TW: Internalized homophobia, use of homophobic slurs in discussion, and homophobic language.

Beca raises her arm to knock, then drops it. She can't do this. She really, really can't.

She turns away from the closed door and takes three steps toward the stairs leading to her attic bedroom. She stops, looks back at the door, takes one step toward it, then stops again. She spins around and takes two steps toward her attic room.

She can still hear Emily and Chloe in the kitchen. She can still picture the look on Chloe's face when she'd refused the hug Chloe had tried to offer. The wall between them, foreign and steadfast, had been too much.

Beca turns back to the door, reaching it in four strides.

"I thought you liked boys," Sheila's voice rings out, harsh in the quiet of their living room as they watch The Notebook together. Beca glances up from her text conversation with music store co-worker Carrie Lawson to the TV, where what's-her-name and what's-his-name are kissing (she never bothered to learn the character's names). She'd been bored, but apparently, as Sheila stares at her, waiting for an answer, she should have been enthralled by the kissing on screen.

"They're… yeah, of course I like boys," Beca says, annoyance spiking at even having to answer such a question.

Sheila stares at her for a moment but doesn't comment.

"What do you mean, she likes both boys and girls?" Sheila asks as if it was the strangest thing in the world. "That's not possible. She's just confused. She likes boys."

"I don't know, that's just what she tells people," Warren shrugs over his dinner plate.

"Your niece told you this?"

"No, she told her mom, and her mom told me," Warren corrects.

"You know, I'm not religious, but I do think it's gross and unnecessary."

Beca stares at her plate in silence. She hasn't seen her cousin in years, so her recently-discovered sexual orientation is not of any particular interest. She picks at her food, trying to ignore the angry tone in Sheila's voice, unreasonably upset about someone she's never even met.

Beca's home for Christmas Day during her senior year at Barden. She, Warren, and Sheila are watching the news after Christmas dinner, their yearly tradition. If Beca's mom was still around, she'd berate them for not watching a Christmas movie, but then, she's not around, so they're watching the news.

Beca is looking forward to this time next year, when she'll be far away from Sheila, living with Jesse in LA. Beca frowns at her lap, unsure why the thought of LA fills her with so much anxiety, but before she can dwell on it too long, Sheila interrupts her thoughts with a loud "tut" of annoyance.

"Christ, I don't know why the whole thing about gay marriage is such a big deal," Sheila scoffs, waving a hand at the news anchor currently describing the rising tensions across the country. "It's been illegal for this long, so why bother changing anything now?"

Warren shifts in his armchair, but doesn't say anything, and neither does Beca.

Her heart pangs when she thinks of Cynthia Rose and her girlfriend, and of Chloe and her open sexuality. A small, quiet something stirs in the back of Beca's mind, a flicker of indignation that, for some reason, has more to do with herself than with either of her friends, but she shoves it away, slamming it into a drawer in the far reaches of her mind.

Before Beca can change her mind, she raises her fist and knocks three times on the bedroom door.

A muffled, "Yeah?" sounds from within, so with a quick breath, Beca eases open the door a crack and peeks her head around the corner.

Cynthia Rose is sitting on her bed, laptop open on her extended legs, and a notebook at her side.

"Hey…" Beca says, giving a jerky half-wave. "Do you have a minute?"

"Oh, uh, yeah," Cynthia Rose says, clicking something on her laptop before looking up. "Whassup?"

Beca steps into the bedroom Cynthia Rose shares with Lilly, though Lilly is currently missing. Beca walks further inside, carefully avoiding the clothes on the floor (Cynthia Rose's) and eyeing the knife collection hanging on the wall (Lilly's). She shuts the door behind her, resisting the urge to lock it.

"What're you working on?" she asks, trying to fill the slightly awkward quiet. She's never come to talk to Cynthia Rose in her bedroom before.

"Wedding details," Cynthia Rose replies, rolling her eyes. "Who knew getting hitched would take all this planning?"

"Ha, yeah, it… it does that," Beca says, unsure whether she should sit on the bed or not; she settles for pacing back and forth over the carpet, hoping it looks casual. "Lilly around?" she asks.

Cynthia Rose snorts. "Who knows what she does? She's not here. You're gonna wear a hole in the floor," she adds, gesturing to where Beca's pacing.

"I just, uh…" Beca trails off awkwardly. She swings her arms back and forth, clasping her hands together in front of her before letting them go. "Is it hot in here?" she asks, hearing the nervous quiver in her own voice. "It just feels, like, really warm. Have you noticed that?"

She's rambling. She knows she's rambling, but she can't stop. Cynthia Rose stares at her like she's spouted a second head. Beca can't blame her.

"Girl, stop pacing," Cynthia Rose says, eyebrows lifted. "You're making me dizzy."

Beca stops, standing in the middle of the room. "I – sorry, I'm just…"

The pressure is rising in her chest again, renewed even though she's already done this once today. Like it had been with Jesse, the words she needs are on the tip of her tongue, and yet she can't quite get them out. It's harder with Cynthia Rose, for some reason. She doesn't want to say the wrong thing.

"Sometime today?" Cynthia Rose raises an eyebrow. "I've got wedding shit to do."

"Okay. I'm – I've got to just. Um."

"Be –"

"How did you know you were gay?"

Cynthia Rose blinks at her. Beca blinks back. Those hadn't been the words she'd meant to say, not really, but now that they're out there Beca realizes she's actually curious.

"Oh. Uh," Cynthia Rose recovers and looks down at the bedspread with a crooked smile. "There was a girl my junior year of high school that I couldn't get out of my head. One day, I figured out why."

Beca waits for her to continue, but then realizes that that's it. The casual way Cynthia Rose says it astounds her.

"Oh. So it started with that girl?" she asks, wanting to hear more.

Cynthia Rose glances up at her again, frowning a little. After a moment, she takes her laptop off her legs and closes it, setting it aside. "There were hints," she says with a shrug, "crushes I didn't realize were crushes, and I was never 'guy crazy.' That kind of thing."

Beca nods slowly. "Yeah, that's… yeah." For the first time in years, she lets herself remember Alexis the soccer player and Carrie the co-worker. Each memory hits her in the gut, filling her with unease at the undeniable truth. It's not just beautiful Germans and perfect redheads she's noticed.

"Any reason?" Cynthia Rose asks, the corners of her mouth lifted.

"Nope!" Beca says quickly.

Cynthia Rose raises an eyebrow.

"No reason," Beca shakes her head. "None. Nope! I mean... um."

Beca really hates that knowing look. Somehow, it looks the same on Cynthia Rose's face as it did on Jesse's. The dam in her chest strains under pressure, ready to break again; she exhales slowly, closing her eyes, and decides that this time, she's going to release the buildup on her own terms.

"I…" she starts, eyes still closed. "I think I might be, sort of, kind of… okay, I don't think, I guess I – I know… I'm into girls."

There's a pause. Beca's eyes have glued themselves shut.

"Oh. You serious?" Cynthia Rose asks. She sounds… not as surprised as Beca thinks she should.

"Y-yeah," Beca breathes.

"Okay."

Bed springs creak and Beca can hear material shifting, and then the unmistakable sound of typing fills the room. Beca wrenches her eyes open to see Cynthia Rose focused on her laptop again, looking as though she's already forgotten Beca's even there.

"Aren't you – wait, what?" Beca asks, thrown. She knows she sounds whiny, but she'd been expecting a little more of a response.

"What do you want me to say?" Cynthia Rose asks, her eyes never leaving her computer screen. "Congrats? Join the club?"

Definitely feeling awkward now, Beca shifts her weight and says, "I mean, aren't you… surprised?"

Cynthia Rose pauses her typing and looks up. "Not really," she snorts.

"But," Beca gapes, "How did you –"

"Really? You're gonna ask that?" Cynthia Rose stares incredulously.

"Uh –"

"I've known since you lost your shit drooling over that German lady," Cynthia Rose smirks. "That ain't subtle."

Beca cringes and stares at the wall over Cynthia Rose's head. She's not really sure what she expected. More fanfare, maybe? Perhaps a band? She almost wants to laugh at herself and wonders if maybe she should just go.

Just as she's about to turn around and leave, tail between her legs, Cynthia Rose closes her laptop again with a click. Setting it aside, she scoots to make room on the bed. "Wanna talk for a minute?" she asks, crossing her legs.

The tension flies from Beca's body and she immediately feels better. "That would be great," she says gratefully. "Uh, if you're not busy."

"Nah. This is more important," Cynthia Rose says, patting the end of her bed.

Smiling a little, Beca walks over and sits on the edge of bed with her legs dangling over the side. She can feel Cynthia Rose's eyes on the side of her face but can't quite bring herself to look directly at her just yet.

"So," Cynthia Rose begins once it's obvious Beca isn't going to start. "How're you doing with it? I'm guessing it's new? Like you just figured it out?"

Fiddling with her hands in her lap, Beca says quietly, "Since the retreat."

If the answer surprises Cynthia Rose, she doesn't comment. "Any questions?"

Only about a million, Beca thinks. The questions tumble over one another in her mind, each begging to be asked first and rolling into a near-incoherent mass that she has no idea how to untangle. She takes a deep breath, trying to sort them out, only for the first question to force its way out before she even fully registers that it's leaving her lips.

"Um, I guess, do you ever… uh, feel weird about it?" she starts, still unable to look at Cynthia Rose.

"Weird?" Cynthia Rose tilts her head.

"Yeah," Beca shrugs, staring at the floor without seeing it. "Like. Maybe it's not… normal?"

There's a dense pause, and for a second Beca worries she's been offensive already. She forces herself to look up and over at Cynthia Rose, only for her apology to catch in her throat at the sympathy in Cynthia Rose's eyes.

"Uh, did your parents talk about this kind of thing much?" Cynthia Rose asks quietly.

"Um," Beca swallows, hearing her mom's whispered, I'll always love you, no matter what echo in her ears. She shuts it down and replies, "Not exactly… and the step-mom doesn't like to. I guess she's, um, homophobic?"

A strange expression flicks across Cynthia Rose's face and she sighs. "That happens," she says. "I'm sorry."

Beca nods, a lump in her throat.

Cynthia Rose continues, "So, anyway… there's not really a great way to… it's hard to describe what's 'normal,' you know?" she says, lifting her hands to make air quotes.

"Okay, but," Beca hesitates, trying to figure out what she wants to say. "Did you ever feel… I don't know… gross?"

Cynthia Rose winces, then nods. "Yeah. I think a lot of people do. At first, anyway," she says, clearing her throat. "It's just… if you don't see it or talk about it growing up, it seems weird. Gross, yeah."

"Yeah," Beca huffs, relieved that Cynthia Rose knows what she means and isn't offended. "And did that make you… I mean," Beca shrugs, the words lodged in the back of her throat.

"What, B?"

"Did you… could you... like that part of yourself?" Beca whispers, suddenly unable to look at Cynthia Rose again.

Cynthia Rose snorts, but it's not in amusement. "Not at all," she replies grimly. "For a long time, I hated it. I thought it was the worst thing that could happen to me."

Beca's eyes fly to Cynthia Rose's face in surprise. "Then –"

Cynthia Rose cuts her off. "But what're you gonna do? Just hate yourself forever for something you can't change?"

Beca shrugs uncomfortably, dropping her head. "It just doesn't feel right," she mumbles. "I'm not… I don't…" she stammers, struggling to put voice to the boiling shame buried deep in her gut. For the first time in her life, she truly hates some aspect of who she is, and it's eating her alive. It makes her eyes sting and she blinks hard.

"Hey," Cynthia Rose jumps in. "You don't need to feel bad about it. It's not like you asked for it. It just is."

Beca rolls her lips together, swallowing against the lump in her throat. "I just," she exhales shakily, her voice tight. "I feel so – god, I just feel so guilty. And I'm tired of it," she huffs, looking up at the ceiling to make her eyes stop watering.

"You don't have to feel guilty for anything. It's who you are."

"But I don't want to be like this," Beca whispers, her hands clenching in her lap. She knows she's whining – she can hear it in her own voice – and she knows it's pointless, but it's still important to her that everyone understands she didn't ask for this.

"I used to feel like that, too," Cynthia Rose says bracingly.

"How do I –"

"You're not comfortable with yourself yet," Cynthia Rose interrupts. "That's okay. You've just gotta try to get comfortable with it."

"How?" Beca repeats desperately.

Cynthia Rose leans back, looking at the ceiling in thought while she talks. "It's different for everyone. Talking about it is good. You really gotta normalize it for yourself, maybe read some books or watch some lesbian movies –"

"What, porn?" Beca blurts, feeling warm and awkward.

Cynthia Rose just grins. "Nah. You do that if you want, but I meant real movies. With plot. You just gotta be careful with queerbaiting."

"What's that?" Beca asks, starting to feel like she's a toddler, asking question after question.

"Uh, it's when media advertises as if it's gay, then it's not," she explains, a sour look on her face.

Beca stays silent, not quite understanding.

"Um, so," Cynthia Rose tries again, running a hand over her short hair. "It's advertising queer storylines to get queer viewers, but then not having the characters actually get together."

"Oh," Beca pauses. "Does that happen a lot?"

"More than it should." Cynthia Rose shrugs, looking disappointed. "Yeah, a few years ago, there was a big thing with Universal Studios making it seem like the main chicks in this one movie franchise were gonna get together, 'cuz it's what lots of fans wanted. Had a big ad for it and everything, but it never happened in the movie."

"That sounds pretty shitty."

"Yeah, but hey, there's always fanfiction."

Beca stops for a second, not sure she'd heard right. "Uh, what the hell is fanfiction?"

Cynthia Rose blinks, then grins. "Damn, you got a lot to learn."

Grudgingly, Beca cracks a smile too. "Feels like it."

There's a natural lull in the conversation, and Beca looks down again. The sounds of the other Bellas leak through Cynthia Rose's closed door: it sounds like Amy and Flo are playing a video game in the sitting room, maybe Mario Kart, judging from Amy's muffled yells of "Die, Bowser, die!" Beca wonders if Chloe's still sitting in the kitchen with Emily, or if she's moved to her room only a few doors down from where they sit now.

Chloe. Beca lets her eyes slide closed. God. Seeing her in the kitchen after breaking up with Jesse had been almost too much. It had taken everything in her to turn down Chloe's hug. It wouldn't be fair to Chloe right now, not when she's feeling like this. It's not right to put Chloe in this situation, pulling her down with her in the public eye.

Beca reopens her eyes, her next question already rolling off her tongue.

"How – I mean, are people ever… mean to you?" she asks hesitantly.

Cynthia Rose smiles at her humorlessly, her lips pressed together. "Well, my wedding has to happen in Maine because it's illegal in most states around here. And because of that, my fiancée's grandma can't come to see the ceremony, because she's sick and can't travel."

Beca flinches at the anger in Cynthia Rose's voice, though she knows it's not directed at her.

"Sometimes," Cynthia Rose continues, "when I'm with my girlfriend, people stare, or get angry. Sometimes they look away, all offended. Sometimes they say things."

"What kind of things?" Beca hears herself ask. She wants to take it back, but Cynthia Rose doesn't seem to mind.

"Slurs, mostly. Dyke. Fag. Whore. Slut. Pervert. Diseased. That kind of thing."

Beca sits in stunned disbelief. "You've been called all that?"

Cynthia Rose nods as if it's no big deal. "It happens some places more than others. A lot of the time, people don't really care."

Realizing how normal all that is for Cynthia Rose to experience sets Beca's teeth on edge and makes her blood boil. Sheila's voice barges into Beca's mind then, harsh and judgmental. You know, I'm not religious, but I do think it's gross.

"And… your family?" Beca asks carefully.

Cynthia Rose shifts her position in the bed, uncrossing then re-crossing her legs. "They weren't thrilled, but it's getting better," she says slowly. "They're happy I'm happy."

Another pause fills the space between them while Beca thinks about her own dad and Sheila. Glancing at the alarm clock on the bed stand, Beca sees she's already been in Cynthia Rose's room for almost 45 minutes. She shifts on the bed, crossing her legs.

"Anything else?" Cynthia Rose asks in a tone that lets Beca know she's welcome to stay.

Beca shrugs, running her tongue over the front of her teeth. "So… you're… lesbian?"

Cynthia Rose nods.

"Ah, okay," Beca says, then looks down, embarrassed. "I'm not – I don't really… I don't know what I am."

She waits, then glances up when Cynthia Rose doesn't reply.

"Like, I don't know if I'm… lesbian, bi, pan, whatever. I don't know," she says, the volume of her voice rising with every word. "Isn't that – I mean, how can I not know this about myself?" she asks desperately, pressing her lips together tightly to keep her chin from trembling. She takes a deep breath, trying to regain control of her emotions.

Tactfully, Cynthia Rose chooses that moment to become interested in her bedspread. She picks at it, running her fingers over the patterns, until Beca feels safe enough to clear her throat and regain her attention. Cynthia Rose looks up, sympathy etched into her features.

"It's okay not to know," she murmurs. "You can use any label you want. Or none. Or just 'gay' or 'queer.' It's okay."

Beca smiles tightly, the muscles in her cheeks straining. "People keep telling me it's okay, but it doesn't feel okay."

"It's gonna take time, and if it never feels okay, well. That happens. But it is okay. Really."

Her throat tightens and Beca can't reply for a moment. She follows Cynthia Rose's lead and examines the bedspread closely.

After a long moment, Cynthia Rose leans toward her, the bed creaking a little with the movement.

"You said you don't know what you are?" she asks quietly.

Beca nods mutely.

"You're Beca," Cynthia Rose emphasizes. It makes Beca look up, their eyes locking. "That's what you are. Knowing this, being – you know, whatever… it doesn't change your value as a person. You're still our tiny, anti-social, amazing captain. You're still you, just... more you."

By the end of that, Beca's pressing her lips together again as tightly as she can. Despite that, the pressure in her chest eases and allows her to breathe again. From downstairs comes a loud crash, followed by some muffled yelling that sounds like Amy. Beca ignores it.

Tracing the patterns on the bedspread, Beca glances over and asks tentatively, "Would you change it, if you could?"

Cynthia Rose purses her lips and frowns, sitting back a little. "No one's asked me that before," she says. "Shit, let me think."

Beca waits for her, still fiddling with the bedspread. She's not sure what answer she's looking for, but right now, she knows that she'd change herself if she could.

"Well," Cynthia Rose begins, "Life would have been easier if I was straight. But then, I wouldn't be with my fiancée," she pauses, the expression on her face so tender that it makes Beca want to look away. She continues, "It's who I am, and I'm happy. Some people don't like me for it, but… I don't really give a flying fuck about them, so. No. I wouldn't change it. Some other people might, but I wouldn't."

Nodding, Beca stares at the floor and lets that sink in. It's nice, and it makes her wonder if, in the future, she'll have that with someone; that kind of happiness that lets her forget what other people might say about her. Briefly, she lets herself fantasize about a future with Chloe, but then pushes it away, guilt twinging through her.

"What're you thinking?" Cynthia Rose asks, startling Beca a little.

"Oh, uh – I think this helped," Beca replies truthfully. And then, because she doesn't know what else to do, she says, "Thanks, dude."

"Anytime. This shit ain't fun alone," Cynthia Rose smiles grimly.

That statement makes Beca's insides squirm and twist with anxiety. "I have to tell the others?"

Cynthia Rose shakes her head, frowning. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to," she assures. "But they'll support you. Those aca-bitches'll joke about it, but they'll support you."

It makes Beca laugh, and just like that, the tension is broken. She's out of questions, and she's bothered Cynthia Rose for long enough already. She awkwardly pats Cynthia Rose's knee, then stands from the bed, stretching a little after sitting for a while. As she picks her way around the clothes on the floor, Cynthia Rose speaks again, her voice teasing.

"When are you gonna ask Chloe out?"

Shit.

Beca freezes, hoping she misheard but knowing she didn't. She whirls around, scared that if Cynthia Rose knows, everyone knows, even Chloe, and that's terrifying.

"Oh my god, is it that obvious?" she asks, her voice high and scared-sounding.

Cynthia Rose's eyebrows lift. "Woah, calm down. Not obvious unless you know what to look for."

Beca exhales shakily, running a hand through her hair. She really doesn't want to talk about Chloe, but…

"Is it weird?" flies past her lips in a rush, and she feels her face warm even though she knows there's no reason to be embarrassed in front of Cynthia Rose.

Cynthia Rose shrugs, seemingly indifferent as she reaches again for her laptop. "She's hot, nice, and she cares about the Bellas. Nothing weird about it, really."

Beca can only stare, surprised yet again at the lack of reaction. The way Cynthia Rose says it makes her feelings for Chloe seem almost normal. Not creepy or messed up, but natural. It's nice.

But, still.

"You're not gonna say anything?" Beca asks, though she knows Cynthia Rose isn't the kind of person to do that.

Sure enough, she shakes her head. "Nah. That's up to you."

"Right," Beca breathes, relieved. "Yeah. Um. Thanks, again, for…" she gestures vaguely, not sure she can find a word big enough.

"Yeah, don't mention it," Cynthia Rose says. "If you need to come back, you know where I live."

Beca smiles at the joke as Cynthia Rose powers up her laptop, probably to look at more wedding things. With a final one-handed wave, Beca opens the door and slides out of it. She closes it softly behind her with a click, and starts to make her way for the stairs to her bedroom, feeling lighter than she has in a while.

"Beca, can I – do you have a minute?"

She stops dead at the sound of Chloe's voice, soft and fragile. She turns slowly to see her, framed in the doorway to her bedroom at the end of the hall.

"I…"

Amy isn't in there, the door to their attic bedroom door is locked, and she's pretty sure the rest of the Bellas are downstairs getting ready to watch a movie of their own. She's still not sure how she feels about all living in a house together, but the first few months have gone smoothly enough.

She knows it's a little risky, doing this right before a Bella Movie Night, but it's been a long week, and she has barely seen Jesse, and, well, she has needs.

Plus, she's more than a little curious.

The laptop in her hands feels like holding a ticking time bomb. It's painting a target on her back, one that screams her innermost thoughts for the world to see and judge, when she doesn't even know her own feelings for sure. She knows, rationally, that she has no reason to feel weird about this, about what she's going to do. People do it all the time, right? That's why there's a whole industry around it.

She opens an incognito tab and searches until she finds what she's looking for. It's not like this is her first time watching porn. It's just… this kind of porn – two women – is different. She feels weird about it, as if it's dirtier than male-female porn.

It takes her a while to find a video. There are plenty to choose from, but it's not until she finds one with a pretty redhead that she feels brave enough to click on the icon.

When the opening cheesy music starts, guilt and embarrassment flare through her chest; she has to pause the video and count to twenty before she can continue.

Once she does, it's… different. There's no penis dangling obscenely, which is a plus. The women are attractive and young, maybe a little older than college age, but not by much. Beca finds herself staring at them, watching how their eyes flick to each other's lips and how their fingers caress one another's shoulders and stomachs.

It's not bad, maybe more male-gazey than she'd like, but Beca still finds herself more interested in it than she'd been expecting. Her unease slowly fades to curiosity as the short movie progresses.

On screen, their lips meet.

Beca wonders what it would feel like to kiss a girl.

Their lips seem to fit together well, and there's no push or dominating feeling that she gets from watching male-female videos. It's softer, somehow, and she watches as they undress, warmth creeping up her neck.

When the naked women land on the conveniently-placed couch, she stares at what she can see of their breasts, their hands, their hair, the way the muscles move in the back of the girl on top as she rocks forward, bracketed between the other's legs. The girl under her sure seems to enjoy it.

Beca shifts under her laptop restlessly.

She wonders what it would feel like to be on top of a girl like that.

Beca's hands twitch against the laptop and she leans in a little, trying to get a closer view. Her stomach swoops and tenses with every forward thrust – is it still a thrust when a girl does it? – and the whimpers and moans coming from her laptop make her mouth go dry.

When the redhead on top moves backward to kneel off the side of the couch, her head between the other girl's thighs, Beca's hips lift into her laptop unconsciously. Her breaths come faster with every passing second, and her heart pounds in her ears.

The girl leans in, her mouth opening, and Beca's fingers gravitate toward the button on her own jeans, ready to –

"Beca, are you in there?" Stacie's voice is accompanied by a loud pounding on the door.

Beca yelps in surprise, jumping so violently she's amazed her laptop isn't sent flying. She immediately closes the incognito tab and slams her laptop closed, her face warming with shame even though she's still completely alone in her room.

"I – yeah, I'll be right there!" she manages, her voice about an octave higher than usual.

"You're missing Bella bonding night!" Stacie calls back, oblivious to Beca's discomfort. "Chloe saved you a spot on the couch."

"'Kay!" Beca returns, desperately needing Stacie to leave her alone. And stop saying words like "Chloe" and "couch."

A second later, she hears footsteps retreating down the stairs leading to her room. Beca exhales shakily, her face still warm and palms sweaty. It takes a moment to calm down; whenever she closes her eyes, all she can see is how the actresses fit together and how the one – the redhead – had looked with her face between the other's legs.

Before Beca even realizes she's doing it, before she can try to stop herself, her hand is flinging itself down the front of her pants. She's shocked by how wet she is, and her eyes slam closed at the first brush of her own fingers.

It doesn't take long, just a few quick strokes, a teasing finger slipping in and out, and a few firm circles until she's seeing stars. She relaxes back into her pillows after, hand still in her pants, trying to catch her breath and figure out exactly what just happened.

She pulls her hand back slowly, and stands from the bed on shaking legs. She strips off her pants and underwear, changing them out for clean clothes. If she's really going to do this – if she's really going to go downstairs and face the Bellas after that – they can never know.

Once she gets her hands to stop trembling, she opens the door and starts downstairs to the bathroom to wash her hands and clean herself up before joining the others.

"Just a minute?" Chloe asks, her eyes wide. "Please?"

She knows it's a bad idea. A terrible idea, really. But with the way Chloe looks at her, all doe-eyes and parted lips, there's no way she can say no. She's never been able to say no to Chloe.

"Okay," Beca breathes, making her way over. Chloe moves aside, letting Beca enter the room first, then follows and closes the door.

As soon as the door shuts, the pressure reappears in Beca's chest, only barely restrained by that hastily-crafted concrete wall. Chloe's room assaults her senses. Because it's a single room, she's decorated to suit her own tastes. The pale blue walls are covered with posters of bands and music artists and pictures of cities Chloe's either been to or wants to go to; a map of Copenhagen is newly hung above her bed, which is central along the side wall. The room smells of Chloe's floral perfume, and Beca can hear soft music emitting from the open laptop on her desk, opposite the bed.

She only moves about halfway into the room, stopping and standing in the middle of the floor. Ordinarily, she'd throw herself down on Chloe's bed, but it feels wrong to do that now. She turns to face Chloe, keeping a careful distance between them.

"So… what's up?" Beca asking, trying to sound casual despite feeling as if she has something lodged in her throat.

Chloe tilts her head, eyebrows drawn together. "Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah," Beca replies slowly, feeling a little off balance. "Why?"

The corners of Chloe's mouth turn down. "Well, I thought, you know, with... Jesse?" her voice raises at the end, making it sound like a question.

Oh, right. Jesse. Beca almost wants to laugh; her breakup with Jesse seems like days ago rather than barely two hours.

She shrugs, hoping it shrugs, hoping it seems casual. "Oh, uh. I guess it all happened for the best."

That makes Chloe's eyebrows shoot up toward her hairline. She stares at Beca, long enough for it to become uncomfortable. The invisible wall between them is stronger than it ever has been, separating Beca and her dirty secret from the one person who can never know it.

"If that's all…" Beca tries to hint.

"No," Chloe stops her, shaking her head. "You just… I don't know, the last couple of days you've been… is there, like, something going on? Something else, I mean?"

As soon as the question leaves Chloe, the pressure in Beca's chest heightens, weighing her down and stealing her breath as it pounds against the dam in her chest.

Tell her. Just tell her. What's the worst that could happen?

The strain must show in her expression, because Chloe's arms come up and she steps forward as if to pull Beca into a hug. Instinctively, Beca flinches away, knowing that if Chloe touches her right then, everything will come pouring out. Chloe stops dead in her tracks, hurt and shock flashing over her face.

"Bec –" she chokes, but Beca cuts her off.

"I – I have to go, I can't –" Beca moves around Chloe, the wall maintaining that space between them.

What if you just told her, right now? Tell her. Just tell her.

She hates this, hates knowing she's hurting Chloe, but she can't do anything about it because she knows if Chloe comes any closer – if Chloe touches her – she'll jump out of her skin.

She's almost to the door.

"Did I do something wrong?"

Chloe sounds so timid, so confused, that it roots Beca to the floor instantly. She whips around, but whatever she was going to say dies in her throat at the sight of Chloe looking so small, her shoulders hunched and hands shoved into the front pockets of her jeans.

Beca's stomach pangs as if she's been punched.

"I – no, Chloe, you didn't, you're… it's not like that," Beca manages.

"Then why can't I – touch you anymore?"

The pressure builds, choking her. It would be so easy to just tell her. Beca can taste it on the tip of her tongue, threatening to break free.

If Chloe presses much more, it will.

"I just need some space, okay?" Beca blurts, more harshly than she'd wanted to.

Chloe's eyebrows draw together. "Space?"

"Yeah," Beca huffs, looking down at her own feet.

There's a beat of silence. Beca can hear the dam creaking in her chest, and wonders – if Chloe listens hard enough, will she hear it, too?

I'm gay I'm gay I'm gay I'm gay I'm gay.

"Bec," Chloe breathes, her hands twitching in her pockets. "Please, just… tell me if I did something to upset you. So I can fix it."

It tears a new hole in Beca's chest, because this isn't Chloe's fault at all – it's all Beca's. Beca is the one who messed up; she's the one who couldn't control herself and started creeping on her best friend. No matter what Jesse and Cynthia Rose say, it sure feels creepy and violating at this moment.

"No, it's not you, really, I –"

"Then what? I don't understand."

The pressure is so much now that Beca's amazed it hasn't crushed her from the inside out.

"I – there's just – I can't," Beca knows she's basically pleading now; she can hear how distressed she sounds, but it's nothing compared to the desolate expression on Chloe's face, nothing compared to how she knows she's making Chloe feel.

"I thought we were done keeping secrets," Chloe whispers, her voice cracking on the last word.

Tell her. What if you just tell her, right now.

"Chlo, I – I can't, it's… there's –"

I'm gay I'm gay I'm gay –

Chloe steps forward. "You can tell me anything."

– and I've fallen for you.

Beca steps back. "I have to go. I can't – I just. I have to go. I'm sorry."

She turns without looking at Chloe's face, pulls open the door, and throws herself out. Her breathing comes in rapid spurts, making her feel lightheaded, and she just walks without destination in mind, only needing to get out.

Her legs almost give out going down the stairs, then she sees her own shaking hand reach for the front door, shoving it open. She flings herself outside and hits the sidewalk, walking rapidly, gulping down massive lungfuls of air, trying to steady the pounding of her heart and relieve the suffocating mass in her chest.