I finished my last final! I only have to go back to school for AP day and for graduation and then I'm officially a senior. Summer can't come quick enough. This chapter is longer than my other ones, but hopefully it doesn't feel redundant.

Dobby99: Beca is getting better, but it's a slow process. Even if she can't say the words out loud, she will always be there for him. I heard that Anna was confirmed, which is exciting. She has so many projects and so much work that its a miracle that she can still wake up in the morning. I did link my tumblr but I guess fanfiction doesn't like links when you post a story. Nevermind that...It's soaringundertheclouds and then you add the (tumblr . com) thingy.

NerdsxUnite: Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. I have a really fun time trying to write different points of view, attempting to slip into them without disrupting the flow. I tried to write a little bit about how Mr. Swanson feels in this chapter. Thank you again for saying that my writing style has actually improved. Besides the stories I have up on fanfiction, I never really wrote any other stories. Mainly all I have been writing recently were AP English Literature essays and there is only so much a person could write about Hamlet and Wundering Heights before craving to write something else.


"You're staring," Beca said, licking the ice cream cone. The chocolaty goodness ran down her fingers, contouring to the curves of her hand. Sprinkles decorated the cone, in every which way, as the ice cream swirled around and around to the tip.

They had managed to sneak down towards the nearby ice cream shop, running back into the hospital with sticky fingers and brain freeze. They must have looked like children, Beca's laugh ringing throughout the lobby.

There were glares and kids tugging on their parent's sleeves for their own ice cream, but Beca and Jesse were almost immune to the world, stuck in their own bubble.

Mostly they got some side eye from the receptionists, but they were just jealous.

She missed this, this sense of freedom and fun. Her summer had gone by so fast, almost like it had slipped through her fingers like grains of sand. The beginning weeks were full of coffee runs and fixing the printer, groaning alongside Luke as they did the most menial tasks.

Then it happened, the accident that changed her life. Who would've thought that Beca Mitchell would be targeted by paparazzi or be a guest on a talk show. Those things just didn't happen to regular people.

It wasn't like she wanted the fame, or even asked for it. Most of the times she wanted to punch the photographers, clad in black, following her around every turn just to make a quick buck.

A few times, Luke had to even wrap his arm around her back, rubbing his thumb in circles, because he saw her fist start to clench and her jawline become rigid.

What people, let's be honest, in their right mind would care about what her favorite food was or where she saw herself in ten years? It was just all too much sometimes, all too crazy.

Mark Whitman had taken a liking to her, at least that was a plus. Allowing her to stay in the studio long after office hours, sending in the best stylists and the best agents all ready at the raise of her hand, Mr. Whitman had made sure that she was always taken care of.

Beca thought that he was doing it so she wouldn't run away, run away from the cameras and the interviews and everything else that just seemed so fake.

It wasn't the designer dresses or invitations to fancy parties that kept her from running; it was the music.

It was always the music.

Finally, well not finally because she was still so young, she had the tools and the support to do what she loved.

Her father throughout all her life had discouraged her passion for music, saying that it would never lead to a profitable career. That was not a lifestyle; it was a hobby.

Her mother was better, taught by the streets of New York City about the importance of music. Art was everywhere in the city; plays, musicals, films, artists, and music...it was all there and for years Beca, alongside Luke, had stared with wide eyes, forever hoping to be apart of the commotion.

Only in her wildest dreams had Beca seen herself in the recording studio, headphones on and music blasting through the surrounding speakers.

She loved it, she did, but sometimes all she wanted to do was lounge around in sweatpants and catch up on some stupid, reality TV show. She wanted to eat from the carton of ice cream or go to buy groceries in the middle of the night whilst wearing her pajamas, slippers and all.

Now that people actually knew her face, knew her name...heck she a billboard on every street corner in London, she couldn't do those things, be just normal.

Beca missed it, but she was eternally grateful for the success she had been gifted.

Truly, she had mentally prepared herself for some 'starving artist' years full of cups of ramen and buckets of quarters for the laundromat. She had thought about the prospect of failing, ending up on some street corner and begging her father to pay the next month's rent.

Despite her fears, music was what she loved and if she had picked something else as her career, she didn't see how she could ever feel fulfilled, feel truly happy.

Everything seemed so close to perfect that it made her skeptical. Nothing was ever this easy and sometimes, Beca waited for everything to fall apart.

No one's always relevant. There's always someone bigger and better, ready to slip into your role when you trip over your feet. This industry was cutthroat so she had to learn how to fend for herself, to survive. Always around the corner was someone, just like her, gearing up to take her place.

Beca was prepared for that, but she hoped that it wouldn't happen for a long time.

She could deal with the press interviews and the paparazzi. She could handle the high heels and aching feet, but the one thing she couldn't live with is the thought of not doing what she loved.

It had been, it has been amazing for her and genuinely great to feel like people were actually liking her work. There was no feeling better than hearing her song on the radio or a fan coming up to her, telling her that she was an inspiration. Those feelings just can't be put into words, taking her breath away every time it happened.

Everything around her just felt so crazy, so hectic and fast paced, but for now, it was her and Jesse, acting like the children that they once were.

They were a force to be reckoned with, each holding two cones in their hands, two for them and two for Jesse's parents. Finally, once they made it to the room, they were in desperate need of some paper towels, but no matter, smiles were still on their faces.

"I'm not staring, just gazing," Jesse continued, stealing a lick of her ice cream cone. For most people, Beca would've bit off their finger right then and there, but this was Jesse so she let it go...for now.

"What'd I tell you? Chocolate fudge brownie all the way. How did you end up getting mint chocolate chip, anyway? Live a little," Beca said, rolling her eyes when Jesse continuously moved her hand closer to steal some of the ice cream.

There they sat, cramped in the tiny hospital room, surrounded by the buzzing and the whirring of machines crowding what was left of the space. It was annoying, of course, but Jesse was okay with it. It just gave him another excuse to pull her a little bit closer, blaming their proximity on the lack of a decent sized room.

Beca just smiled.

"Now, Beca," Mr. Swanson began, sitting on the corner of his wife's bed, their hands clasped tightly together, "I've heard you became an overnight sensation. Jesse almost fainted when he saw you on TV. That late night show, I'm blanking on the name."

Jesse's cheeks flushed pink, earning him an 'awww' from Beca.

It was right at the brink of afternoon as the sun made its way to the center of the sky, peeking through the windows parallel to the hospital bed.

"I can hardly believe it myself. I'm still convinced it's all just a fever dream," Beca laughed softly as she continued, "The only reason I was on that album was because I accidentally sent in the wrong file."

"Well, it must've been destiny, I guess," Mr. Swanson responded, a lighthearted chuckle accompanying the comment, "We've always known you would do great things, ever since you were running around in our backyard, blasting music from the stereo."

She loved Jesse's family, she really did. There was something so easygoing about all of them, but a hidden strength, a bond that kept them all together. When she was younger, before she moved to New York, her family and his family were the closest of friends.

They had weekly dinners, barbecues and pool parties, and Beca pretty much had a drawer of her things at Jesse's house and Jesse had hidden a stash of movies in the corner of her room. Everything had just been so perfect.

When her parents divorced, it was like the world was falling below her feet, tugging at her ankles until she couldn't stay afloat. The stepmonster arrived, clad with a whole arsenal of clothes and nails that looked more like claws.

She missed days like this, where there was no agenda and she was surrounded by genuinely good people.

"Jesse," Mr. Swanson diverted his attention to his son, who was lounged across two chairs, Beca sitting crisscrossed between his legs, "There was no doubt in my mind that you two would do amazing things and Beca...doing what she loves...it's only more proof that you will find your way in the movie industry."

Mr. Swanson smiled at Jesse, his only son. From a young age Mr. Swanson knew that Jesse would never be the type of kid that you would take to a baseball game or NASCAR races, but that's what made Jesse, Jesse.

There were many days that he wished he could teach Jesse to throw a football, like his own father had done all those years ago. He would be lying if he didn't wish Jesse showed some interest in learning about sailing or going fishing on the weekends. That what his father would make him do, lounging on the boat until the sun rose high in the sky.

But Jesse was a nice kid, truly he was.

Whenever Mr. Swanson would drive past the harbor, watching the boats bob up and down in the water, memories would flood in from his childhood. All he wanted was for Jesse to have the same connection he had had with his father, but maybe sailing wasn't the right way.

He had pushed him for awhile, maybe too much. He taught Jesse how to reel in a fish and control the sails, but it all seemed like it was going in one ear and out the other. Mr. Swanson knew that Jesse didn't really have a love for boating, even though he wished he did. Jesse would never tell him, he was too caring.

Even from a young age, Jesse had known that fishing was a way for the two of them to bond. So Jesse would slather on some sunscreen and pack his swimsuit, not even complaining when they would have to smell like fish for days after the trips. He was a good kid.

The only part that Jesse had liked about going on those fishing trips was being able to talk to his father for hours, discussing the movies he had seen and loved.

They would go to the movies together, Jesse on his father's shoulders, steering Mr. Swanson by tugging on his shirt. Jesse would peer over the counter, his eyebrows furrowed, attempting to pick out his candy. Many times it was M&M's, classic, or other times it was Buncha Crunch, but either one would put a smile on Jesse's face.

Mr. Swanson was the one that mostly encouraged Jesse's love of film, which became an ever present topic at the dinner table. Jesse loved it, Mr. Swanson could see it in the way his eyes would light up when he would talk about a movie he had seen or a score he had listened too.

Mrs. Swanson was the main 'worrier'. She wanted Jesse to succeed, of course she did, but he was just a boy still in her mind, a boy that was from the outskirts of the city of Atlanta, nothing but a love of film and a heartwarming smile to his name. How would he compete with the students in New York, with their big fancy computers and bottomless pockets?

It was his dream to go to New York University or the University of Southern California, any school that was known for film. He was special, Mrs. Swanson didn't doubt that, but there are a lot of special kids in the world and she just didn't want Jesse to fall prey to people just as talented, but more vicious that he could ever be.

Every time Mrs. Swanson would slip some college brochures, known for their programs in the sciences and more specifically, medicine, under Jesse's door, Mr. Swanson would be the one to bring home a collection of new movies, popcorn bucket in the other hand.

'You have to let him at least try,' Mr. Swanson would say, pulling her close to block her away from all her worries, 'He can do it. I know he can.'

Jesse, on the other hand, was not as confident as his father. Hearing his father promise that everything was going to turn out alright, just because it had happened to Beca, only made his head start to hurt.

It seemed like everyone was forgetting that even though Beca grew up with him, she still had been off to New York for years, learning the ropes. All he was in was a production class for the school morning show, which was the only class that was remotely connected to film and media. Plus, it was mostly for seniors who wanted an easy A or freshmen who didn't want to take art.

His family believed in him too much, put too much pressure on him by just their support. He didn't want to disappoint them.

He couldn't.

Beca squeezed his hand, rubbing her thumb over the top, bringing him back to reality. "I'm not sure if Jesse would be able to handle the screaming fans. When he does become famous, everyone knows that he will become a teen heartthrob. How good are you at swatting away tween girls?"

Jesse laughed, happy to get off the subject of his future.

"It's all in the flick of the wrist. I can teach you someday. You're gonna have some competition for my heart, Mitchell," he continued, a smirk on his face. She only responded by gently shoving his shoulder.

They both knew that no one could compete with what was already hers.