A/N: This is just a filler chapter until Aubrey comes in next chapter. It holds minor significance, I suppose, seeing as it does involve a lot of references to Beca's anxiety and clears up a lot about her panic attack. Btw: Steca is platonic, not romantic. Despite the fact that I will probably one day write romantic Steca and my tiny gay shipper heart will be filled with happiness, today is not that day.

TRIGGER WARNING: heavy references to anxiety issues and panic attacks, very mild suicidal thoughts

You're not asleep but you don't think you're awake either.

You're aware of everything going on around you — the banging on the door, the Bellas' concerned voices, the hand resting steadily on your forearm — but you can't open your eyes. Your heart has slowed down considerably but it's still hammering away in your chest at an irregular pace.

You want to open your eyes and see who it is with you in the room because they haven't said anything yet and there's no way you can even try and identify them in the state you're in. Half of you hopes that it's Chloe and the other half prays that it isn't (prays that you won't have to talk about this with her).

After a while, you feel your companion's arm lifting up your head, cradling it in the pit of their elbow. A hand slips under your knee and then you're being lifted up and carried out of the bathroom. You can feel the sudden presence of all the other Bellas, but whoever's carrying you stays silent and just pushes them away.

You grimace inwardly at how weak you must look right now. You know that you are weak, but this is a part of you that you never wanted the Bellas to discover. This is the part of you that holed yourself up in your bedroom for days in high school; that vomited in the school bathrooms when your first boyfriend rested his hand absentmindedly on your hip. This is the you that you thought you'd overcome.

But no. Of course not, because this is fucking inescapable. This is forever. You're imprisoned in your own shitty skin and you can't get rid of this thing. You're the worst person you've ever known and you want to break down when you think about it.

You can't even admit to yourself that you're probably falling in love with Chloe.

You're placed down on your bed and your duvet cover is wrapped around you. Whoever has accompanied you crawls beside you in the bed, resting their chin on your shoulder.

It's not Chloe. You know it isn't, because the jaw is too sharp to be Chloe's. Also, whoever this is' hair is tickling your neck and Chloe was wearing her hair up in a ponytail earlier. So, it's not Chloe, and you're not sure whether you're relieved or sad.

And if it's not Chloe, you're pretty sure it's Stacie, because although you love those girls like they're your biological sisters, you know that you aren't close enough to any of them for this to happen. None of them would ever carry you up to your room and cuddle into you in your bed.

You relax a little having sussed out who it is that you're with now, allowing your exhaustion to take over. Knowing who it is, though, makes you crave Chloe. You think you're probably glad it isn't actually her, but Stacie smells of lavender whereas Chloe always smells of cinnamon and laundry detergent and it's putting you off.

"Night, Becs," she whispers sleepily into your hair.

(You're pretty impressed by the fact that she managed to carry you up a flight of stairs in her drunken state. Props to her).

When you wake up you're automatically hit with Stacie.

She's everywhere — her leg is swung across yours; her head is buried in your shoulder; her arm is lazily wrapped around your waist. It leaves you reminiscent of all of the times you and Chloe cuddled in your bed, and you feel one of the empty spaces inside of you ache.

It's early — you know that much. It's definitely too early for the hangover you're nursing.

Also, Stacie is still very soundly asleep right now, and she's using you as a human pillow. Her breathing is perfectly even and it has an oddly calming effect on you, as you try and mirror it as best as possible. You lay there silently for ten minutes before her phone buzzes.

It's sat on your bedside cabinet, which just so happens to be on Stacie's side of the bed (which, you're well aware, sounds annoyingly domestic). You manage somehow to wiggle one arm free and turn her over slightly to grab it. Your own phone is downstairs somewhere, discarded after the events of last night, and if you're going to lie here with this lump on top of you then you're at least going to play on her phone.

When you press the sleep button you see that Stacie has an overwhelming amount of notifications. Most are from Instagram or Twitter, and the majority all came in when you were sleeping, but it's the one on top that catches your eye.

Aubrey [09:03]

I've missed you an embarrassing amount since we last saw each other. The reason I'm visiting may be moral support for Chloe but I won't lie when I say that seeing you is going to be an advantage. See you soon x

You smile a little — Aubrey may be an annoying asshole ninety percent of the time, but the other ten percent she's sort of tolerable, and you're happy for Stacie (really) — and unlock her phone with your thumbprint. You silently thank the sleeping Stacie that she practically forced your thumbprint onto her phone a few days after you started hanging out more — "Beca, if we're going to hang out this much, we have to have our fingerprints on each other's phones! It's like, law," — and open her chat history with Aubrey. You find that her text was a reply to one Stacie sent:

Stacie [23:37]

bree im so happy ur cominng home its so good omg i miss u so mcuh sincer u left omg omg omg i cant even beloeve ur coming back.

Stacie [23:37]

ps i am slightly durnk right now

You laugh a little at how she'd felt the need to clarify despite the fact that you can clearly tell she's drunk in her initial message. The rest of the texts range from teasing (flirty?) to deep conversations about the universe and what it means to exist. Stacie Conrad is the only person you've ever met who can go from trying to stick her hand down your pants to telling you all of the secrets of the universe in two seconds flat.

You play one of the countless games she has on her phone until you feel her stirring on top of you, groaning into your shoulder. She lifts her head and shouts out a string of curse words at the blinding light streaming in through the window.

"Morning," you say.

She looks at you and her expression immediately softens. "Becs. Are you … okay? After … y'know."

"You can say it, Stace," you mumble, playing with the threads on the hem of your shirt. "It's not, like … taboo."

"Beca."

"Seriously. I had a panic attack. It's not like it's the first time it's ever happened to me."

"Beca … how often do you —"

"— Not often. Anymore, anyway. I mean … in high school, it was really bad, but now it's … Well, let's just say, now it's better. Handled. Controlled." You inhale sharply. "Or at least it was."

"I mean, are you on any medication? Or …"

"I was. I stopped taking my meds a couple months ago, though. I still have them. It's okay. I'll take them again."

"That's good. That's … I'm glad."

There's an excruciatingly awkward silence then, where all she does is drum a tune on the side of your hip with her fingers and you lay back and stare at the ceiling.

"So, Aubrey texted," is how you choose to break the ice, and your face breaks out into a grin when you see a blush creeping up Stacie's chest. "You like her."

"What?" she says, voice an octave higher than usual. "No, I don't! That's ... shut up."

"Oh, my God, I was kidding. But you so like her."

"Shut up! I do not like her!"

"You're so bad at denying this. Seriously, the worst."

"I don't even like people! Like, ever. Seriously. You know what I say: use 'em, abuse 'em, lose 'em."

"Stacie, you're too nice to say that."

"Well. You know what I mean."

"I guess."

"So, what did the text say?"

"You do like her!" you exclaim, laughing.

Your chest feels light and for a few seconds you think you could be content with this — lying in bed with her friend and not thinking about how it would feel to lie in bed in a different context —, that maybe you can survive with just making jokes with Stacie and not needing Chloe to feel complete.

Until someone pushes the door open timidly and you see Chloe standing a little awkwardly in the doorway.

"Hey, Becs," she says, voice gentle. "Can we … talk?"

"Um."

"It's okay, Becs. You go talk with Chloe. I'll stay here, okay?"

Stacie's smiling encouragingly at you and she squeezes you on the arm as if to tell you to go.

"Reply to that text," you tell her as Chloe leads you out of your room, hand resting on the small of your back.

(Your shirt is riding up a little and her hand is making contact with your skin, which is tingling at her touch).

Chloe takes you to her and Stacie's room, which is a mess of clothes strewn across the floor and empty takeout boxes on both beds. You smile fondly at the mess, which is such a perfect mix of Chloe and Stacie that it makes your heart swell in your chest.

"I'm sorry about last night," she says quietly.

"What?" you ask, taken aback by her apology. "Why are you sorry?"

"Well, you … I mean … The panic attack was because we kissed, right? You freaked out because you didn't want to tell the Bellas we kissed, right? So, I'm sorry."

"Don't be an idiot, Chloe," you say, and watch the way she flinches at your words. "No, I didn't — that's not what I meant. It wasn't meant to come out like that. I just mean … Of course it wasn't your fault. Don't be silly. Anyway, I kissed you."

"Yeah, but … Beca. You do know that it's … okay to like girls … right? I mean, I know that your dad has always told you that it isn't, but it is. It really is."

"Chloe, please don't."

"This isn't about what happened. This is just me checking that you know it's okay to like girls. Please tell me you know it's okay."

"Chloe, I'm not —"

"— Jesus, Beca, if you try and tell me that you're not gay one more time, I'll — No. I'm getting off topic. Just … It's important to me that you know."

"Yeah, 'course," you say, but you know that your heart isn't in it.

"Beca, this is serious."

"I am serious. I know. I'm just not."

"You're exhausting, Beca," she says, but you can hear the fondness in her voice.

And you think that maybe this could finally be okay, even just a little, that you and Chloe could really be friends.

Your heart breaks.