A/N: Greetings! As soon as Gail announced that it was possibly* (pending PITCH PERFECT 3 announcements, h'oh my goodness) the last performance of the Bellas at the World's, I wanted to talk about the Treblemakers' last hurrah. Enjoy! Thank you again for all of your lovely comments.
Benji said it best. Performing live gives Jesse such a rush.
He can't become desensitized to the thrill of hearing the audience just in front of the curtain. The hush that sweeps over the stage as the lights dim sinks into his very bones, making him feel buzzed and alive and free. He's hardly aware of the stage or anyone else on it, only conscious of the microphone and the crowd waiting to hear them sing.
It's a heady feeling, one that he wallows in for as long as he can backstage. John and Gail regale the crowd with stories about their time as a cappella champions while various groups compete for the title of national a cappella champion, unaware that for one group, their reappearance at the Center is bittersweet.
He's – ready to leave, in a way. He's already working a part-time job, he's finished all but his last few courses to earn his degree, and all of his older friends are gone, pursuing master's degrees and internships in higher places. It's only the Trebles that hold him back to Barden University.
And now this is it. Their last hurrah.
Even as groups come and go he can't take his eyes off center stage. He can still see the faded spaces across the floor where countless performers have left their marks in the throes of countless performances. Even from a distance, he knows exactly where he'll stand and can see himself walking towards that mark before pausing and looking out into the unseen crowd.
Victory feels secondary to him, a means to perform on stage again but not the exclusively worthwhile end. What arrested Bumper's attention – and, indeed, motivated an increasingly playful but still ongoing rivalry between the Bellas and Trebles – has little impact on his desire tonight. Their spirits have all been running high for days, but calm sweeps over him in these, the final moments before the showdown.
They're going to win, and his lips twitch in a small smile as he tucks his hands in his pockets and enjoys the show.
They're not the Bellas, but they are the Trebles, and if there's one thing the Trebles always do it's give a damn good show.
The crowd is actually chanting "Trebles, Trebles!" as they finally move onto stage and Jesse might never feel this alive again, his fingers dangling the mic loosely at his side, his feet gliding across the stage as he steps into the spotlight.
The roar tapers off and darkness falls on the rest of the stage, his feet placed solidly on either side of him as he holds the mic high, heart pounding but emotions so high he barely notices it.
Looking out at the crowd, he can't make out any faces. It's impossible to make out any of the hidden conversations. He doesn't know people from the other teams like he used to. They're all strangers to him. Instead of bringing him bitterness it brings him peace, a full circle finality sweeping over him as he holds up the mic and waits.
And then he sings.
When they win, it almost feels like cheating, it's so easy.
There's a moment before the surge hits them and they rush to claim their trophy and hug each other and cheer when Jesse stretches a closed fist high above his head in a slow, languorous punch.
Sincerely yours, he thinks, that single heart-stopping second forever imbedded in his memory as the crowd surges to its feet and the host announces the winners of the 2015 ICCA championship—
"The Barden University Treblemakers!"
One day, when he realizes that he'll never stand on a stage and belt his heart out to the delight of an a cappella crowd and judges ever again, he'll mourn the end of his career.
For now, Jesse lives in the moment, embracing his friends, his fellow a cappella people, his Trebles.
Time passes in a blur with each hour shortened and each minute elongated until conversations seem to span the course of days. He loses track of how many people he meets, how many hands he shakes, how many autographs he signs at the behest of many an admiring fan. It's oddly comforting to be approached by freshmen and feel the span of years between them.
They're practically peers, but they're not, and it's then that he knows that he's ready.
He's not at all ready to leave, to let go of the camaraderie, to surrender leadership to a new generation of Treblemakers. It doesn't even seem possible that soon his blazer won't really be his anymore and he can't fathom not having a key to the house. The thought of saying goodbye to his friends seem unbearable.
Strangely enough, though, he's also – ready. He wants to take his chance at life after college, life on his own, life as a full-time adult.
Part of him will always love and long for the a cappella world, but he knows at his core that it's time to move on. It's time to give up the mantle and chase new dreams. He's always believed in happy endings, and this is just the beginning.
As he walks off the stage for the last time, he doesn't look back.
And the rush of being on stage lingers on, long after the cheers of the crowd are gone.
It's 3:09 AM, and he shouldn't, but he totally does.
"Hey," Beca breathes on the first ring, her voice husky and sleep-heavy, the breathing of nine other girls almost drowning her out entirely. Keeping her voice low, she asks, "Did you win?"
He wipes a hand down his face, unable to suppress a grin as he thinks about showing off their trophy, their first ICCA win in three years, to the Bellas when they get home. "Yeah," he says, a grin sneaking into his voice as he adds, "yeah, we did."
"I'd tell the other girls," Beca whispers quickly, "but they literally just went to sleep fifteen minutes ago."
"It's cool," Jesse assures her, because it is. It doesn't matter who else knows. In a way it doesn't matter if anyone knows. Every heart beat seems to echo the same sentiment, an unceasing, unparalleled joy coursing through him as he stares at the ceiling and traces imaginary lines, soft, obscure worlds of being. "Really, I should let you get some sleep."
"Tell me how it went," Beca insists, so he does, relaying in a hushed voice all the little details that made the trip, from their first flat tire – "First?" – to the final handshakes and hugs before departure.
"I know I'm not supposed to do this to your ego," she whispers, "but I'm so proud of you."
He can feel the warmth all the way down to his toes as he echoes lightly, "Thanks, Bec."
The words are scarcely out of his mouth before there's a tiny grunt and then: "Hey, Jesse."
"Hey, Chloe," he greets, sleepy and amicable. "How's the retreat?"
"It's really great, actually," Chloe says, descending into a lengthy ramble about how they're already working on team-building exercises and how there is no wi-fi or hot showers – Beca must be in heaven – and there are bear traps everywhere and –
"I'm sorry?"
"Don't worry, they're just for bears."
"Is that – safe?"
"Totally. Also Beca wants to say goodnight."
He grins and tells her, "'Night, Chloe." Then, once the tenor of the breathing changes, he adds softly: "You know, for someone who has like, six tattoos, you're totally a softie."
"I'm hanging up on you."
He smiles, waiting, and at last says into the easy silence, "I love you."
A beat passes before she says softly, "I love you, too. And I hate to admit it, but Chloe's right."
"Play nice," he tells her. "Sleep tight."
"I'll try. Night, babe."
"Night, Beca."
She hangs up and he follows suit, letting her sleep-heavy voice replay in his mind, a fair more soothing timbre than anything the stage can supply.
He was someone before her, and he'd certainly be someone after, but he's glad that he doesn't have to think about an after with her.
The mere thought of trying to erase Beca from his life makes his stomach turn. He can't imagine coming home to a place where she isn't intrinsically welcome. As hard as it is to picture himself being an outside at the Trebles' house, it's stranger still to think of her not having a key to his place. He doesn't like to ponder the possibilities of dating other people because for him there's only her.
As he kicks back and relaxes with the Trebles in their shared hotel room, he thinks, Are you ready to commit like that?
To that, he has no answer.
But it doesn't trouble him; it barely even crosses his mind. All they need to do to be happy is take things one day at a time.