
Before you'd even really thought through your actions Beca had knocked over several shampoo bottles.
You should've realised then. As soon as you'd caught sight of her bare back and thoughts of Tom flew away, you should've realised that you were out of your depth.
But instead, you shook off the niggling feeling and did what you do best; start to peel away those protective layers.
She looked so scared and you couldn't stop smiling. It was funny, watching someone so completely out of their comfort zone whilst you stood there, bare in all senses of the word. Exposing yourself to Beca was something you'd grow too comfortable with.
Okay, so telling her it was your lady jam was probably too far, but seeing her cheeks burn red and her gaze avert, trying to look anywhere but at you was too amusing.
"I'm not leaving here until you sing."
See what makes you happy and don't let it go.
As soon as you came in with the harmonies it was done. Before you'd even fully processed what was happening, you'd laid yourself bare. Too bare. Looking at this petite and self-conscious brunette, slowly retracting her hands from their protective place against her chest, you saw what you should've seen from the beginning.
You were going to fall in love with her. It didn't worry you, you did this a lot actually when you thought about it.
Strangers on campus, walking by who fleetingly caught your eye, you'd allow yourself to give something of yourself to them unknowingly. Because it felt good to give. To put those loving feelings out there. And until now, not getting it back was fine. Until Beca, you'd accepted that someone like Tom was all you could expect. Someone safe and fun, but never serious. You didn't need to love, love would come to you when the one was right.
And as it turned out, it came to you in a dingy shower stall, a few down from Tom.
You'd deal with that later.
After that you did everything in your power to get to know Beca. You knew you couldn't push her too hard, that would only serve to push her away completely.
You'd look at Jesse's attempts and smile internally. Pushing movies down her throat wasn't going to achieve anything. Beca required time. She was a girl who, whether she knew it or not, (which at the time, you knew she didn't) was here for the long haul. She wasn't a quitter, not when she cared. Not when something made it worth her time. Or someone.
So you settled in for the long game, and that was fine. You'd meet her gaze in rehearsals, smiling as softly as you could, trying not to scare her off with what you were certain was plain for everyone to see.
If her look of confusion was anything to go by, she wasn't getting the message.
Aubrey constantly tried to coax you out of your more than lenient mindset when it came to Beca. You empathised with her, of course you did. Beca Mitchell could be in royal pain in your ass a lot of the time, but Aubrey didn't see what you did. And that was okay.
Aubrey gave up warning you eventually, instead telling you to make sure Beca was worth the hurt.
You knew she would be.
You'd accepted that Beca might never decipher the looks you gave her, or the intentions behind your lingering touches whilst teaching her the choreography. She may never know how you knew you would be fast "friends" or that you'd been seeing Tom less and less the more time you spent with her. You had Beca in more ways than anyone else did, and that was okay.
You couldn't lie to yourself, accepting it didn't make it any easier to really believe. Letting go of hope wasn't in your nature, and Beca didn't exactly make it easy to let go.
There was a routine you'd formed. Like clockwork, you'd feel her eyes on you. You'd count to three, slow and steady, then turn to face her. The first few times, she'd always look away embarrassed, pretend to be focussing intently on Aubrey's instruction. After the third, you'd turn and she'd be waiting.
She always looked frustrated, which was too damn cute and you'd smile. Ask her to love you back.
She'd continue to get more frustrated, confused. And then you'd look away before she did. The key to holding on to that glimmer of hope was to look away before you saw whether she heard you or not. Whether she saw you the way you saw her; down to bone, past everything physical and into her fiery pits. Because the only thing you could imagine being worse than seeing her be so dense to your feelings, was seeing her understand and not reciprocate.
It had got to the point that you were certain she never would reciprocate. You'd all but given up on that last painful ember when you slept together for the first time.
You'll admit it was one of the most painful experiences of your life. Everything about it was too overwhelming. Too perfect.
Walking her back to her dorm you knew it was going to happen. She'd been looking at you a lot that night, something you realised she'd always done a lot. But that night she hadn't been frustrated. Her dark blue eyes weren't confused. They were intrigued and playful.
You knew she didn't realise you loved her, and that was okay, that was fine. But she was starting to let things go. Let go of the need to understand what you were trying to say and just let you two take your natural course.
So you knew something was going to happen. And that things wouldn't be the same after that.
Undressing her was like digging your own grave. As one arm left the hole, pass the shovel. The other leaves after a struggle because she's purposefully trying to make you laugh, make you happy. If only she knew that she did that all the time anyway.
And then you're both laughing and you're being pulling onto her.
And things just aren't so funny anymore.
Hovering over her you're offering her a choice. She needs to want this. She needs to need you like you need her in that moment.
You needn't have worried because her lips are on yours and it's too good. Her tongue is too heavy and sweet against your own. It's so much better than you expected.
You can feel that last ember of hope burst from the pit of your stomach and flare inside your entire being. It was too hot and you needed to feel her skin, to know that this was real.
She all but tore your clothes off and you almost want to apologise for burning her. You must be burning her, there was no way that this fire could only be touching you.
"God Beca touch me. Touch me."
You can't help the words that escape and you don't care because she's obliging, she's on fire too, and it's cracking in the air around you. It's sparking into her fingertips that claw you, grab hungrily at your skin.
You want it all. You want her to touch you more, even though you know she physically can't. Your skin is lapping against hers and you gasp as you feel her fingers enter you rough and without warning.
Part of you wants to cry. With your head tossed back and your nails clawing at her chest, peeling back her layers. You need her as bare as you. Let the fire consume her body until you're both dust.
It's unbearable, feeling her leave sloppy kisses that only ignite your need more, each touch building to infinity.
You could feel yourself climaxing and you ground your hips more frantically into her hand, making sure to brush against every inch of her palms.
Hair sticks to your forehead and your eyes burn into hers, screaming 'Love me love me love me.'
And that's when you come, with crescent shaped marks on her chest and the dreaded realisation in her deep blue eyes that are transfixed by you.
It's over and you release. You're burnt out quite literally.
She didn't look away. She saw your eyes and you saw her reaction. It wasn't as bad as you expected. There was no rejection. But there was nothing. The realisation and that was all. No processing.
You needed to leave, but she was so warm and you wanted her to burn.
Collapsing on her chest you licked at the flames, restarting the fire under those crescent moons, letting her know what else you could do using only your mouth.
You brought her to the brink several times, revelling in the taste that you would never get again, felt her thighs clench around your head as her legs shook uncontrollably. All it took to burn her was an order.
"Come for me."
It was husky and you didn't sound like you. The "for me" seemed to come from those embers. If the flames could speak that's what they would say.
And she did.
You awoke the next morning, drained and numb.
Beca's expression haunted you. She knew. She thought she knew. But she didn't know at all.
You managed to leave before you started crying. Untangling yourself from her, grabbing your clothes and leaving the room without glancing at her. You allowed yourself to kiss her forehead lightly, but no more. Any more and hope would return. And that couldn't happen, not again. Never again.
You continued. You both pretended that things stayed the same but they didn't.
Tom touched you and you imagined Beca's hands, her scent, her sweat mixing with yours as you burnt on her bed.
Sometimes you'd fool yourself into thinking she would choose you. That when Finals came, she'd sing for you and not Jesse. Of course that foolish hope died again. Again and again and then Beca kissed Jesse and you doused the flame once more. Once more and no more.
Beca was your best friend. You never spoke about Jesse, which you suppose might seem strange to others, especially considering you had no problems with Jesse. He was sweet. He liked Beca. And he was entirely wrong for her.
She text you constantly about everything but Jesse. You grew to know the most trivial things about her, peeling her back still, trying to reach her fire. Your fire.
You'd see it occasionally. She still liked you flirting, and she'd still blush whenever you winked just so, or dipped too low in rehearsals.
She also never spoke to you about failing. Of course it was no secret you'd failed. Purposefully, you might add. You could quote near enough every assigned text on your Russian Lit course, but leaving meant saying goodbye to the Bella's. The Bella's, Beca, The Bella's, Beca, Bella's Beca Beca Beca.
She knew you failed for her. Everything was for her, and it was so infuriating because she knew by the Aca-gods she knew it was for her, but she was too scared to admit it.
And it was fine. You could play her game too. You could play ignorant too.
You moved into the Bella's house early. The space was a necessity. And Beca would of course move in when you did.
Unpacking was therapeutic. You felt that calm that you'd felt the first time, when you knew what was going to happen. Instead of being nervous about it, you were eerily zen. If there was one thing you knew, it was Beca. A few more layers to go, but you knew Beca.
She arrived a few hours after you. You'd unpacked and settled nicely into your room, trying to keep yourself occupied so you wouldn't change your mind or cry about what was going to happen in the evening.
You warred with yourself for a while. This was cheating. Jesse was a nice guy. Beca was happy.
But you came to the same conclusion every time. Beca wasn't happy unless she was with you. She felt it too, right?
Before you had time to wallow in self-hatred, you could hear her in the kitchen, stepping tentatively around.
Pushing the burn back down, you felt yourself pulled to her.
Turning the corner you found her already looking at the doorway.
She looked scared. She was dreading this because she knew too. There was a moment where you saw her wariness, she been thinking about this too much too. But then she looked at you, really looked at you, and it was gone. She felt the calm too. Cleansed by fire.
"Oh! I guess we're the first ones here!"
You talked idly and you grabbed some of her boxes and helped her upstairs. Thank god you weren't sharing a room.
You led the conversation as usual. Beca listened so attentively, often dropping items on the floor because she was looking at you instead of the shelves.
Giggling and shaking your head each time, you'd carry on unfazed.
By the time you'd unpacked she'd begun to tell you about her summer. You pressed her for details, constantly questioning her softly to remind her that it's you and that you want to know everything about her. Let her know that everything about her is important.
She'd been making you laugh. A lot. You always laughed around Beca. You loved her when she was in these playful and carefree moods. You loved her all the time.
"I've really missed you."
It was true. You'd missed her so much. Your parents had noticed a marked difference in your ways. But they understood that you were pursuing happiness, and that the pursuit itself was always painful. How can you deserve happiness if you didn't work to get it?
You needed this reply, needed Beca to say the words back to you. You needed to see her face when the words left her mouth. But now that she was sat in front of you, you couldn't look at her.
What if you weren't her happiness? She may be yours, but that doesn't matter if you're not hers.
You feel her fingertips graze your chin, pushing your face up gently.
She's leaning towards you and you notice her eyes drop to your lips for just a second. A second, but it happened.
"I missed you too, you weirdo."
She wasn't lying. Her eyes had softened and there was no harshness, no sharp edges. Cutting sarcasm gone. It was just you and Beca and she'd missed you too.
That was all the push you needed. It was just the two of you for now and this was happening.
As you unpacked the box marked 'Kitchen', you pretended not to notice her staring at your ass as you reached the top shelves, over exaggerating every movement so she could see every curve of your body. You silently thanked your earlier self for putting on a t-shirt that rode up over your skirt.
A movie was in order. You swear it wasn't just for sex. You just needed closeness. To feel Beca's hands in your scalp and smell her fresh soapy skin. Run your burning hands across the hem of her plaid shirt that she looked so sexy in. Wanted to feel her eyes watching you as you watched the film. To chastise her when she called the movie stupid and snorted at the "inevitability" of the movie.
Ironic when you thought about other inevitabilities in the night.
You tried to keep your thoughts in order. This was your space and whatever happened, happened. But Jesse. But cheating.
But happiness.
Marley and Me played in the background, but you couldn't concentrate. One of the few times the film hadn't held your attention, which was odd, as anything with a puppy in and you were gone. But nothing ever really held your attention when Beca was in the room. Nothing but Beca.
You gnawed your lower lip as your head rested on Beca's stomach. Letting her fingers work the thoughts from your brain. Unspool any complications other than the here and now.
You breathed in deeply, inhaling her presence, letting it seep into your body.
You needed to look at her. Having her so close, you needed to feel her eyes on yours.
Unsurprisingly, when you turned your head she was already looking at you. Already anticipating your gaze on hers. You were vaguely aware of her hand pausing in its place on your head.
Crackling. The air was static and you felt the deep pull. Your hand trailed up her arm leaving goose bumps wherever they touched. She shivered under your touch, which was odd. She can't be cold with all this heat.
Your tongue swept across her lips familiarly as you sat up and straddled her hips. And this is what you'd been waiting for. You could tell your mum you'd found your happiness setting fires in Beca's heart.
Beca tore at your clothes, flinging your t-shirt and bra off with absurd speed. You didn't care, you needed it just as desperately. Wanted this constant burn to go away.
She moved her lips from yours, pulling you closer to her as she ran her hands over your bare breasts, suckling your neck.
This was how it felt to be loved. It was desperate and needy and blazing.
"I need you."
You all but gasped it out, grinding your hips harder against her jeans, feeling the denim chafe against your skirt.
Beca didn't say she needed you back. But it was fine, because her eyes screamed it at you. She paused as soon as the words had escaped your mouth, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling back to look at you.
You could feel yourself smiling. Because Beca didn't need to tell you she wanted you. She didn't have to say she loved you because she was bursting with it, behind those scared and confused eyes you could see that she loved you so much. She wanted this so much that it was killing her. It was hurting her just as much as it was hurting you to touch her. You both knew you'd end up burnt, but you couldn't stop if you wanted to.
Pulling her jeans down roughly, you'd wasted no time in latching your mouth eagerly onto her.
And just to hear her moan, deep and guttural, rumbling from somewhere deep inside, it was all worth it.
All those nights spent crying whilst Aubrey held you and tried to soothe you, whispering that if Beca didn't love you back then she wasn't worth it. But she was so worth it. Ever since the first time you'd seen her, something in you knew she'd always be worth it.
You were driving her crazy and you couldn't help but bite down on her inner thigh, marking her as yours, if only for tonight.
Her legs tensed up and you knew she was close. You chanced a look up and saw Beca biting her hand, muffled moans escaping from around her teeth. Her brunette hair had splayed across the back of the sofa, her eyes snapped shut.
Well that wouldn't do. You wanted to see her face, see the fire in her eyes as she came for you. See her silently tell you that she loved you too.
"Look at me when you come."
The reaction was immediate. Beca clawed at the sofa cushions, her head lolling down to burn you with her gaze.
It was over. You wiped your mouth delicately, cleaning her off of your face as best as you could. Not that you minded. In a twisted way you wanted to still be able to taste her. To take the memory of how it felt having her singe down your throat. Maybe then it wouldn't hurt so much, if you could just keep hold of the memory of it.
You sat back astride her, letting her kiss your lips softly. She was distracted and you could tell you were losing her. You assumed she was probably thinking of Jesse.
No Jesse. Not tonight.
You grabbed her hand and cupped your own breast, squeezing it to show her that it was okay. You weren't Jesse. She could take you how she wanted. She needn't worry about him. At least not for now.
"Take me how you want me."
It was whispered. You could feel her forehead against yours, a light sheen of sweat making it slick. Making her lips taste salty.
She'd paused momentarily, and you felt a surge of panic rush up your throat and swirl around your heart. Had she changed her mind? Did you go too far?
But before you had time to worry too much, Beca was standing up, carrying you clumsily towards the kitchen.
The relief came as you attacked her neck, showing her that you meant what you'd said. She could do whatever she wanted to you. You were hers.
You let out a small squeal as you were tossed on the counter. Beca was strong for such a tiny person.
And then her fingers were inside of you.
Your nails dug into her neck reflexively as you relished in your synchronised moan at the sensations. Always in harmony, even in a messed up situation like this.
"You're so wet."
Looking deep into her eyes you snapped. Something about hearing her say those words, to acknowledge your arousal, arousal because of her, made you lose it. This was no longer just you wrapped up in this moment. In Beca looking at you with such longing as she moved inside of you, as she eagerly kissed you back and met your hips movements, she was drawing herself into the picture with you.
She was really here. Present in so many ways in the moment with you.
You held onto her as hard as possible, the banging of the kitchen island almost being drowned out by your calls of "Beca. Beca."
Over and over, like a chant. Maybe if you said it enough she'd stay with you. Stay in this moment with you.
Suddenly she stopped, drawing back and taking ragged breaths in. You groaned at the loss of contact. Stay. Stay. Stay, as your legs tightened around her hips, trying to pull her back in.
She did, kissing you hard, just the once before moving down the expanse of your chest, pausing just above your waistband.
"I've wanted to take you like this all day."
You shivered because you felt the truth in her words, knew the gravity of what she'd said, even if she didn't. The small and bitter part of you tried not to laugh though. All day? Maybe she should try all year. All four years.
But then her tongue swept slowly up your centre and you didn't care how long you'd waited. You'd wait forever if it meant you could feel like this, if you could make Beca feel like this too.
You wanted to hold out, to draw this out for as long as you could, but you physically couldn't do it. You were in flames and it didn't take you long to completely catch fire.
She didn't stop once you'd finished, instead tracing patterns with her tongue still until you couldn't take anymore and you reluctantly pulled her head back up to you.
You lapped up your own taste on her tongue, wanting desperately to maybe feel what she did. To try and untangle her thoughts through her mouth, trying to taste what her love felt like.
It was silent as the flames died down to a slow burn. Her forehead rested against yours and you could feel her breath warm and slow against your face. She'd lean forward occasionally and kiss your face. Your scar, your dimples that she'd once said made you look like tweety pie, but 'dirtier'. A dirty little bird.
Seeing her naked, completely naked and lit only by the moonlight you realised she'd never been more vulnerable to you. And she seemed fine. More than fine, she seemed... Happy. Content. Calm.
You felt yourself instinctively wrapping her into your arms, raking your fingertips slowly up and down her arm, massaging the dying embers away like you would so often when she was stressed.
Time seemed to have stopped. It was just the two of you and it was easy to pretend the last four years hadn't passed by. That you weren't a seventh year senior and that this would all be ending soon.
No, in that small corner of time that you and Beca had seemed to have snuck into, it was the beginning. This was the start of something and you could allow yourself to forget everything except how her skin glistened in moonlight and how her dark blue and usually cryptic eyes shone brighter than the very same moon that cast beams upon her.
The campus clock rung 2am. You wanted to cry. To really sob. Because God dammit this was your moment. You'd waited seven years to have these few moments and just like that they were being snatched from you.
You leant back, hoping that Beca would be telling you that it's wasn't over. That the clock meant nothing. Time didn't matter for you.
But of course she didn't. Her eyes were back to being scared, cautious.
She softened visibly as the second peal rang out, cradling your face tenderly in her hands and kissing your lips so carefully.
You almost couldn't kiss back. Beca never was good with words. She always spoke to you in different ways and the girls always teased you both about it, your ability to speak to each other without ever really speaking. And now that little talent was coming back to kill you. This kiss might just kill you.
She loved you. You knew she loved you. And you knew that at the end of it all, it didn't mean a thing. You would love her anyway. Love her even though she may never leave Jesse, may never face her feelings.
As her lips left yours, her eyes begged you to understand.
You just nodded sadly. There were no words.
Beca held a finger up, asking you to wait and disappeared.
Numbness washed over you. The clock had rinsed you clean of all feelings. Nothing was left except Beca, the tender touches you had shared already becoming sepia tinged. Ageing before they'd even happened.
Beca returned and you smiled weakly. Love was exhausting.
She tried to smile back, but it came out mangled and warped. This was all wrong.
Her next actions surprised you however. She began carefully putting your clothes back on. Taking each piece that she'd so roughly discarded and putting them back on so softly. Like you would break if she moved too fast. She didn't know that you'd already broken long ago, and that it didn't matter.
But there was something so intimate and private about it. You felt more naked in this moment than you ever had in front of Beca.
And that didn't scare you, and it didn't even scare Beca. That's why you loved her. She loved you so much, weird Chloe-isms and all. It's just a shame she didn't know that she loved you.
When it came to your turn to dress Beca, you teased her playfully, easily transitioning from lover to friend. Snap! And the mask flew back into place. With each flirtatious joke, you got more and more friendly. Brushing dirt from her shirt and letting her lick your face jokingly, pushing her away. Pretending you didn't want to pull her right back and never let her go.
She was dressed. And there was no reason for you to remain. She looked so tiny again. It was strange how when she was in the throes of passion she seemed to fill the room. Or at least your senses. It was all consumed by Beca. And now that it was over, really over, she looked so small.
And so sad. Seeing Beca sad was too much. You couldn't deal with this right now. You wanted to stay so much, stay and be her friend, but you couldn't do that right now. Couldn't stand feet away from where you'd poured everything you had, all your love and soul into her, and then pretend it had never happened.
In fact, you couldn't stand there any longer anyway.
You reached for Beca, indulging yourself in one last hug. Smelling her hair, trying to ingrain the scent into your memory, you kissed her head softly. Letting her know that it was over.
"Goodnight Beca."
Your voice didn't shake and you were grateful for that.
You didn't look back and you didn't let her see the tears that had started falling. Beca Mitchell would never see you cry over her.
That was the last time, and you'd promised yourself that. It wasn't healthy to keep setting yourself aflame and expecting to come out okay. To repeatedly touch a flame and expect not to burn next time.
Not having Aubrey around was definitely something you thought about a lot. And not telling Aubrey. Often you'd find yourself calling her, crying because of Beca, because of the Bella's, because of life. You were always so optimistic so this didn't happen as often as it could've, but Aubrey still knew something was wrong. She knew you loved Beca, always had, but she didn't know about you two. What happened was just your little secret. And like Aubrey needed another reason to dislike Beca, it'd taken you long enough to get her to see the good in Beca that you didn't want to undo all your hard work by telling Aubrey.
And part of you wanted to keep it just between you two. Only you and Beca knew what happened when the lights went down and the fires started.
You wondered where Beca was. You hadn't seen her a lot recently, which was unusual. Despite the unspoken tension that always lingered between the two of you, neither of you did anything to try and distance yourselves. Not like you could, even if you wanted to. She was you best friend, you'd failed Russian Lit 3 times to be with Beca. To be a Bella, you scolded yourself. A Bella, not with Beca, right?
It was stupid that you were still even trying to pretend not to be totally in love with Beca. What was even more stupid though, was that Beca was still pretending not to be in love with you. God it was so frustrating.
She was honestly the most infuriating, tiny and beautiful person ever.
You spotted Jesse over by the pool and made a beeline for him. Maybe he knew where Beca was. Where his girlfriend was.
You ignored that last part for the sake of your own sanity and smiled at him.
"Jesse! Where is Beca? I thought she was gonna be with you tonight?"
He smiled back at you before his face turned confused.
"I thought she was with you...?"
"I thought she was with you."
He shook his head and shrugged, walking off in the direction of Benji who you could see had cornered Emily again.
You tried not to think too much about Beca after that. She wasn't your girlfriend, wasn't your problem. Of course that didn't last long. Beca was never far from your thoughts.
But you managed to drink and dance and have a good time. At least until you glanced over to where Jesse was sat and saw him plant a kiss on Beca's lips.
Your stomach turned and you felt Stacie's eyes on you. You saw pity in her eyes, but you plastered a smile back on your face and downed the rest of your beer.
By the time you'd had your fourth beer you'd forgotten about Jesse. It was only Beca. With each thrum of bass that hit your chest and compelled you to dance.
You had to find her. This had gone on for too long. You'd loved her for too long and you needed some damn answers. You couldn't just stay at Barden forever, hoping that she'd change her mind, that she'd stop being so damn scared and realise that she loved you.
Gesturing to the makeshift bar, you mouthed to Stacie that you'd be back. She nodded and carried on grinding up against Cynthia Rose.
On the way there you noticed her. You'd know every inch of Beca anywhere. Even from behind you knew it was her.
You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for this conversation. The conversation that the last four years had been building up to.
"There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!"
She didn't turn around straight away, but before you could worry, her eyes were on you.
Your fears of the conversation melted away, just like all of your fears did when you were around Beca, and you could feel yourself grinning lopsidedly.
Wow, maybe you were a tad more drunk than you'd let on.
She was smirking at you, and you had to get her away from here now. You grabbed her hand, beginning to pull her away from the crowd. It was now or never.
"Where are we going?"
You ignored her, still dragging her by the hand through the party and away from the trebles house.
"Somewhere quiet to talk."
You'd planned on taking her into the Bella's house, but on second thoughts the temptation might be too much. And you didn't want to fuck. That was stupid, of course you did. But you didn't want to fuck her like this, not again. You'd promised yourself you never would again, not unless she said she loved you. For your own sake.
So the porch step would have to do.
You sat down and gestured for her to sit beside you.
Instead, she just smirked, that god damn sexy smirk of hers and didn't move.
"Sit. I don't bite."
Her smirk seemed to grow and her dark eyes twinkled mischievously in the low light.
"Pretty sure I have scars on my thighs that say otherwise."
Okay. So this was new.
You never spoke about what happened. Ever. You never mentioned any of it, not the way it felt to be kissed by her or how you'd moaned when her hands ran through your hair, pulling you closer. That was the rule.
So why had she said that? Why was she bringing it up?
You looked up, searching for Beca's eyes to try and read what she meant. To try and understand.
She was looking at you funny. It wasn't what you had expected.
You'd expected horror and regret. Or maybe a signature playful smirk, trying to pass off her comment as a joke.
Instead she was looking at you... Like you looked at her. Like she was hearing her favourite song come on the radio, or seeing her favourite person. Like she was seeing you for the first time. Really seeing you, like you'd really seen her all those years ago now.
Like she loved you.
"C'mon."
She held out her hand before you could say anything, and you took it instinctively. You'd follow her anywhere.
She leads you to her room and you sit on her bed, dropping her hand reluctantly.
Whatever happened next you knew would be huge. Whatever was said right now, in this room, would be it. There'd be no going back after this and you could tell that Beca knew it too. She seemed so nervous.
"Okay. You know I'm no good with words but I need you to just be quiet and listen to me."
You nod. No words, just to prove how quiet you can be for her. How you can do anything for her if she asked you.
She's looking at the floor and you can sense the tension from the way her shoulders are slumped. She wants to say it. She needs to say it. But she can't.
But you won't give up. Not just like that. You're Chloe Beale, and Chloe Beale doesn't give up, not on something that makes her happy.
So you get up and walk slowly towards Beca.
"Hey... Hey."
You take her hands that fit perfectly into yours, even though they're so small and dainty.
Her thumb brushes over your thumb and it's starting inside of you. That sweet burn that starts whenever Beca touches you, looks at you, is near you.
It's love.
You wait. For her to look at you. To tell you. Because you know she's going to this time.
She does look at you. You can see the nervousness, but there's no fear this time. Just nervousness and love. So much love that it's hurting your heart to look right at her. Like the sun, like she's your sun.
You can't help but smile at her, even though you can feel tears spring in your eyes the longer she just looks at you, burning you so so sweetly.
"I love you."
Four years. You've waited four years to hear her say that. And it's even better than you had ever hoped.
All of the pain, all of the tears, you'd go through it all again for that. For those words that tumbled from her lips and answered your prayers.
You want to close your eyes but you can't because hers are searing into yours.
They don't leave your own even as you slowly move towards her, needing to feel her love. To kiss her and know for sure that she feels it. Know that those lips that are pressed against yours are the same ones that spoke the words of love.
You speak to her in that kiss. You pour your four years into it and she answers you with her fears. You tell her it's okay in the way that your tongue brushes her lower lip. You let her know that you forgive her for making you wait so god damn long in the way your lips ghost over hers lightly before deepening the kiss.
When you break apart you can't help but laugh. Four years. Four freaking years. If it wasn't Beca Mitchell...
"I know."
You know she loves you. You'd known long before she did. You'd seen it in her eyes that first day, you just didn't know what it was until you'd heard her sing. Until you'd seen her soul and felt her fire.
Beca had always loved you. Almost as long as you'd loved her. And in her deep blue eyes that burned you saw that she always would.