Hey guys, I'm alive! Yeah. Sorry about the very long wait. Not a lot of things happen in this chapter, but there's certainly a lot going on in my life right now. I can't promise fast updates anytime soon, although I swear I'm working on this fanfic every chance I get.

Also, I've been working on another fanfiction which I'm rather excited about. :) Excited enough to have already written 27 pages, at least. I'll be uploading it soon as this one is finished, but I'd like to give you guys something to look forward to. It'll be set in New York with Beca and Aubrey as the titular characters, and this time it will be from Beca's POV.

So...if you're still reading this, thank you very much! I look forward to your reviews and comments.

"What?!"

You grimace, hold the phone away from your ear, and decide to put it on speaker instead. After all, Chloe just proved she can still hit high notes despite the nodes surgery. You were recounting the bathtub conversation a day later, and had just finished telling her about the part where Beca asked you to just forget everything that ever happened.

"She practically asked you if you could just forget your feelings for her!" Chloe's shrieking on the other end. "Aubrey Renée Posen, tell me you said no!"

"..."

"What about the 'I'm-a-Posen-I-refuse-to-back-down-just-trust-me-on-this' line of reasoning?"

"I don't think my insignificant surname would have accomplished anything here."

"Oh, Bree," Chloe coos, quickly picking up on your carefully neutral tone. "You're distressed."

"I'm not. Nothing has changed. It's all for the best."

"Aubrey."

"She doesn't believe it's worth pursuing. Maybe she's right. Why mess up a perfectly good thing?"

"Beca just needs more time to process," Chloe consoles. "She sounded tired when she called last night. We did put her in a difficult position, Bree."

"I know, but...wait, she called you? Did she tell you about our conversation?"

Chloe's sigh is audible. "No. Said she just wanted to hear my voice."

"See? She doesn't have to process anything. You're simply all she ever wants."

"No, she just doesn't realize what she's missing. Bree, no matter how you try to sound indifferent about this, I know you're unhappy. But it doesn't mean – "

"Do you really have to point out how I feel again and again?" you snap involuntarily. You slump face-forward onto your bed, carelessly casting off your sweaty running clothes until you're lying in your underwear. "I am extremely discouraged, not to mention wallowing in self-pity. Happy? I've never wanted anyone this bad and of course I get rejected because that's how my life always goes –"

"Really, Posen? Twice?"

You instantly roll over to face the new voice. The source is leaning into the door frame, folding her arms with her usual smirk, staring unabashedly at you.

"Beca, my face is up here."

"Right." Her amused blue-grey eyes flicker to meet yours. "Is this a fetish thing? Talking on your phone while wearing lingerie?"

"It is not my fault you don't know this very popular, widely accepted practice called knocking."

"It's not my fault you always leave the door wide open." Beca looks at your desk clock. "Isn't it too early in the morning to get your freak on?"

"Aca-scuse me, I was not about to – look, this is my room and I can lounge in my underwear whenever I please!"

"Oh no, my two favorite people in the world are bickering again," Chloe says from your phone, clearly more bubbly than she should be. "Like a married couple, you know? Morning, baby tiger!"

A pleased smile momentarily appears on Beca's face, although she quickly masks it with a faux disgusted expression. "For the last time, Chlo, none of this baby tiger shit for me."

"But you just answered to it!" Chloe replies and you can just imagine her bouncing on her toes. "Argh, I have to go prepare for orientation. I'll call you later, Bree. Love you both!" The call ends with a beep.

You pull your bed sheets to cover yourself and look back at Beca. "Why are you here?"

"Well, I'm out of underwear and I came to see if you could lend me some –"

You throw the nearest thing you have at her – a law book you've been reading the previous night – and she dodges, grinning. "Okay, okay. Can you please put on clothes first?"

"Oh, I'd love to, perv. Get out."

Beca chuckles before closing the door behind her.

"So why are you here this early?"

Beca looks up from the counter, chewing greedily. "Holy shit. What did you put on this bagel?"

The two of you are at the kitchen. Seated at the counter facing each other, everything felt comfortably subdued. Granted, the house still felt a little too quiet, but compared to the week when Beca was moping around, at least both of you weren't acting like angsty, dysfunctional teenagers anymore.

"Cream cheese, maple syrup, hazelnuts. Which, as I'd like to point out, are the only edible things left in the apartment since you stockpiled liquor and weed instead."

Beca only grins. "People get awfully hungry when they're high. Besides, I already said sorry for eating all the food yesterday! Then I helped you clean up and now I brought you bagels, you ingrate. This is really good."

You successfully suppress your smile. "Really, why are you here?"

"Right, if you insist." Beca flecks crumbs off her jeans with the back of her hand, and you get the feeling she's looking everywhere but at you. "Can I..." She mumbles the rest of the sentence so fast you lean forward to hear what she's saying.

"I hear nothing."

Her hand automatically shoots up to scratch her earlobe. "Can I, uh, live with you?"

You almost drop your bagel in surprise. She wants to live with me. Correction: She still wants to live with me. Your mind reminds you that Beca did ask for things to be back to normal – but you've been a skeptic for the entirety of your life, you honestly didn't believe things would ever go back to the way they were.

Except that they have. And in record time too, like it wasn't just yesterday when she was at the brink of ending your friendship. Beca wants to live with you and dreams do come true.

Beca, probably confused by your lack of immediate reaction, begins to babble. "You've seen for yourself how nasty Kimmy Jin is, and, uh, Dad finally allowed me to live off-campus as long as I, um, check in with him often. You have a pretty big apartment. And I could help you with house chores. I do well with the outdoor stuff. I can, uh, mow your lawn – I mean, rake your leaves – work on your hedges – " she shakes her head. "You don't even have hedges. Where did that come from? I'm not very good at this, am I?"

You allow yourself a tiny smile, recalling the time you were at her dorm awkwardly asking her to come home. Seeing Beca in the same nervous state felt oddly satisfying. "Definitely not."

"Everything I say sound dirty to me." Beca covers her face with her hands, clearly mortified.

"That's because they are. We have a concrete lawn, Beca."

Beca presses her forehead against the counter. "Yeah, yeah, lay it on me. Or, maybe we should forget I said anything! I don't want to upset your mental health, trigger your puke complex, whatever."

You roll your eyes in amusement. "Why are you asking? I mean, you practically live here."

"No, Chloe lives here. Used to, anyway. But I want my own room with my own stuff and without that radioactive pink wallpaper. Make it my own or something like that." Beca, still not looking at you, throws up one hand in the air.

"You could have just said that we're splitting rent, bills and groceries. And that you'll wash the dishes forever because it's one house chore I can't stand."

Beca twists her neck a little too fast to look at you with one eye. "If I say that, I can live here?"

"Again, you practically live here. And you haven't agreed to my terms yet, so –"

"Agreed. Halfsies and washing dishes forever." Beca straightens up, grinning. "This is awesome! Thanks, Bree. I'll be the coolest roommate ever! Chloe? Psh. That girl taught you nothing but knitting! Of course, she doesn't have to know I said that. I'll show you unicorns and flamethrowers and rap music –"

"I really do mean the washing dishes part," you only answer in reply, busying yourself with your teacup as a last-ditch effort to contain your joy. Beca's going to live with me. Hearing her talking eagerly about it made it all the more real, if not a little exciting. Okay, more like VERY exciting.

"Yeah, it's cool. I like washing dishes. Makes me space out and – are you smiling?" Beca's tone quickly turns teasing, and you didn't have to look to know she had on that snarky grin you've come to know so well. "You are happy about this, aren't you?"

"Aca-scuse you, I am not! And you're washing the dishes after this, since you seem to enjoy it so much."

"Just admit it, Bree," Beca says gently. "I won't hold it against you."

"Hush. And one last thing: do not touch my things without my permission. You drank all my tea when I was gone. And you don't even drink tea, you idiot." You look up to see her still watching you, and you're a little surprised at her expression – a mix of warm, assuring and hopeful all at once. It breaks your resolve in record time. "Oh, for the love of – fine! I am happy."

"Good." Beca's expression turns pleased, and you know you gave her the perfect answer. "I like seeing you happy."

And you don't bother to hide your grin after that.

The elation lasts until after breakfast, when, in the middle of putting away the dry dishes, Beca remembers she has a lunch date with her dad.

"We're stripping down Chloe's wallpaper when I get back," she says cheerfully before closing the door behind her and rushing off. And then you suddenly remember: you haven't consulted Chloe at all about your new living arrangements. Shit.

You quickly consult the class schedule you copied off Chloe's notes. The redhead has thirty minutes before her next class. You dial her number, trying not to give in to your rising panic. After all, you just agreed to living with your best friend's girlfriend without asking the aforementioned best friend first.

Chloe picks up on the third ring and her perplexed tone doesn't help the dread welling inside you. "Bree?"

"I did something," you say, a tad louder and faster than you intended, the words spilling out in a rush. "I did something bad, I should have talked to you first –"

"Oh no, did you set fire to Beca's stuff already?"

You blink, your nervousness now laced with confusion. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Bree, for future reference, no amount of talking will make me allow you to chuck Beca's stuff, alright? All of her worldly possessions can be crammed in two suitcases and a laptop bag. Two! Can you imagine?" You've always found it odd how you can hear Chloe smiling on the phone, but right at this moment, you know she is. "I'm happy Beca came around rather quickly, Bree. This is good! You'll be spending more time together and she'll see how wonderful you are –"

"You know?"

It's Chloe's turn to be confused. "Know what?"

You take a deep breath. "Beca asked if she can live with me, and I...mighthavesaidyes."

Chloe's gentle chuckle on the other end does nothing to ease your tension. "She texted me about it half an hour ago. Congratulations! About time too, don't you think?"

You unconsciously start pacing, trying to work off your bewilderment at Chloe's utter lack of violent reaction – or, at the very least, surprise. "You're...you're not mad?"

"Why would I be? Beca's been thinking about rooming with you since she visited me. And I'm happy she finally had the guts to ask. I told her it would turn out well – and it did, right?"

"Aren't you worried about what could happen if Beca and I start living together?"

Chloe's tone turns serious. "Aubrey, are you alright? I mean, if you feel that Beca's somehow forced you into this –"

"No. I'm just..." You heave out a sigh and finally voice out your nagging doubts. "Shouldn't you be against this?"

"Bree, you're freaking out," Chloe calmly replies. "The only thing I'm against is misery. I think it's perfectly fine that you and Beca stick together."

"Chloe, you must have a limit. There are too many possible outcomes to this scenario, and what we both want to happen is betting against the odds. What if Beca and I end up worse than where we began? Or worse – what if Beca falls in love with me and entirely forgets about you? I don't want you agreeing to just about everything because you have so much to lose –"

"Are you telling me I should draw the line at having you live together?"

"No. All I'm saying is you shouldn't jump at every opportunity to push us together. Please look at the facts. You're miles away, we're not going to see you for the next few months, and Beca and I will be under one roof all by ourselves –"

"You want to talk facts? Fine." Chloe's voice is suddenly firm. "You may have an advantage in having Beca with you right now, but she's my girlfriend and that makes us even. The only thing that hasn't happened is Beca falling in love with you. So let me tell you that we are not betting against the odds. Because you know what? Falling in love with you is easy once you let people in. That's all you have to do. And I only have to keep showing her how much I love her. We are not going to falter at those two things and we are going to have everything."

You fall silent as you contemplate what the redhead just said. Chloe, somehow sensing the effect of her words, continues a little more quietly:

"And for the record, I didn't push you together. Beca came to her decision all by herself. I promised you I'm not going to meddle if I see you trying, and so I merely applauded the fact that you let her in."

You have nothing to say to that, so you simply listen to the sound of her breathing, letting the words sink in and pull you back to your senses.

"Bree?"

You clear your throat. "You're right."

"Of course I am!" Chloe replies warmly, like she wasn't just practically lecturing you a minute ago. "Bree, you are not the villain you're portraying yourself to be. This is our story now, the three of us. Okay?"

Even though you can't see her, you know Chloe sincerely means what she's saying. You miss her, miss the impromptu concerts you hold in front of the tv, miss her voice in the shower, miss her tackle-hugs when you come home, miss the way she winks at you when she catches your eye at public places, miss running your hand through her red hair when she's leaning on you. Baltimore suddenly feels like a newly-discovered planet no one can find a door to go through.

"Okay."

Two days after that, Beca moves in. Chloe was woefully right about the two suitcases and a laptop bag. The actual move takes a couple of hours after lunch at most – Beca arriving, throwing her things haphazardly around her new room, changing sheets and curtains. Other than that and the wallpaper, Beca doesn't want to change anything else. She even refuses to put away most of Chloe's things, except the beauty products on the dresser and the medical books.

"I like seeing her stuff," she only shrugs, while you try not to freak out at how she's just casually tossing jeans, socks and ties together in one drawer. "Makes the room feel more familiar."

"Suit yourself," you mutter, pushing your hands into your pockets in an attempt to restrain yourself from pouncing on the terribly-wrinkled shirts she laid out on the bed. "Although considering the amount of stuff you have, this place is going to look like a prison cell without Chloe's things."

Beca only rolls her eyes. "You and Chloe both, woman. I'm good. I have enough stuff." She turns around to put away the shirts and catches the look on your face. "You okay? You look like you're gonna puke. Do it outside, will you?"

"You – you have to put those shirts in by color!" you finally explode. "Or at least fold and definitely hang most of them, for God's sake!"

Beca raises an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's what's causing the stick up your butt?"

You tug the shirts off her arms and sit on the bed, folding and sorting clothes one by one. "Either you're color-blind, have never heard of hangers, or had no one teach you how to fold anything when you were younger. Never, ever, fold cotton flannels! They're easily wrinkled, so you have to put them up in hangers. Hang them by color so it's easier to choose when you're mixing and matching. Also, put your socks and ties on the cubby holes of the drawer organizer so you can see the designs properly –" you look up, finding it odd that Beca hasn't interrupted you for the past minute. She's staring down her sneakers, suddenly looking like a tiny brown-haired kid alone on a playground. "Beca?"

Beca begins fiddling with one of the flannels you laid out. "Yeah. My parents weren't – there wasn't really anyone around when I was younger." She says this in the most casual way possible, but it immediately reminds you of Chloe's words back in Baltimore.

People have been leaving her all her life.

"I'm...I'm sorry for saying that. Come here."

She puts on a half-smirk, an attempt at regaining her bravado. It comes out as a grimace. "I don't want a hug."

You were intending to give her one, knowing she just gave away a piece of herself, but then remind yourself that Beca is radically different from any person you've ever met in terms of affection. You roll your eyes instead and regroup. "Well, keep dreaming. Come here."

Beca shuffles toward you, and you motion her to sit. The uncertainty in her face makes you want to reach out to her – an entire summer of seeing each other at your most vulnerable state and she's still apparently wary of exposing herself. You've long discovered that her caustic, cocky attitude was a defense. Beca in private was innately humorous, fiercely protective, and surprisingly chivalrous and caring. But then there was always more to her than she cared to show, and you're seeing part of it now: the occasional wish to open up like any other lonely person, immediately followed by the reluctance to reveal more for the fear that she'd be giving away too much.

You lay out one shirt between you and she stares at it, uncomprehending.

"I'm going to teach you how to fold clothes, because there are people around you now who can show you the things you've missed. And also, because you're making me do all the work." You flash a brief smile to let her know you're joking. "Ready?"

She looks at you for a long while, her blue-grey eyes unnaturally light in the afternoon sun. Then she finally smiles back – a soft, bashful one that's the exact opposite of her smirk. "How come you always know what to say?"

You shrug and busy yourself with the shirt so you wouldn't call attention to your reddening face. "Draw an imaginary horizontal line across the middle of the shirt, and then a vertical one running from the right shoulder down to the hem. It should form a ninety-degree angle –"

"I knew you'd turn this into an exact science," Beca chuckles. You try to silent her with a stern glare, but she only chuckles some more, before amicably following your instructions.

"Sorry I touched your boob at the tub," Stacie says, looking the exact opposite of sorry. "It's just that you were wearing a white blouse and I could totally see your black bra underneath when you got wet. Your boobs looked so pert, like they'd fit my hand perfectly –" she lifts her hand slowly towards your direction, and Beca slaps her wrist with a laugh.

"Dude, I liked it better when you were just groping yourself."

It's evening. Stacie and Fat Amy dropped by earlier to see if they can still help out with the move – not that they were able to, since you and Beca were pretty much done by the time they arrived. You decide to order Chinese takeout for dinner, which the four of you are now eating while Stacie and Fat Amy cheerfully narrate their misadventures with Beca during your absence.

You try not to berate Stacie for her terribly-graphic apology. "Please don't explain your reasons for doing dirty things. Not while I'm eating."

Stacie only sticks out her tongue. "Well, then, thanks for the fleeting yet dearly-treasured sensory experience."

Beca and Fat Amy couldn't help but chortle, while you barely hold back your urge to vomit. "Ugh, not another word!" You inhale, invoking the last of your resistance, and manage to calm yourself a little. "At least you had the decency to throw out my rug."

Fat Amy snorts into her dumplings, and this time Stacie finally looks apologetic. "Err...yeah. No biggie."

"You brought it to your dorm room, didn't you?" You raise your eyebrow at her and both she and Fat Amy cave in, almost falling off their chairs, convulsing from laughter. "Oh my god, you did! Eww!"

"Okay, before you get any ideas, Fat Amy and I didn't hook up at all," Stacie explains with a grin. "We got out of the bathroom and then I remembered she ate pizza off the floor, so I stopped. Immediately, if I may add."

Both you and Beca cringe at the memory, but Fat Amy only shrugs nonchalantly at Stacie. "Your loss, mate. There's plenty other blokes lining up for them honka-honkas." She gestures to her chest, but immediately stops upon seeing your incredulous glare.

"So you felt that my rug would compensate for your – your sexual frustration?!"

"I wasn't frustrated! Fat Amy and I both agreed later that I'm not the most qualified person for the job. After all, I've only slept with a couple of women. And your rug was furry and soft and green," Stacie answers good-naturedly. "I did you a favor by taking it because it doesn't fit your room decor –"

"Aca-scuse me! It's myrtle green. I had that rug custom-made so it would go with my room's color palette of champagne and deep carmine –"

"– and with the, ah, adventures I've had on it, I'm sure you wouldn't want it back."

"Gross, please don't –"

"I rode that rug better than Aladdin."

You gag. "Jesus."

"Yeah, I screamed that too." Stacie smugly raises her hand to accept Beca's fist bump, the two obviously enjoying your discomfort.

The ringing doorbell interrupts them. You and Beca look at each other, wondering who it could be. You wipe your lips with a napkin, leave them in the kitchen, and answer the door – only to encounter the apprehensively-smiling face of Beca's dad.

"Dr. Mitchell?"

"Hi, Aubrey, you remembered me."

You've met him twice, both times when the Bellas won the a capella championship for two straight years now. The first time, Beca introduced you as her co-captain. Last time – five months ago – she had instead said "You've met my friend Aubrey", and your heart had done a little dance at that. How would you not remember?

You're suddenly a little nervous – damn it, Aubrey, are you seriously worried about making a good impression this early? "Of course! Um, please come in. I'll get Beca –"

"Err, please don't," Dr. Mitchell quickly interrupts, looking just as fidgety as you are. "I'm glad she didn't open the door – she, uh, she doesn't know I'm coming. I'd like to talk to you – if it's possible?"

You have no idea why the man would want a conversation with you without his daughter knowing, but now it seems your thoughts of making a good first impression was actually legitimate. "Okay. But are you sure you don't want to come in?"

Dr. Mitchell only shakes his head, in the same manner Beca does – a little rapidly, lips pursed to one side.

"Just let me tell Beca where I've gone, I'll be with you in a second." You dart back to the kitchen, where the others are waiting expectantly. "Hey, it's an acquaintance from Emory. I'm stepping out with him for a bit."

"Oooh, a guy!" Stacie winks at you suggestively. "Can I join you?"

You roll your eyes, although you're congratulating yourself for coming up with a believable lie in a short amount of time. "Seriously, Stacie? This guy is a professor." That part, at least, is true.

"Ooh, someone's hot for teacher." Stacie laughs at your unimpressed expression. "Relax. I was kidding."

Fat Amy pounces on your plate with her chopsticks. "Dibs on your char siu!"

Beca says nothing, only looks at you with unreadable dark eyes.

Of all places, you end up at your next-door neighbor's swing set. The owner of the lawn is your landlady, a kindly old woman with grandchildren who visited every weekend. She is quite fond of Chloe (and you, by association) because Chloe occasionally came over to play on the swings, dragging either you or Beca to push her as high as she can go.

You tell Dr. Mitchell this and he chuckles, effectively breaking the ice. "Chloe is quite a character. Not in the same way as your Australian friend, of course, but that girl is just, I don't know, endearing? How do you call it when someone is funny and nice and energetic, but in a mature way?"

You shake your head. "I doubt there's a single word for all that, but yes, that's Chloe."

"To be honest, at first I was actually surprised that my daughter is dating such a bubbly person. Beca's just so...dark sometimes. How does it all work? Nobody else but them would know, but I'm just glad it happened."

You've often asked Chloe the same thing since she first admitted having a toner for the brunette. The redhead always attributed it to their differing personalities, although you've usually sensed there was more she wasn't telling you every time it comes up. "It's certainly more than Beca and Chloe being polar opposites."

"True."

You sit in companionable silence for a few moments, your earlier tension fading away, until Dr. Mitchell speaks again.

"So, I've heard you used to give Beca such a hard time."

Well, so much for being at ease. You straighten your spine, about to start defending yourself – but Dr. Mitchell turns to you with a smile, and you know there's no need to.

"I did," you say instead, having calmed down somewhat. "I hated her on sight. But I've always been too quick to form conclusions about people, even those I've just met. It wasn't her fault."

"I gave her a hard time several years ago too, so I'm in no position to judge." He rubs his chin contemplatively. "So what changed?"

Well, I kind of fell in love with your daughter. "She became Chloe's girlfriend, and we gradually became friends."

"It's doing Beca a world of good." Dr. Mitchell regards you with kindly green eyes. "I know you know I came over to check out your apartment, but what you might not know is that I also came over to say thanks."

You stare back, perplexed.

"Beca and I had a good talk when she came in from Baltimore. She told me that Chloe is the best thing that happened in her life, and that she wanted to go to college in Maryland so they'd be together. I was understandably upset over her decision. But in the end, I was just glad that Beca had decided to pursue her education. So I told her it didn't really matter to me where she wanted to study, as long as she was happy."

Your throat constricts a little at the new information. But you couldn't see where Dr. Mitchell is going with this, so you merely nod for him to continue.

"Two days ago, I had lunch with Beca. This time, she told me she changed her mind and was going to stay in Barden instead."

You keep your face straight, although you breathe an internal sigh of relief. Beca wasn't leaving. You wonder if Dr. Mitchell tells stories this way often, putting twists at the end. "That's good news."

Dr. Mitchell nods. "She didn't want to leave the Bellas. But then she has another reason: she feels that good things are waiting to happen here. Not that there was nothing exciting about moving to Baltimore to be with Chloe, but she said – in her own words – that she might have found a possibility."

A possibility? Dr. Mitchell must have seen your furrowed brow, because he continues.

"One that she's not quite ready to explore yet, but she tells me she's taking measures. My daughter can be quite cryptic." He stares off in the distance, and then back at you. "Thank you for letting her do this – living with you. I think it's exactly the kind of thing she needs right now, to be among friends."

You feel your face growing hot at his words. "Um, you're welcome."

He looks at you for a long while, scratching his earlobe, like he was contemplating saying more. But after a brief silence he only smiles again and holds out a hand to help you up.